“Galinor, I…”
He searches my eyes but stays silent, waiting for me to finish.
I mean to ask him to come with us, but instead, I find myself saying, “I am a little chilled.”
Feeling defeated, my shoulders fall.
Nodding solemnly, perhaps sensing my disappointment, Galinor leads me inside.
“How long willyou be in Vernow?” Teagan asks Marigold and me.
I mull the question over. “We’re not sure.”
“Will you return?” Teagan turns to Marigold, taking her hand. “I’m hoping to have procured journals from Lestonia in a month or so. I would love to show them to you.”
Marigold nods, a dreamy smile plastered on her face.
After dancing, the two spent the entire evening bent over dusty maps. Teagan is all Marigold spoke of this morning. It didn’t take long for Irving to decide he wouldn’t be leaving his sister here in Glendon. Whether Marigold likes it or not, she’s stuck with us.
I smile at the two and turn away to give them privacy.
Bran, Dristan, and Irving speak with the king, thanking him for replacing our horses. Galinor leansagainst the stable wall, his arms crossed and his eyes unreadable.
I suppose it’s time to say goodbye.
Self-conscious, I walk to him, unsure what to do with my arms. First, I cross them, mimicking his posture. But that feels awkward, so I let them fall.
Galinor watches me, waiting for me to speak first.
My eyes drop to the ground. “Thank you again. For everything.”
Come with us. Please, come with us.
“You’re welcome, Anwen.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
And with that, I am dismissed.
I turn away, promising myself I will be dignified—I will handle this disappointment with decorum.
And then I decide decorum is overrated.
I whip around, grab Galinor’s hand, and drag him into the stable—which would be quite a feat if he were not willing to follow. I find a quiet, solitary corner in an unoccupied stall.
The prince watches me, crossing his arms again, looking both perturbed and amused.
“Why won’t you come with us?” I demand.
He sets his jaw. “You don’t need me.”
Dust motes dance in the morning light shining in from a high window. The animals eat their breakfast, and the sweet scent of hay tickles my nose.
“I do.”
He shakes his head. “You have Irving, Bran, and Dristan. You’ll be all right.”
“And Irving shouldn’t even count.” I set my hands on my hips. “He finds more trouble than anyone I know.”
Despite himself, Galinor smiles.
