I come to the gates of the Keep, huffing and puffing, just as the sun is dipping beneath the horizon and painting the sky blood-red. Behind me, the celebration in the square is in full swing, bodies moving in time to the buskers' music in every direction. Their shadows, lit up by the dimming light and the torches ringing the square's perimeter, swell their number into a claustrophobic, impenetrable mass.

But I persist—pushing, shoving, even shouting at one point—until I'm spat out in front of the guards. The crowd behind me immediately swallows up the space I leave behind—and I realize I have literally next to no plan.

"Um. Hi, sir," I say. I try to focus on their stern, bearded faces, but my eyes can't help darting to their extremely sharp-looking weapons. "I know you're not supposed to let anyone in until after sunset, but—" But what? But by then it'll be too late? And what if they ask me why?

The sentence awkwardly peters out.

One of the guards—the captain, probably, with his fancy-looking helmet and general aura of authority, makes a sharp upward motion with his hands. I flinch back—but the two guards flanking him begin to push at the heavy wooden gates behind him. Slowly, they creak open.

"I thought you'd never show," the guard captain says. He rolls his eyes. "Our honorable Alexandrius has been sulking all over the place looking for you."

"Er." I smile uneasily. "Great. Thanks. I'll, uh, fill him in?"

The captain waves me forward without turning away from the crowd, and I scuttle through the gap between the doors before he can change his mind.

The gates slam shut behind me.

It's a different world inside the Keep.

It's not any less crowded, really—everywhere I look, there's a servant bustling about—but everything feels orderly. Even the chatter feels focused.

I bite my bottom lip and weave aimlessly between the busy servants and the tables laden with caskets of wine and baskets of food. I guess the best thing to do would be to find Alex?¹

He's supposedly very into Aurelia, surely he'd at least consider what Aurelia / I tell him, especially if I look distressed enough?

(And I'm plenty distressed).

Okay.

Right.

So. Where would an extremely attractive, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy with a brooding, borderline psychopathic air be hiding—

Someone claps me on the shoulder, and I yelp, jumping ten feet into the air. My elbow knocks straight into some pitcher on the table next to me, causing it to spin around and around—and then tumble right off the table lip and sideways to the ground.

A hand darts out lighting fast and catches the pitcher around the neck just before it smashes into a thousand pieces. One single splatter of purple-red liquid sloshes onto his fingers and jacket sleeve.

I stare, open-mouthed, at the most handsome man² cradling the unharmed pitcher.

Blond hair, check. Blue eyes, check—Except. His eyes aren't icy, like I'd envisioned? They're more like the blue of a calm lake? When combined with his serious mouth and aquiline nose, he looks... less like a psychopath, and more like a kind and generous guy, the type to volunteer at an after-school children's club.

Also, he was seriously broad and tall. His shoulders are practically parallel to the ground, and even in Aurelia's body I have to tilt my head up to look at him.

"Alex?" I say dumbly.

The guy's mouth quirks up. He places the pitcher back on the table, and shake off the stray drops of wine on his hand and very expensive-looking clothes.³

"It's rare for anyone to be able to startle you," he remarks. "Last I saw Alex, he was in the banquet hall griping over you being late."

"Oh, right," I say. Well, if this isn't Alex, it can only be—

I hesitate. "Thanks... Luke?"

He smiles faintly in response. Lucius Silverwood it is then. The eldest son of Lord and Lady Silverwood, the heir to Silverwood Keep and its lands, groomed from childhood to take on all the responsibilities while his younger brother ran wild.

In the books, I'd lost count of how many times Alex had talked about Luke being compassionate, steady, learned, talented, everything Alex thinks he isn't.

I'd also lost count of how nightmares Alex had experienced of Luke's body, speared through with a long sword and collapsed in front of a group of dead children.⁴

Which is a reminder that as much as I'd like to linger and stare stupidly for a little bit, I really ought to get a move on. Otherwise, Luke is going to be as dead as me and Mrs. Morrell very very soon.

"Great," I say. "Thanks, uh, Luke. I'll just head off and find Alex them." I step around him and to the right.

Luke gives me an odd look. "The banquet hall," he repeats. He points in the exact opposite direction.

"Oh. Hahaha... ha," I say awkwardly. "The banquet hall, of course, I'd thought you'd said. Something else."

He furrows his brows. "Is everything all right, Aurelia? It's not like you to be late to see Alex—"

"Of course not! it's the Autumn Festival! The greatest day of the year!" I squeak. "See you, bye!" I run-walk away as quickly as I can.

The faster I get out of the sight of those beautiful, puzzled eyes, the better.

----

1. I mean, the other alternative would be just to scream into the crowd, "Attackers are coming! Run, everybody!" But I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea, for the same reason that screaming "Fire!" in a theater is a bad idea. Either I'd be thrown into the dungeons for reckless endangerment, or I'd be crushed in the stampede. Neither is really conducive to the whole staying alive thing.

2. Yes, this includes all the Chrises in Hollywood.

3. For the record, those clothes: tunic, jacket, breaches, leggings, all the medieval staples. Only while all the people around him are swathed in drab grey wool, he's in black velvet and leather, accented with panels of blue cloth. So he definitely has money—which is good, because I don't think Aurelia's family can afford replacing any of his clothes.

Also, for the record? He carries all the clothes off very well.

4. Seriously, there's only so many pages of inferiority complex, angst, and painful memories of lost family I'm willing to put up with. Like, I'm aware that Luke and Alex are meant to be foils, that Alex's bloodthirsty triumph is meant to say something very Deep about survival of the fittest. But did Alex have to keep mentioning it? It was so heavy-handed and overly-dramatic, no one can be worth that much headspace.

Now that I've seen Luke though.... Well.