Chapter 7

October Windsor was irritated, restless, and one breath away from throwing a velvet pillow at the next portrait her sister sent over. Another suitor—another disappointment. After several days of polite refusals and increasingly outlandish reasons to reject them (“He had a mole shaped like a banana” was her last excuse), she’d had enough.

“I need fresh air,” she declared, flinging open the windows of her chamber with a dramatic flair worthy of a scandalous opera.

Gloria, her ever-loyal maid, blinked in mild panic. “Madam, it would be wiser to take the carriage.”

“I’ve been locked indoors for days. I need to breathe something other than rose oil and nobles’ desperation.” October sighed, tying a scarf around her head and pulling on a plain skirt and linen blouse.

“But must you dress like a commoner?” Gloria asked, casting a wary glance at her mistress's clothing. “Someone might recognize you.”

“Exactly why I’m dressing like this. No one notices commoners. I don’t want attention. I want peace.”

And so, with the swiftness of fugitives, the two of them slipped out the side entrance and made their way to the heart of the southern capital.

The market square was a riot of sound and color—merchants shouting their wares, children darting between stalls, the scent of roasted almonds and fresh bread curling in the air like a lover’s promise. October breathed it all in, the sweet ache of freedom settling in her chest like a long-lost friend.

She tugged Gloria toward a sweets stall. “Come on. You owe me after that last suitor. The one who recited romantic poetry while sweating like a hog in a bathhouse.”

Gloria didn’t argue—she knew better by now. October’s sweet tooth was legendary, second only to her disdain for highborn nonsense. They sampled candied violets, sugar-dusted buns, and a suspiciously pink jelly tart that made Gloria gag but made October grin like a thief with a secret.

By late afternoon, their wanderings carried them away from the bustle of the market to the quieter districts of the city. Cobblestone streets curved between ivy-draped homes, lanterns flickering gently to life as dusk painted the sky in watercolor shades of orange and lilac.

They strolled past the outer palace walls, where the Royal Palace loomed in all its gilded grandeur—ivory towers catching the last of the sun like blades of light. October slowed, gazing up.

“Okay,” she murmured, “that’s definitely Buckingham Palace on fantasy steroids. Still not as cozy as the Windsor mansion, though.”

She was so caught in her quiet musings that she didn’t notice the man standing still a few paces ahead.

Thwack.

“Oof!” October stumbled backward, her hands flying to her nose. “What in the—did I just run into a brick wall?”

Gloria gasped softly. “Milady—!”

October blinked against the sting in her nose and looked up—and the breath in her lungs vanished.

The man she’d collided with turned to face her slowly. He was tall—easily over six feet—with a frame that filled his long black coat like it had been tailored for a knight. His jawline looked like it had been chiseled from marble, high cheekbones and a faint scar near the edge of his lip lending him a permanent air of brooding nobility. Thick dark hair fell just slightly over his brow, framing a face carved with elegance and danger.

But it was his eyes that struck her the most—stormy grey, flecked with shadow and moonlight, calm and commanding all at once.

He looked like a man drawn by someone who had studied heartbreak.

“I think… my nose is broken,” October muttered, dazed.

The stranger’s brow creased. His voice, when it came, was low and smooth. “Are you all right, young miss?”

Young miss.

His voice could melt bone.

October opened her mouth to say something clever. Maybe sarcastic. Or witty. Anything but the first ridiculous thing that shot out of her brain.

But her mind, foolish and frantic, had already betrayed her.

She stared at him, stunned by his sheer presence, and blurted the first thing that came to her lips.

“Marry me.”

Silence.

A soft breeze lifted the edges of her scarf.

Gloria made a sound that might have been a strangled scream.

The man tilted his head. “What?”

October’s heart plummeted to her feet. “I mean—I—wait—uh—”

She waved her hands as though she could physically swat the words out of the air. “I didn’t mean to say that. Well—I did, but not like that. Not now. Not randomly. I think you broke my brain.”

His lips twitched.

She flushed crimson. “Look, I’m not insane, I swear. I just… I’ve been searching for a husband. It’s complicated. Personal reasons. Desperation, maybe. And you look like someone who could help with that. I mean, not because you’re tall and beautiful and look like you come from a tragic romance novel—though that is a factor—but because you feel like someone who could be dangerous in a useful way. I—gods, I’ll stop talking now.”

The stranger was silent for a moment, expression unreadable.

Then, to her growing horror—and undeniable curiosity—he smiled.

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t mocking. It was warm. And amused.

“Most women don’t propose to strangers in the middle of the road,” he said gently.

“Well,” October sniffed, straightening with as much pride as she could muster, “I’m not most women.”

“That much is clear.”

His eyes flicked over her again—not in a crude way, but with interest, as though trying to place her. “You’re not from the town, are you?”

“No,” she admitted. “Just visiting.”

“Ah.” He offered a gloved hand. “Baldwin.”

She hesitated for a heartbeat before slipping her hand into his. His grip was warm and firm, his fingers calloused in a way that spoke of sword hilts, not quills.

“October,” she replied. Not her full name. Not yet.

His eyes flickered at the sound of it. “Like the month?”

“Like the storm.”

That earned her a chuckle—a low, rich sound that wrapped around her like velvet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

October stared after him, pulse skittering wildly.

“Madam,” Gloria finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper, “that man… that man seems dangerous.”

October turned to her, eyes wide. “WHAT?!”

Gloria swallowed. “The way he held himself. The way he looked at you. There’s something off. Powerful. He’s not some traveling merchant, milady. I think he might be—”

“A gift from the gods?” October whispered, half-delirious.

“A warning from the gods,” Gloria hissed. “We need to go back. Now.”

October looked again in the direction he’d disappeared, heart racing and lips still tingling from his smile.

“I think,” she said softly, “I just met my way out.”