The palace gates opened just before sunset.
Lysa had not intended to be there. She had been on her way to the kitchens to check on the wedding feast preparations when she heard a long, low whistle that she had learned to recognize months ago. Captain Rowan's signal.
Her feet carried her before her mind could catch up.
The guard patrol rode through the gates in single file, their horses lathered from a long journey. Snow still clung to their boots and cloaks, though spring had officially arrived. At the head of the column, Rowan sat tall in his saddle, his face tired but his eyes scanning the courtyard.
Those eyes found her immediately.
Lysa froze beside the fountain. She had told herself she was not waiting for him. And that the way her chest tightened every time she thought of him was simply a concern for a friend.
She had lied.
