Free Throne of Llewyllan (Book 2) by Ben Cassidy

retire myself. These parties can get so dreadfully boring.” She took a step closer. “Are you staying here in the palace?”
    Kendril hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”
    She took a step closer, her bodice swelling as she breathed. “I can tell things about people, Kendril. You’re…different than other men.” She moved a hand forward, inches away from the Ghostwalker’s chest. “You’re full of so much sadness, yet so much strength at the same time.” Her eyes caught his, glowing in the dim light of the hall. “I think you and I are very much alike. We’re both very alone.”
    Kendril began to feel dizzy, as if the hallway were tilting forward. He clutched at the wall, and shook his head. The amulet around the woman’s neck seemed to throb with a pale light, like a recurring heartbeat.
    “Perhaps we can help each other,” she said. Her hand moved slowly forward.
    Kendril took a step back, as if waking from a dream. “It’s late, Lady Bronwyn,” he said. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, as if he were listening to someone else speaking.
    She smiled, and her beauty turned Kendril’s stomach to water. Her hand touched lightly against his chest, and he felt the warmth of it through his shirt.
    “Why do you continue to punish yourself?” she whispered. Her fingers moved gently upwards, spreading like small flickers of heat across his skin. “Let me help you,” she said again, her voice soft and gentle. She leaned towards him.
    Kendril’s eyes began to close. His head spun. He felt his body beginning to float, as if every limb was weightless.
    Bronwyn moved in closer, her lips inches away from his. Her hand moved up from his chest, then tenderly caressed the side of his face.
    The touch seemed to snatch Kendril out of the trance. His eyes snapped open and he stepped back, then swatted the woman’s hand away. He took a deep breath. The air in the hall seeming heavy and close.
    “Good evening, Lady Bronwyn,” he said coldly. He brushed by her, walking unevenly down the hall.
    The dark-haired beauty followed him with her eyes, rubbing her hand gently where he had slapped it. A smile was on her face.
    The moment Kendril re-emerged into the central hall of the palace, he was able to breathe again, the air suddenly fresher. The dinner guests had all left or gone to bed, and white-uniformed guards stood at the palace doors and the bottom of the staircase. The light was dimmer now, lit only by a few lanterns placed in the hall.
    His hands were trembling slightly, and he still felt light-headed. He turned, and looked back down the side hall. Bronwyn was no longer there. Kendril furrowed his brow as the cobwebs cleared from his mind.
    “Mr. Kendril?” came a voice from behind him.
    The Ghostwalker turned to see the same liveried servant from before, nervously clasping his hands. “Yes?”
    “About your room—” the man began.
    “I was just headed up there,” Kendril said. “What about it?”
    “I’m afraid there’s been a slight miscalculation,” the man said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I forgot about your friend the diplomat, and I’m afraid that we’re one room short.”
    Kendril stared at him. “One room short?” he repeated.
    “Yes, but just the guest bedrooms,” the man quickly replied. “We have an extra room in the servants’ quarters, but I’m afraid it’s not quite as luxurious as the upstairs room. Still, there’s a good firm straw mattress, and you should have the room all to yourself.”
    Kendril paused for a long moment. “A straw mattress?”
    “I’m so sorry, sir. Tomorrow night we’ll definitely get you a better room. I hope you understand.”
    Kendril nodded, and forced a smile on his face. “Straw sounds fine. Lead the way.”
     
    It was late when Lord Bathsby finally snuffed out the candle in his study, then shoved his papers in the drawer of the desk and headed upstairs. He nodded politely to the night guards, reaching a room in a side corner of