Songbird's Cage

Chapter 7

Lark's heart was pounding. Muttering a harsh word to herself, she straightened her gown. The dress was deep red, much like what she'd worn after her wedding, with the same fitted bodice and plunging neckline. Gathering her courage and pushing down her nerves, she raised her hand to knock on Silas's door. He'd slipped a note into her quarters telling her to meet him

Lark rapped her knuckles against the wood. The door opened almost immediately, with the dark-haired duke on the other side. His mouth was open to speak, but he stopped dead, staring down at her. A slow smile spread across his face, and she could see that he held no shame in his open attraction.

"Red," he remarked. "The color of war."

"Is that what this is?" she asked. "Are we at war?"

He grinned, raising a brow.

"If this is war," he replied. "Then I want to live and die for it."

"Duke Silas."

"Princess Lark."

Her eyes went to the ground.

"I hate that title," she said.

"Just Lark, then," he corrected, bowing his head. She crossed her arms, which made his eyes flick to the neckline of her gown for a moment.

"Are you going to stand there staring at me, or let me in?" she laughed, raising a brow. "Where are your manners, Duke?"

To her surprise, he reddened.

"If Aspen could see me now..." he trailed off. "I'd be dead before sundown."

Then he opened the door farther, stepping back. His quarters were large and warm, with the windows thrown open. A sword and the remains of a meal were on a table in the corner, and his bed was in disarray.

"Excuse the mess," he said. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"What of the servants?"

He shrugged. "I've always preferred to do my work myself. The trait of a bastard I suppose, having to make your own way in the world."

She stopped, confused. Never in any of her history books or teachings had she ever heard anything about the queen's firstborn being illegitimate. Silas saw the confusion on her face, and smiled bitterly.

"A secret that not many know," he explained. "My mother quickly married my father to hide the truth. I trust you'll keep it hidden?"

"Of course."

Lark lowered herself onto the edge of the window seat, while Silas leaned against the wall, staring out at the garden courtyard below.

"Excuse my asking," she said. "But you said you haven't been sleeping?"

Another shrug, and her heart skipped a beat as he absently ran his fingers through his thick, black hair.

"A few hours at most," he sighed. "It hasn't been easy - my mind has been on Aspen."

Lark stared down at her palms, where she sometimes still felt as if there was blood from the man she had killed.

"You suspected him," she remembered. "You thought that he was behind the attempts on my life."

Silas looked as though he wanted to pace, but restrained himself to crossing his arms.

"It wouldn't be beneath him," he said. "And it would be no great surprise to me if it were the case. But his shock at Lady Nava seemed genuine."

Lark recalled the previous night, how Aspen had broken down, and slept by her side.

"It's not him," she murmured. Silas's brow furrowed.