The White Slipper by BRITTANY FICHTER

Author:BRITTANY FICHTER
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BRITTANY FICHTER

Chapter

Eleven

River put down the treaty she’d been reading and rubbed her eyes. She felt inexplicably restless. Well, not inexplicably. She knew exactly why she was restless. A week had passed since the shoemaker...Elliot had come to the palace. And though she knew not to expect him for at least another week, she couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. Questions about him swirled continuously in her head like a maelstrom threatening to drown her in anxiety.

The week had not started well. The day after Elliot had appeared, she’d ventured down to the river to see if Avery had left her any gifts or messages. She doubted it after the way they’d parted last week. Neither had spoken to the other since. But still, she wondered if perhaps he’d left some token of peace.

But when she’d gotten to their rock, there was nothing new. He hadn’t even taken the gift she’d left for him, an empty turtle shell she’d literally stumbled on while walking in the palace gardens several days before. Well, if he was going to be petty, that was his choice. She scooped up the turtle shell and returned it to her reticule with a huff.

Then, when she’d returned to the palace, she’d been given a simple one-line note informing her that Avery had gone off to search for the cure. No hint of affection or apology. Just letting her know.

Well, that was fine. River had work to do anyway. For the remainder of the week, she’d thrown herself into meetings and duties. But no matter how much work she took on, the worries continued to swirl.

First, of course, was the fear. What kind of man was this Elliot? He wasn’t ancient, at least. One of River’s greatest fears since her father’s declaration was that some ancient healer would appear, and she would be forced to marry a man older than her father. Nor was he hideous. Not that she based a man’s character on his looks, but she’d been telling the truth when telling Avery that Elliot was pleasing to the eyes. He wasn’t as muscular or as tall as Avery, but as she’d pointed out, consistent meals could solve that. His brown eyes had been sharp and bright, and there was an honest openness to his face that she found herself wishing she could study more closely. His voice, while not distractingly deep, had a rich warmth to it. If sound could be like honey, his voice would embody the golden treat.

She hadn’t touched his hands, of course, but she’d seen that one of them was bandaged, and she would hazard to guess that if she had felt them, they would be rough and calloused from his work. Cutting and shaping shoes all day had to do that.

What would it feel like for those hands to touch her? To have them caress her cheek or take her hand? Or pull her close as they danced?

Her heart did a strange little stumble, and she shook her head to clear it.

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