I was examining the contents of the wardrobe—dresses in my size, in colors that complemented my complexion, in styles that suggested someone had been paying very close attention to my preferences—when the knock came.
"Come in," I called, though I remained where I was, running silk fabric between my fingers and trying to calculate how much such garments would have cost. More than Father had seen in months, certainly. Possibly more than he'd earned in years during the height of our prosperity.
What does he want from me that's worth this kind of investment?
The door opened with the quiet precision of well-maintained hinges, and I turned to find Kieran MacAllister filling the doorway like he owned not just the castle but the very air within it.
He looked different in daylight—less mysterio
