A small, pointed cough echoed nearby. Emory peered at us through the willow’s branches, his lips curled in a mischievous grin. “Found them,” he called to Elm. “They were kissing.” I blushed down to my roots, hiding my face in Ravyn’s cloak. He smiled sheepishly, taking my hand and leading us back into the garden. Elm and Emory waited for us down the path, their arms crossed over their chests.
