Flinch Roman

Snapped off guard, I looked up. A mistake that Josep had prepared me never to make. I should have reached for my blade, but rather, I stood there as the hand around my waist fastened, and his hand sat at my hip.

"But it's a pleasant surprise, "he continued, sliding his arm away.

Snapping out of my trance, I turned to face him, the hood of the robe remaining in place as my hand went for the dagger. I looked up…and then up some more.

Oh, my gods.

I froze, utter shock bubbling through me, shorting out all common sense when I saw his face in the soft glint of the candlelight.

I knew who he was, even though I had never talked with him. Flinch Norman.

Everyone in Castle Walter knew when the Rise Guard came from Parsodonia, the capital, a few months ago. I had been no different.

I wished to lie to myself and say that it was due to his remarkable stature, placing him almost a foot taller than me.

Or it was because he walked with the exact inherent, predatory grace and fluidity that pertained to the large, grey cave cats that commonly prowled the Wastelands but that I had beheld onetime in the Queen's palace as a child.

The fearsome, wild animal had been confined, and the way it continuously prowled back and forth in the too-small cage had equally excited and terrified me.

I had noticed Flinch pacing in the same manner on more than one occasion as if he too was caged.

It could have been the feeling of authority that seemed to ooze from his pores even though he couldn't be much older than I was—maybe the very age as my brother or a year or two older. Or possibly it was his skill with the sword.

One morning while I stood beside the Duchess on one of the several balconies at Castle Walter, dominating the training yard under, she informed me Flinch had come from the capital with brilliant proposals and was well on his path to becoming one of the youngest Royal Guards. Her stare had been fixed on Flinch's sweat-slick arms.

So had mine.

Since his coming, I had found myself hidden in the shadowy alcoves more than a few times, watching him train with the other guards.

Other than the weekly City Council matches held in the Great Hall, it was the only period I saw him.

My interest could just be because Flinch was…well, he was beautiful.

It wasn't frequently that, that could be said about a male, but I could think of no better term to define him.

He had dark, thick hair that twisted at the nape of his neck and often dropped forward, brushing equally dark brows.

The planes and arches of his face made me crave some talent with a brush or a pen. His cheekbones were elevated and wide, nose surprisingly upright for a guard.

Many of them had undergone at least one broken nose. His square jaw was firm, and his mouth well shaped.

The rare times I had caught him smiling, the right side of his lip angled up, and a deep dimple emerged. If he had a similar one on his left cheek, I didn't know. But his eyes were by far his highest alluring feature.

They reminded me of cool honey, a stunning colour I'd never seen before, and he had this way of looking at you that left you feeling stripped bare.

I realized this because I felt his stare during the Councils held in the Great Hall, even though he had never caught a glimpse of my face or even my eyes before.

I was convinced his regard was because I was the first Maiden in centuries. People constantly stared when I was in public, whether they were guards, Lords and Ladies in Wait or commoners.

His stare could again just be a product of my fantasy, steered by my tiny, hidden desire that he was as curious about me as I was of him.

Possibly it was all those explanations why he caught my interest, but there was another one that I was a little bashful to even admit.

I had deliberately reached out with my senses when I saw him. I understood it was wrong to do it when there was no valid reason. Zero to justify the invasion.

And I had no excuse other than wondering what constantly made him stride like a caged cave cat.

Flinch was always in pain.

Not the physical sort. It was thicker than that, feeling like fragments of sharp ice against my skin. It was coarse and it felt never-ending.

But the anguish that appeared to follow him like a shadow never dominated him. If I hadn't prodded, I never would have sensed it.

Somehow, he kept that kind of suffering in check, and I knew of no one else who could accomplish that.

Not even the Ascended.

Solely because I never felt anything from them, although I knew they felt physical pain.

The fact that I never had to worry about picking up residual pain from them should make me seek out their presence, but rather, it gave me the creeps.

"I wasn't expecting you tonight," Flinch uttered.

He was lending me that half smile of his now, that very one that revealed no teeth, made the dimple in his left cheek show, but never quite reached his eyes.

"It is just been a few days, sweetling."

Sweetling, you said?

I opened my mouth and then clasped it shut as realization rose. I blinked. He believed I was someone else! Somebody he had encountered here before.

I eyed down at my cloak—the borrowed robe. It was somewhat uncommon, a pale blue with an edging of white fur.

Ivy.

Did he believe I was Ivy?

She and I were about the exact height, a little under average, and the cloak hid the shape of my body, which was not nearly as slim as hers.

No matter how athletic I was, I could not attain the willowy frame of Duchess Walter or some of the other Ladies.

Inexplicably, there was a tiny part of me, the same speck that was concealed, that was…disappointed, and maybe even a little envious of the pretty maid.

My gaze swept over Flinch. He wore the black tunic and breeches that all guards wore under their shields. Had he come directly here after his shift? I gave the room a fast once-over. There was a small table beside the couch, where two glasses sat.

Flinch hadn't been unaccompanied in here before I entered. Could he have been with another? Behind Flinch, the bed was made and didn't seem as if anyone had…slept in it.

What should I do? Turn and run? That would be strange. He would be sure to ask Ivy about it, but as long as I returned the cloak and mask without her awareness, I would be in the clear.

Except Josep was most probable still downstairs, and the woman was, too— My gods, she had to be a Seer. Instinct informed me she had known this room was occupied.

She had brought me here on purpose. Had she known that Flinch was here and liable to mistake me for Ivy?

It appeared too fictitious to believe.

"Did Pence inform you I was here?" he raised a question.

My breath caught as my heart began pounding like a hammer against my ribs. I speculated Pence was a guard on the Rise, one around Flinch's age. A blond, if I recalled correctly, but I hadn't seen him downstairs. I shook my head.

"Het! Have you been looking up for me, then? Following me?" he asked, ticking softly under his breath.

"We will have to discuss that, won't we?"

There was an unusual threat to his voice, one that gave me the impression that he was not all that thrilled by the idea of Ivy following him.

"But not tonight, it seems. You're strangely silent," he observed.

From what I noticed of Ivy, she was hardly ever demure.

But the instant I spoke, he would know I wasn't the maid, and I…I wasn't prepared for him to find out that. I wasn't confident about what I was ready for.

My hand was no longer on the dagger, and I didn't realize what that meant. All I knew was that my heart was nonetheless speeding.

"We don't have to talk." He reached for the edge of his tunic, and before I could seize another breath, he yanked it over his head, flinging it aside.