“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Because you aren’t as stupid as you look.” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. She didn’t give me time to decide. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

“I—” Blood crept up my throat at the memory. I coughed and stared at her empty plate. “The Archbishop once caught me in a—er, compromising position. With a girl.”

“Oh my god!” She smacked her palms against the table, eyes widening. “You got caught having sex with Célie?”

The people at the next table swiveled to stare at us. I ducked my head, thankful—for the first time ever—I wasn’t wearing my uniform. I glared at her. “Shhh! Of course not. She kissed me, okay? It was just kissing!”

Lou frowned. “Just kissing? That’s no fun at all. Hardly something to be embarrassed about.”

But it had been something to be embarrassed about. The look on the Archbishop’s face—I forced the memory away quickly. “What’s yours, then? Did you strip naked and dance the bourrée?”

She snorted. “You wish. No—I sang at a festival when I was a child. Missed every note. Everyone laughed. I’m a shit singer.”

Our neighbors tsked in disapproval. I grimaced. “Yes, I know.”

“Right. Biggest pet peeve?”

“Swearing.”

“Killjoys.” She grinned. “Favorite food?”

“Venison.”

She pointed to her empty plate. “Sticky buns. Best friend?”

“Jean Luc. You?”

“Really?” Her grin faded, and she stared at me with what looked like—like pity. But that couldn’t be right. “That’s . . . unfortunate. Mine is Brie.”

Ignoring the jab—the look—I interrupted before she could ask another question. “Fatal flaw?”

She hesitated, dropping her gaze to the tabletop. Tracing a knot in the wood with her finger. “Selfishness.”

“Wrath. Greatest fear?”

This time she didn’t hesitate. “Death.”

I frowned and reached across the table to grasp her hand. “There’s nothing to fear in death, Lou.”

She looked up at me, blue-green eyes inscrutable. “There isn’t?”

“No. Not if you know where you’re going.”

She gave a grim laugh and dropped my hand. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Lou—”

She stood and thrust a finger against my mouth to silence me. I blinked rapidly, trying not to fixate on the sweetness of her skin.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.” She dropped her finger. “Let’s go see the Yule tree. I saw them putting it up earlier.”

“The Christmas tree,” I corrected automatically.

She continued as if she hadn’t heard me. “We really ought to get you a coat first, though. Are you sure you don’t want me to steal one? It would be easy. I’ll even let you pick the color.”

“I’m not going to let you steal anything. I’ll buy a coat.” I accepted the bit of cloak she offered me, pulling it around us once more. “And I can buy you a new cloak as well.”

“Bas bought this for me!”

“Exactly.” I steered her down the street toward the clothier’s shop. “All the more reason to throw it in the trash where it belongs.”

An hour later, we emerged from the shop in our new garments. A navy wool coat with silver fastenings for me. A white cloak of crushed velvet for Lou. She’d protested when she saw the price, but I’d insisted. The white looked striking against her golden skin, and she’d left her hood down for once. Her dark hair blew loose in the breeze. Beautiful.

I hadn’t mentioned that last bit, though.

A dove cooed above us as we made our way to the village center, and snowflakes fell thick and fast. They caught in Lou’s hair, in her eyelashes. She winked at me, catching one on her tongue. Then another. And another. Soon she twirled in a circle trying to catch them all at once. People stared, but she didn’t care. I watched her with reluctant amusement.

“C’mon, Chass! Taste them! They’re divine!”

I shook my head, a grin tugging at my lips. The more people who muttered around us, the louder her voice became. The wilder her movements. The broader her smile. She reveled in their disapproval.

I shook my head, grin fading. “I can’t.”

She spun toward me and grabbed my hands. Her fingers were freezing—like ten tiny icicles. “It won’t kill you to live a little, you know.”

“I’m a Chasseur, Lou.” I spun her away from me once more with a pang of regret. “We don’t . . . frolic.”

Even if we wanted to.

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Of course not.”

“Maybe you should.”

“It’s getting late. Do you want to see the Christmas tree or not?”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “You’re no fun, Chass. A frolic in the snow might be just what you and the rest of those Chasseurs need. It’s a good way to get the stick out of your ass, I’m told.”

I glanced around nervously. Two passing shoppers skewered me with disapproving glares. I caught Lou’s hand as she spun back toward me. “Please behave.”

“Fine.” She reached up to brush the snowflakes from my hair, smoothing the furrow between my brows as she went. “I will refrain from using the word ass. Happy?”

“Lou!”

She cackled and grinned up at me. “You, sir, are too easy. Let’s go see this Yule tree.”

“Christmas tree.”

“Nuance. Shall we?” Though we no longer shared a cloak, she wrapped her arms around my waist. Pulling her closer with an exasperated shake of my head, I couldn’t stop the small smile that touched my lips.

Mademoiselle Perrot greeted us in the church foyer that evening, her face pinched. Troubled. She ignored me—as per usual—and walked straight to Lou.

“What is it?” Lou frowned and took her gloved hands. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Bernie,” Mademoiselle Perrot said quietly. Lou’s brows dipped as she scanned Mademoiselle Perrot’s face.

I clasped Lou’s shoulder. “Who’s Bernie?”