Maeve
I spent the rest of the morning trudging through the tall grass, which had sprung back up to its usual height after the sun came out and began to dry the weighed-down blades. I struggled against the unruly grass, the sharp, dry blades constantly snagging on my shirt and poking the skin on my hands and neck.
“Damn you, Aaron,” I hissed, finally popping out of the field and into the castle’s well-kept grounds. The garden was empty of its usual inhabitants. Everyone, including the gardeners, were helping clean up the aftermath of the storm. I found the emptiness peaceful, and instead of going back inside the castle I found myself wandering around the gardens for at least an hour.
It wasn’t until Gemma came out looking for me that I went inside. She picked the grass out of my hair as she walked behind me, talking incessantly about the storm’s damage.
I started up the stairs, but she stopped me, grabbing my elbow. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, um. To my room, to change.”