Page 45 of My Faire Lady

She curses under her breath and pulls, but it only twists farther into her hair, yanking strands out of her braid.

Her helpless eyes meet mine through hair and a layer of mail.

I smile, biting back my laugh. “Here, let me help. You’re going to make it worse if you don’t stop moving.”

Her hands lower to her sides, defeated, and the chainmail pools around her neck.

I step closer—my face inches from her cheek—and unravel the hair twisted through the metal rings. The scar at her brow catches the light, and I circle to her front, unraveling the rest of her hair.

“How did you get that scar?”

“Tripped when I was younger and hit my head on a rock.”

I hum, freeing the rest of her hair. “That sounds exactly like something someone would say if they were lying about a scar.”

Her eyes meet mine. “What reason would I have to lie?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t really know anything about you.”

I shift my hands under the chainmail and lift it just past her mouth. She wets her bottom lip, and my breath catches.

“What’s there to know? I grew up here, and now I work here,” she says. “There’s not much more to me than that.”

I watch as her lips form words. The way they press together on the consonants, round on the vowels. I’ve studied them so many times, but never this close, so close that it would only take me leaning forward an inch for⁠—

My throat constricts. “There’s so much more to you than that.”

At that, her lips curl into a smile.

A smile.

Not one of the strained, forced smiles she tends to give Boden or Frankie when they’re poking fun at her. Or the tight-lipped grimace she gives fairgoers.

No, this is a genuine smile.

My palm aches to cup her cheek and draw her close—find out what she tastes like.

As soon as her smile appeared, it’s gone.

“Lottie,” she whispers, her tongue pressing against her teeth as she shapes the first letter of my name.

I swallow, lifting my eyes to hers, the chainmail a window between us. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking⁠—"

Something slams into my back.

I stumble forward, into Scarlet’s chest, and the world tilts sideways as our legs sweep out from under us. The chainmail slips off her head and clatters to the ground. My stomach plummets, but she wraps an arm around my waist and cups my head as we slam into the floor.

“What in the fates?” She pushes up onto an elbow and studies me, running a palm down the back of my head. “Are you okay?”

“I—” Scrambling away from her, I rise to my knees and scan the room. Empty. “Someone pushed me.”

Scarlet furrows her brow, peering over my shoulder as she stands. She extends a hand to me. “I didn’t see anyone. Maybe you just tripped over my armor.”

I nod, but the plates I unbuckled from her body are sitting against the leg of the table, undisturbed.

Accepting her hand, I stand and peek behind the other side of the table. “Are you sure this place isn’t haunted?”