Eleanor leaned over a bright red rose, her fingers tucking her hair back behind her ears. She moved closer, her finger dropping to slowly pluck off the flower.

“Something told me I would find you here.”

She turned sharply, and Conaan was standing behind her, a small smile on his lips. It was quiet, as opposed to the ruckus in the main palace in preparations for the festival.

“I wanted to escape for a bit.”

He nodded. “Did I just foil your escape plan?”

“Mostly,” she said laughing. “I was planning to escape with you.”

Conaan smiled again, then gently helped her pluck off the flower, his fingers skillfully averting...