Living next to the sea, I've long grown nose-blind to the salt and brine that drifts off the water. But when I ground myself and meditate, suddenly my senses are open and I experience everything anew like someone from inland. I feel it all: every grain of sand, every lap of the waves against the beach, the push and pull of the moon as it hangs high in the sky, ready to emerge at night. There is more to this world than we humans will ever know or understand. It is both frightening and thrilling at the same time.

The scrape of boots across the sand breaks my meditative state and I open my eyes. To my surprise, Klaus stands off to the side, hands clasped respectively behind his back. I haven't seen him or received any letters in several days, so I simply assumed he forgot about me as nobles tend to do.

"Am I disturbing you?"

He is wearing black trousers and a loose white shirt, but somehow the simplicity of his attire makes him appear rather dashing. The same cannot be said of my plain brown dress, stained and worn by the sea. A flush blooms on my cheeks and my heart flutters.

"No," I reply, brushing loose strands of black hair from my face. I often tell myself that I should wear a kerchief like all the other fisherwives to keep the sea salt from crusting up my hair, but I am perhaps a little too vain for that.

I lick my forefinger and thumb and reach over to snuff out the small, fat candle wedged into the sand in front of me. The tiny flame hisses as it is extinguished, a small corkscrew of smoke wafting from the wick. Picking it up, I rise and brush sand from my skirts. "What brings you here? Does your father require my services?" I asked with a playful twist of my lips.

My question takes Klaus off guard. I think I am beginning to enjoy surprising the viscount with my words.

"Er—no." He recovers quickly and straightens. "Are you busy?"

"That depends, my lord." I carefully use my bare foot to rub out the large circle and symbols I'd drawn earlier in the sand. "What are you asking of me?"

"I was wondering if you would like to join me for lunch—in Rollinsville."

I blink. "I don't think I could afford any of the restaurants there, my lord." If I have to buy anything to eat in the city, I usually get it from one of the stalls in the market. Restaurants are for those with money to spend.

He looks surprised for a moment, then chuckles. "A gentleman never makes a lady pay, Sina."

"I am not a lady, Klaus," I remind him gently. He might dismiss the class differences between us, but I cannot.

"No?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "Well, I certainly think you are." He closes the distance between us and takes my hand.

I look up at him, surprised, and my breath catches in my chest. No man has ever taken such liberties with me before.

I like it.

I love it.

"Go put on your best dress, Sina Fisher. I have a carriage waiting."

My lips part, but no words come out. Klaus grins, pleased to have rendered me speechless. The flush that bloomed on my cheeks spreads down my neck, across my chest, and fills my whole body. I cannot say no. "Yes," I breathe, staring into his eyes, mesmerized by what I see there.

His grin widens and he releases my hand.

I stare at my own fingers, bereft of his touch. When I look up, Klaus gestures towards the cottage, still smiling. My addled thoughts clear and I race home. Darting into my room, I quickly strip off my dress and toss it into a corner. I wash quickly, but thoroughly, dragging a wet comb through my sea-tangled locks. I dab a bit of rose water behind my ears and throw on what I would consider my "best dress"—sea green with silvery waves embroidered on the hem and cuffs. I'm rather proud of the dress, as it is the first purchase I made with the money earned from the Lentzes.

After I plait my hair and stuff my feet into a respectable pair of boots, I grab my satchel and cram what funds remain into it before rushing back outside. Papa is standing outside of his workshop, chatting with Klaus. His expression is neutral, but I can tell by the way he clenches his hat in his left hand that he is anxious.

I come to a halt next to Papa and fold my hands in front of me. "Papa," I greet softly.

My father looks at me, his brow creasing slightly. But then, the furrow smoothes out and he smiles. "Enjoy your lunch, my dear," he tells me, laying a hand on my shoulder. Turning to Klaus, he says, "Don't keep her out too late, my lord."

The words are respectful, but the paternal warning is still plain. Klaus inclines his head. "I wouldn't dare, Master Fisher."

Papa pats me on the shoulder before retreating into his shop. I watch him go, swallowed up by the clutter of his trade, then turn to Klaus. "I am ready."

"Good." Klaus smiles and offers me his arm.

I would much rather hold his hand, but I slip my fingers into the crook of his arm.

"You look lovely," he says. He has to lean down to whisper the words in my ear, his breath tickling my skin. I give an involuntary shiver, which makes Klaus chuckle.

"Do you enjoy doing that?" I demand, somewhat exasperated by my more feminine responses.

"As much as you enjoy throwing me off," he replies with a knowing arch of one eyebrow.

I loose a little laugh. "You have a point, my lord," I concede with a grin. That he was able to figure it out so quickly only improves his standing in my mind.

We walk up the slope to find a black, one-horse chaise waiting for us. A coppery gelding in a well-oiled harness is held in place by a local boy.

Klaus hands the boy a silver piece and thanks him for his time. The boy stares at the coin, which is more money than he has possibly seen in his short life, stammers a "thank you", and races off.

"My lady?" Klaus asks, indicating the chaise.

I'm used to inelegant work carts, not sleek chaises. My boots are fairly clean, but I worry about scraping my heels against the polished frame. But Klaus doesn't warn me against scuffing the wood, so I use his arm to assist in climbing aboard and settle against the plush red seat. Klaus follows and takes up the reins.

"Ready?"

I nod. Klaus clucks to the gelding, flicks the reins, and the chaise moves forward.

------------

It is infinitely easier to maneuver through the streets of Rollinsville in a chaise than a farm wagon, I realize. Whereas the wagons are restricted to the market paths, Klaus's chaise is allowed anywhere. I stare openly as the viscount guides the chaise down streets I have never seen before, past stores and grand townhouses where the elite live. On these streets, Rollinsville and Farbarrow may have well been in different kingdoms. Brick and tiled roofs replace weathered wood and thatch, and I am surprised to see that most of the townhouses have large swathes of grass in the front that bears no crops. Klaus tells me that the only thing that grows on these lawns is flowers and ornamental trees.

My stare of curiosity turns into a frown of contemplation. One day, I should like to buy Papa a house that is not held up by mortar made from sea clay, where the roof can be blown away by a strong ocean breeze. One with a proper chimney and not a small pot stove with a dubious pipe that extends through the roof.

Yes, I want to serve my village, but I also want to provide for my father.

Klaus steers the chaise into a large cobbled courtyard filled with other carriages, the horses turned loose in nearby pens. The gelding's steel-shod hooves clip-clop over the cobblestone, announcing our arrival to a young boy in brown trousers, a blue jacket, and a blue cap. He jumps out from a small gatehouse and stands by the gelding's head when Klaus eases the chestnut to a stop.

"Good afternoon, my lord and lady," the boy says. "A silver upfront and then final payment when you depart." He points to a sign attached to the gatehouse, listing the stable's rates.

A single hour is more than most Farbarrow villagers make in a month. I glance down at my satchel and realize that I may not have enough to pay for several mouthfuls of a meal if that's the case. Perhaps, I try to reason as my stomach begins to knot with anxiety, I can offer to make charms in exchange.

"Sina?"

I jolt out of my thoughts and realize that Klaus has stepped out of the chaise. He holds his hand out towards me, head tilted slightly.

"I can't afford this," I tell him.

Klaus blinks, confusion filling his face. "I ... don't understand?"

"I can't afford to pay for the hostler and dinner," I explain, still seated in the chaise. "I'm sorry if I've wasted your time—"

A spark of understanding lights up his eyes. "You haven't wasted my time," Klaus replies, a soft smile on his lips. "I told you that a gentleman never makes a lady pay, Sina."

My eyes flicker to the young lad standing by the gelding's head, watching our exchange with undisguised curiosity. I might not be a lady, but neither am I uncouth enough to have an argument in front of strangers. Swallowing my considerable pride, I force a nod and allow Klaus to hand me down from the chaise.

He's still smiling as he tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and hands the lad the silver. "Thank you, my lord," the boy says as he pockets the piece and takes the gelding away.

Klaus as he leads me out of the stable yard and onto the sidewalk. Prettily-dressed ladies with their husbands or suitors in tow stare at me as we make our way up the street. They pick me apart with their eyes, subtle twists of their mouths making determinations about my character, value, and worth.

But I don't know them and they certainly do not know me. I straighten my spine and lift my head, eyes fixed on a point in front of us.

"They're staring because they're jealous of you," Klaus murmurs in my ear, breath tickling my skin.

I stiffen.

Maybe those words and gestures would have worked on another woman, but not me. Not now. "I don't want anyone to be jealous of me," I tell him, stopping on the sidewalk. "Or scared or threatened. I just want them to respect me."

Klaus's lips part, but he appears to swallow whatever he was going to say. He looks off into the distance, tapping his chin with his free hand. Finally, he says, "I think you and I are more alike than you realize, Sina."

"In what way?" I ask, curious. Our circumstances could not be more different.

He gestures down the street. "Such conversations are best held in private, over lunch."

I nod and we continue walking. My renitence holds until we approach a very familiar shop: Brandebourg's Bookshop.

"Is there a purchase you wish to make before eating?" I ask as Klaus holds the door open.

"You could say that," he replies, ushering me inside.

My lips purse as I wonder what he could possibly want to buy when I realize that no one is in the store. Then I notice the roses.

And the table set for two, placed at the front of the stacks.

And the liveried servant standing next to the table, holding a bottle of wine.

"What—?" I turn to Klaus, speechless. This couldn't be for me. Why would it be? I'm a poor woman and sea witch; he is the duke's son.

"I hope you're hungry," Klaus says, grinning, as he leads me to the table.

I'm too astounded to reply, but my feet guide me to my seat. As I sit on the plush cushion, I realize that perhaps I've been too harsh, too guarded. Maybe it is time to open up to someone other than my father.

I think Klaus might be that person.