The villagers of Farbarrow are very good at staring, I realize as we enter the market. Prior to today, I've been stared at in disbelief, confusion, aversion, and shock; now, I find myself experiencing a new version: jealousy. And it comes from a most unlikely quarter—my peers.

Nadia Trausch, who sat next to me in class, leans over to whisper something to Petra Thill; both of them fix me with narrowed eyes and deep frowns. To be honest, it hurts a little.

Back in Rollinsville, I got a taste of jealousy from the noble-born girls, but seeing the emotion on the faces of those with whom I had shared a classroom is quite different. These are people who used to ask me for help after class, who winced in sympathy as Miss Templeton berated me. Even after I left to begin my studies with Bippi, I would find the time to tutor the ones who struggled.

Klaus holds the bakery door open and signals for me to enter ahead of him. It's such a small gesture and the thrill that follows chases away any unease I feel from my peers' censure. Where's my head gone? I wonder as I step inside and am immediately enveloped by the deep, warm scent of freshly-baked bread. No matter how many times I've come by, the smell never fails to make me smile and my stomach rumble. The only competition for a comforting atmosphere in the whole village is Dunfield's Sweet Shop.

Hm. It's not on my list for today, I could stop by ...

The interior of the shop is full of fishermen's wives jostling against each other in their bid to purchase the freshest loaf possible. Having been through this many times before, I motion Klaus into a corner and stand next to a patron enjoying a scone with raspberry jam at one of the bakery's two small tables. This could be a mistake, I realize, as the aroma from his jam causes my mouth to water.

How can I be hungry when I've already had breakfast?

"Does it really matter what order the loaves come out of the oven?" Klaus wonders as one woman shouts at a shop-girl wearing a flour-coated apron. The poor girl's expression is blank as if her mind has flown elsewhere, while her body remains stiff and unresponsive. Thankfully, the fisherwife's shouting attracts the attention of the owner, who lumbers out of the back like an irritable brown bear and gently puts the girl behind him.

"Get out," Baker Bernhoeft growls, stabbing a meaty finger at the shop door.

The fisherwife immediately begins to protest, but the baker cuts her off. "I don't care, Mistress Morl; no one abuses my staff. You're no longer welcome here."

Mistress Morl puffs up like a cat preparing to square off against a dog. She's a sharp, thin woman who would fit in amongst the terns who patrol the beach. "If you would train your staff better, Baker, I wouldn't have to tell them how to do their job—"

"GO!" Baker Bernhoeft explodes, the force of his shout rattling the display case. Mistress Morl lets out a squeak, the blood draining from her face as she races towards the door. The uncharacteristic outburst from the baker momentarily stuns the rest of the fisherwives into silence. But the quiet is short-lived as they squash together to take Mistress Morl's spot at the counter.

Unable to help myself, I giggle quietly. Nothing brings me joy more than watching the high and mighty get their comeuppance. Klaus glances over at me, a small furrow developing between his brows. "All of that over a loaf of bread? I thought everyone got along in tiny villages."

My giggle turns into an indelicate snort and I smooth my skirt reflexively. "We have our problems here, too," I tell him, leaving it at that. The duke's son may be charming, but I'm not such a fool as to spill all of my secrets in one go.

Klaus notes the bite to my words and doesn't press further. He returns to watching the counter as Baker Bernhoeft deftly maneuvers the remaining fishermen's wives through their purchases. They squawk and squabble like seagulls on the pier, but they're soon on their way.

"The usual, Sina?" the baker asks with a sigh, folding his thick, bare arms on the top of the display case. The shop girl has retreated into the back, no doubt to cry into the ovens.

Leaving the safety of the corner, I approach the counter and hand over three coppers. "I'll need a loaf of rye, too." Papa has been having bowel trouble lately. It's hard not to wonder if I'm the cause.

Baker Bernhoeft nods. "One soda bread, one rye." He turns and pulls two loaves from a shelf behind him.

I take them and carefully fold the worn cloth at the bottom of my basket over them to keep them safe and hopefully warm. Once coins are exchanged, I turn towards the door.

"Where to next?" Klaus inquires as he once again holds the door open for me.

"The butcher," I reply, nodding down the street. "Then the grocer."

"The butcher and the grocer," Klaus repeats with a nod, offering me his arm once more.

Do I step a little closer this time? I think I do as I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. He carries the scent of the bakery on his person. To keep my wits, I return our conversation back to its original destination. "So, what kind of man is your father, my lord?"

Klaus pauses in the middle of the street, causing a mother and her young daughter to skirt around us. "My—father?" he asks, confusion writ across his brow. "What about my father?"

So, he's forgotten already. "You promised that you would give me the measure of your father."

"Oh. I did, didn't I?" Klaus tilts his chin up slightly, taking account of the sky before replying. "He's a good man—fair, but strict."

"In what way?"

The viscount chuckles wryly. "My grandfather died young and never prepared my father to rule. He struggled for years to overcome that disadvantage and vowed that his heir would not suffer the same fate. From my earliest memory, I was drilled in law, land management, accounting, and history. My days were stuffed full of so many lessons, I was barely allowed to go outside to play. I used to resent my little brother's freedom ..." He trails off, shakes his head, and looks down at me. In his eyes, I see not a man, but a little boy who was denied a proper childhood.

"You know," Klaus says softly, "I have never spoken of this outside of the family."

His gaze bores into mine with an intensity I have never experienced. I find myself sinking into the depths of his eyes like a wave pulling me down.

A child's shout breaks whatever spell surrounds us and I clear my throat, buying some time to gather my wayward thoughts.

"I am honored and you have my word that I will not breach your confidence," I tell him sincerely, placing my free hand over my heart. It beats quickly and I wonder if the rise and fall of my chest is evident beneath my dress.

"No doubt a witch can keep secrets," he replies, lips twitching in amusement.

I laugh at that. It is true, of course. "Indeed."

We continue on to the butcher, where I purchase a cut of mutton, then on to the grocer, where I pick up small potatoes, carrots, and an onion. I'll set the stew to cook while I work on the charms tonight. Klaus and I make small talk, mostly discussing the differences between Farbarrow's and Rollinsville's markets. I could press him for more information, but his description of a strict, but well-meaning father mollifies me somewhat.

"Thank you for accompanying me, my lord," I tell Klaus as I pack the potatoes, carrots, and onion into my full basket.

"Klaus," he corrects with a smile.

I chuckle softly. "Klaus," I amend.

"You're welcome, Sina," he replies with a twinkle in his eye. "But a gentleman always escorts a lady to her door."

We walk in amiable silence down to the beach and find Papa, as usual, in his workshop.

Papa's face pales as he recognizes the duke's son. "Thank you for bringing my daughter home, my lord," he says stiffly, fingers knotting the brim of his work cap.

Klaus smiles that easy smile of his and I cannot help but turn admiringly towards him. "The honor is mine, Master Fisher," he tells Papa. "Farbarrow is lucky to have a sea witch such as Sina. She is quite remarkable."

I'm blushing. I know it.

Papa doesn't seem so taken by the viscount's words. He keeps a neutral expression as he replies, "I am very proud of her."

Klaus nods. He glances over his shoulder towards the village, then back to me. "Might I call upon you another day, Sina?"

My blush is banished as my eyes widen in surprise. "Call on me?" I repeat like deaf Widow Jenks. Next to me, a strangled sound bubbles up from Papa's throat.

"Yes," Klaus chuckles as if I've told the world's most wonderful joke. "May I?"

I glance at Papa and see the fear in his eyes. But I've always been careful and level-headed, so I reply, "Of course."

The viscount's face lights up like a solstice bonfire. "Until then," he says, then turns to Papa and bows. "Master Fisher."

"Viscount Torvold," Papa whispers through thin lips.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Klaus leaves us by Papa's shop and walks back up the bank to collect his horse from the village. As soon as he's out of sight, Papa grabs me by the upper arm and drags me into his shop. The food in my basket rocks back and forth, threatening to fall out.

"Hey!" I exclaim, pulling my arm free.

"What are you doing, Sina?" Papa demands, throwing his hat on a workbench. Sawdust and strands of rope float into the air. "I thought you knew better!"

I look up from examining my arm; Papa has a firm grip. "Know better? What do you mean?"

Papa begins to pace the small interior of the workshop. "That boy will exploit you for his father's gain, Sina."

Papa has always been fearful of what my abilities will bring, owing to what happened to my mother, but in this instance, I feel that he is wrong. "Have I not always been careful, Papa?"

He stops in his pacing and turns to me. "Sina—"

But I interrupt him, saying, "Do you not trust my judgment, Papa?"

"Yes, but—" With a heavy sigh, my father drops to a stool and slowly shakes his head. "I trust your judgment, Sina. It is better than mine—but I worry. I worry so much ..."

My stubborn exterior cracks seeing Papa so defeated and worn. I go over to him and kneel at his feet, setting the basket down and taking his hand in mine. "I will be careful, Papa, I promise," I tell him, squeezing his fingers.

Papa shakes his head again and looks off into the distance. I watch his face, trying to discern his thoughts. Finally, Papa meets my eye. "Your mother would be happy to finally see you being courted ..."

I laugh softly, a tear in my eye. My father's own eyes shine with unshed tears. "We'll see where this goes," I say.

Papa says nothing but nods. I get to my feet and gather the basket. I have food to prepare and charms to craft.