I glance at Irving, startled. He holds a strawberry roan mare by the reins, and he motions for me to come over. It will be nice to have my own mare again. Who would want to ride the entire way two to a horse?
I chew my lip, and my eyes wander to Galinor.
Leonora comes up behind me and sets her hand on my arm. “So, you’re leaving?”
“I suppose I am.”
She eyes the group. Quietly, but not quietlyenough, she says, “You realize you’re riding with four very handsome and veryeligibleprinces, don’t you?”
“Leonora!” I exclaim softly.
Certain he heard, I glance at Dristan. The prince’s brown eyes meet mine for a short moment before they fall away, and a faint blush colors his cheeks. He joins Bran, acting as if he didn’t just overhear Leonora.
“He’s adorable,” Leonora whispers.
Taller than Bran, Dristan is possibly the most handsome of the two brothers.
I give her a stern look. “He’s two years younger than I am.”
Bran laughs at something Dristan says. Noticing me watching, he nods my way, and his lips tip in a crooked smile.
Dristan must have told him what Leonora said.
“What about Bran?” Leonora loops her arm in mine. “He’s two years older.”
I study Bran. Everything about him boasts that he’s the nautical prince he is. His hair is blond and sun-streaked. His eyes are brown, just a shade lighter than Dristan’s, and his skin is tan. He has a warm smile, and right now, it’s directed at me.
I shake Leonora’s ideas out of my head. “Marigold is going as well, why don’t you try to match her up?”
Leonora sighs and runs her hand over her belly. “I thought she was taken with Galinor, but she seems to have changed her mind.”
“What of Galinor?” I examine my fingernails. “How does he feel about her?”
Leonora laughs softly. “Who knows? He’s wonderful to everyone, isn’t he?”
“Is he?”
Leonora nods, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“Come on, Anwen,” Irving calls. “Time to ride.”
“Thank you for the gowns,” I say to Leonora.
We exchange goodbyes, and I walk to my new horse. I give her a pat and then turn to Irving, ignoring the pang of grief for my own horse. “She’s lovely.”
Irving smiles. “I had a thought, Anwen.”
I stroke the horse’s cheek, and she leans into my hand. “What is it?”
“I need a bride, and you need something to toss in this Bandolian villain’s face. What do you think of marrying me?”
The laugh dies on my lips when I see the look on Irving’s face. He waits for my answer, his eyebrows raised.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Why not? I adore you, Anwen, and I know you like me.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “If I accept this horse, I have to marry you?”
