There are plans that are brilliant, and there are plans that are terrible, and there are plans that are both at the same time.
Sneaking a six-year-old into the Fae palace required three things: a servant's entrance, a distraction, and the absolute conviction that rules were guidelines written by people who lacked imagination.
The girl followed without speaking. She held Tristan's hand the way a drowning person holds a rope: with her entire body weight committed to the grip and zero faith that the rope would hold. He held back just as tight, because somewhere between the rock and the corridor, his ten-year-old brain had made a decision that his ten-year-old mouth had yet to announce.
He was keeping her.
