Lily Winterbrook was a vision, her white-blonde hair braided with ribbons that matched the colors of her flowers. Her cheeks were rosy, not just from the cold, but from the constant smile she wore as she charmed customer after customer.

  She had this way of making everyone feel special, like they were the only person in the world. I watched as she haggled with a burly man over the price of a bouquet, her wit sharp and quick, leaving him ughing and walking away with a bunch of flowers he probably didn’t even need.

  I found myself utterly captivated, not just because of my mission, but because she was genuinely breathtaking. Her eyes sparkled when she talked about her flowers, and there was this subtle frown when she handled a wilted lily, her fingers gentle as if she could will it back to life. That frown... potential leverage. I filed that away mentally, a note to explore ter.

  I shifted my weight, the cold seeping through my boots despite my heavy cloak. My hands, even in my gloves, were starting to feel numb. Nerves, I told myself. Just nerves. But it was more than that. It was the cold, the crowd, the… her.

  Thoughts of Maya, my ex, flickered through my mind – a stark contrast. Where Lily radiated genuine warmth, Maya had been all calcuted manipution, a web of looks and lies. Lily? She didn’t need any of that. She just was. Another point in Lily’s favor. Noted.

  A pang of guilt, sharp and unwelcome, pricked at me. My mission: persuade, gather, seduce. I pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the task. Her likes, dislikes, vulnerabilities – I needed to know them all. Every detail, a potential weapon, or a potential weakness. “Know your target,” Ashara’s voice echoed, cold and demanding, in my memory.

  I edged closer, trying to listen without being obvious. She was talking to another vendor about a difficult order from Ravencrest, something about Frostveil Bloom for a masquerade ball. Her voice was tinged with worry, and I could tell this was important to her.

  Ravencrest order. Masquerade ball. Frostveil Bloom. High stakes, high society. Filed.

  Then, with another customer, she mentioned her father, his knowledge of flower preservation. She spoke of him with reverence, a softness in her voice that made me feel like I was intruding on something private. And from the way she spoke of him, in the past tense, with that wistful tone... her father was likely dead. Another vulnerability, perhaps, but one to tread carefully around.

  My heart hammered, a trapped bird against my ribs. I took a deep breath, trying to appear casual, and started towards her. Palms sweating despite the cold. Perfect timing. I bumped into her, a calcuted “accident” that sent her basket of delicate snowdrops and frost-kissed anemones wobbling precariously.

  “Oh, damn it, I’m so sorry!” I said, catching the basket before it fell. My heart was racing, but I forced a charming smile. “These are beautiful. You have a real talent.” My voice sounded a little too high-pitched, even to my own ears. Damn nerves.

  She looked up at me, her eyes narrowing slightly, but then she smiled, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. She was even more stunning up close. Gods, I was in trouble. “Thank you. I was so careless, I didn’t see you there.”

  I chuckled, trying to sound casual. “Winter lilies, right? My mom loves them. She’s always saying they’re the only thing that makes the cold worth it.” Smooth, Sam, smooth. At least, I hoped it was smooth.

  Her smile widened, and I knew I had her attention. But as I looked into her eyes, I felt that guilt again, sharper this time. I didn’t know how much longer I could keep up this act. This was supposed to be easy. A mission. But her eyes…

  But for now, I pushed on, determined to see this through. Even if a part of me already wished I hadn’t started.

  The market had thinned considerably since our earlier encounter. The bustling energy had faded, repced by the weary quiet of vendors packing up, their breath misting in the sharply colder air. I’d spent the intervening hours circling like a hawk – or, more accurately, a very nervous pigeon – trying to look busy while keeping Lily’s stall in sight.

  I’d pretended to examine wool scarves, sniffed at questionable sausages, and even feigned interest in a chipped teapot, all the while battling the growing certainty that I was going to botch this whole thing. Ashara’s voice echoed in my head: “Subtlety, Samuel! Don’t be a blundering oaf!” Easier said than done.

  Now, though, time was running out. The st of the daylight was fading, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and icy blue. Lily was dismantling her stall, her movements efficient, honed by years of practice, but I could see the subtle slump of her shoulders, the slight frown that creased her brow.

  She was struggling with something. The wilted lilies? The Ravencrest order? Or something else entirely? Time to find out. She muttered under her breath as she carefully wrapped the st of her flowers, her breath a white cloud in the frigid air.

  I hesitated for a moment, my stomach a knot of nerves and cold. Just walk up to her, Sam. It’s not that hard. Just be… charming. Be… not you. Then, taking a deep breath and forcing a casual smile, I stepped forward, my boots crunching on the frosty cobblestones. “Hey,” I said, trying to sound confident, but probably just sounding like a strangled cat. “Need a hand?”

  She looked up, her cheeks flushed a deeper red now, from the cold and exertion, and a faint, surprised smile touched her lips. “Oh, you again. I think I’ve got it, but thank you.” Damn it. Polite refusal. Not a good sign.

  “Nonsense,” I said, forcing a heartiness I didn’t feel, and grabbing a crate before she could protest. “It’s freezing out here. Let me help. Besides, I don’t think those flowers should be out in this cold any longer than necessary.” And maybe, just maybe, I can salvage this.

  She ughed, a soft, melodic sound that did surprisingly warm things to my insides, and handed me another crate. “You’re right. They’re delicate. Especially these frost-kissed anemones. They don’t take kindly to this weather.”

  I nodded, trying to sound knowledgeable. “Winter flowers are tricky, huh?” Idiot, Sam. Of course they’re tricky. You know nothing about flowers.

  “Especially when you’re trying to get them to stay fresh, long term,” she said, with a sigh. “It seems winter has truly come down early this year, making keeping the flowers fresh extra complicated.” There it was. The opening. The supply problem. Now, to py it cool…

  I filed that away, along with the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her flowers. She was passionate, and it was infectious. And distracting. Gods, she was distracting. By the time we finished packing up, I was shivering, both from the cold and the lingering effects of her smile, but I didn’t want the moment to end. This was my chance. Don’t screw it up, Sam.

  “Listen,” I said, trying to sound suave, but probably just sounding desperate. “You’ve been on your feet all day. How about a drink? There’s this pce not far from here, The Crooked Nail. It’s got a fire, and decent wine, and it’s not as cold as a tomb.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “I could use a warm fire. And maybe some advice. I’m not exactly a expert on preserving frost-damaged lilies.”

  I grinned, feeling a surge of triumph that was quickly followed by another wave of nerves. This was actually working? Don’t jinx it, Sam. “Well, I’m no expert, but I’m happy to listen. And maybe we can brainstorm a solution together.” Or, more likely, I can pretend to listen while trying not to let my gaze linger too long on her smile, the sparkle in her eyes, or the way a stray strand of hair curled against her cheek

  The Crooked Nail was perfect as always. The fire roared in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the rough-hewn walls, and the air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke, roasted nuts, and something sweet and spicy.

  I guided her to a corner table, tucked away from the main crowd, the kind of spot where you could talk without being overheard. As she reached up to unwind the thick, blue wool scarf from her neck, I offered, “Here, let me help you with that.”

  My fingers brushed against hers, a fleeting contact that sent a surprising jolt through me. She smiled her thanks, and as the scarf came away, followed by her heavy cloak, it revealed a deep V-neck sweater, the soft wool clinging to her curves in a way that made my mouth go dry. Wowza was an understatement.

  Maple Honeypaw appeared before I could even signal for a server, her golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, well,” she said, her voice like honeyed mead, smooth but with a definite sting. “Look what we’ve got here. Samuel Thornwood with a dy friend. How the mighty have fallen.”

  I winced internally. Maple, you’re as subtle as a rampaging troll in a china shop. So much for keeping a low profile. I shot her a look, a silent plea for discretion, but she just winked, a fsh of mischief in her eyes. “What can I get you two lovebirds tonight?”

  Lily blushed, a delicate pink that spread across her cheeks, and I could feel my own face heat up. “Two… uh… two mugs of your spiced cider, Maple. Make it a strong one,” I managed to say, my voice a little rougher than usual.

  Maple ughed, a low, throaty sound, and sauntered off, her hips swaying in a way that seemed deliberately provocative. Show off.

  “She’s… something,” Lily said, her voice tinged with amusement, and a hint of something else I couldn’t quite pce. Was that… admiration?

  “Yeah,” I said, trying to regain my composure. “That’s Maple. She’s got a mouth on her, but she’s harmless. Mostly.”

  Lily leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling in the firelight, reflecting the dancing fmes. “I think she’s kind of wonderful.”

  I ughed, a nervous tremor in the sound, feeling a surprising wave of relief. Maybe Maple’s btant teasing hadn’t ruined everything. “Yeah, maybe. In small doses.”

  Maple returned, setting down two steaming mugs with a flourish. “Spiked cider, just as you ordered. Enjoy, you two.” She gave me another one of those knowing looks before disappearing back into the crowd.

  I handed Lily a mug, then took one for myself. She took a sip, her eyes closing in appreciation. “This is good.”

  “Told you,” I said, smirking, trying to project an air of confidence I definitely didn’t feel. Inside, I was still a jumble of nerves, attraction, and a growing sense of impending doom.

  The spiced cider warmed me from the inside out, but it did little to calm the butterflies that were doing acrobatics in my stomach. I kept gncing at Lily, trying to gauge her reaction, to see if my clumsy attempts at charm were working. Gods, I hope I’m not blowing this.

  We talked, but it wasn’t the smooth, effortless flow I’d imagined. It was more like… navigating a minefield. I had to be careful, choose my words, avoid revealing too much – or the wrong things. I started with a safer topic, building on our earlier conversation. “So, you mentioned your father taught you about flowers?”

  She smiled, a soft, sad smile that tugged at something inside me. Guilt, probably. Or maybe something else… “He did. He knew everything about them. He always said flowers could tell you a lot about people, if you listened.”

  “And what do they say about you?” I asked, leaning forward, trying to project an air of genuine interest, even though my heart was pounding like a drum solo.

  She ughed, a light, musical sound that eased the tension in my chest – but only for a moment. “That I’m stubborn, maybe. And that I care too much about things that don’t always deserve it.”

  I wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, to reassure her, but I stopped myself. Too soon, Sam. Too obvious. Instead, I said, “I think they say you’re kind. And talented. And that you care deeply about what you do.” It was true, at least. That much wasn’t a lie.

  She looked at me, her blue eyes searching, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe. It felt like she could see right through me, see the lies and the deception, the mission and the… the growing attraction that was making this whole thing so damn complicated.

  Then she smiled, and the moment broke, leaving me feeling both relieved and strangely disappointed. “You’re very charming, Samuel,” she said, a hint of teasing in her voice, but also… something else. Suspicion? “But I think you might be lying just a little.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted, my voice a little hoarse. “But only about the parts that don’t matter.” Like my name? My past? My entire reason for being here? Yeah, minor details.

  I desperately wanted to change the subject, to steer away from the dangerous territory of truth and lies. So I tried to shift the focus back to her, to something I knew was a concern. “You mentioned… uh… having trouble getting some flowers? The… the ones for winter?” Smooth, Sam. Real smooth.

  “I think you’re full of shit, Samuel.” Her voice was soft, but her eyes held a sudden spark of… defiance?

  My carefully constructed facade crumbled. My stomach dropped to my boots. “What?”

  She smiled, but it was a knowing smile, a smile that said, I see you. “I think you’re making most of this up. But you know what? I don’t even care. You’re fun to talk to, and you make me feel… alive, I guess.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, a shaky exhale that carried a mix of relief and utter confusion. “Yeah? Well, I guess that’s a start.”

  She leaned forward again, her eyes sparkling with that same unsettling mix of amusement and challenge. “So, what’s the real reason you’re here? You didn’t just walk into my stall by accident, did you?”

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