The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 32

I awake with the sun warming my face. Blinking, I stretch out my arms and roll over, expecting to find Will lying next to me, but when I reach out my arm I touch only cool, empty sheets.

Sitting up, I hold the blanket against myself and look around the room. Will is nowhere to be seen and the clothes he tossed over the chair the night before have disappeared. I hear a noise from the hall and swing my legs out of the bed.

I pull on the dress I was wearing when I arrived yesterday and pad down the hall, one hand working to untangle the knots in my hair.

"Will?" I call, poking my head around the door frame.

He is standing barefoot, his shirt buttoned partway and tucked into a pair of soft, suede trousers. He is reaching into the cupboard and glances up when I come into view.

"Good morning." I smile.

"Hey." He gestures to a plate set out on the counter next to him. "I have some breakfast for you right there."

"Thanks." I pick up the plate and move over to the couch. "Are you going to join me?"

"I already ate."

"Oh." I nibble on the food, watching him as he moves about, loading items into his medical kit and satchel. "Are we in a hurry to get back?"

"I don't think you should stay away from the ladies for too long. It will look suspicious."

"Right." I furrow my brow as I watch his hectic movements. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." He straightens and looks at me, a strange expression pulling at his handsome face. "Are you packed?"

I nod, swallowing the last of my breakfast. "I'll just go get my things."

I head back to his bedroom, stopping off at the lavatory to wash before gathering my effects and throwing them into my satchel. I take a moment to sift once more through the bag's contents in search of Meg's letter. Nothing.

Frowning, I toss the bag onto the unmade bed and move to the mirror, braiding my hair loosely. I smudge a little kohl around my eyes and bite my lips to colour them, standing back to admire the effect. Much better.

Will is already waiting by the door when I approach. He doesn't say a word, but I can feel him watching me intently while I pull on my sandals. A self-conscious blush rises to my cheeks under his scrutiny.

"Ready?" he asks as I straighten.

I nod, hitching my bag up onto my shoulder.

We walk down the stairs and into the street, where Will flags down a carriage. He takes my satchel and places it inside before helping me step up, then closes the door firmly and walks around the other side of the cart while I get myself situated.

Everything about his company feels off. The silence, the underlying sense of urgency. I fiddle with the folds of my dress while he settles in next to me.

As we roll through the streets toward the Palace, a dip in the road throws me to the side and against him. His hands reach out to catch me instinctively, lingering longer than necessary on my bare arms.

"Sorry," he says, drawing away and turning to look out the window.

What is he apologizing for?

After what feels like ages of prolonged silence, we finally arrive at the gates. Will instructs the driver to pull around to the back entrance. We draw to a stop and I snatch up my satchel and open the door myself, eschewing decorum. I start walking toward the Palace, not bothering to wait while Will pays the driver.