Something Princess Clíodhna seemed determined to ruin.
“Only nineteen? I wouldn’t expect a nineteen-year-old to become captain of the prince’s guard. It seems a rather important position for someone so young.”
He shrugged; his fingers molded around the reins. “I suppose.”
“‘I suppose’?” Clíodhna laughed, and the world seemed to go quiet at the melodic sound. “I would expect you to be a little more confident in your answers if you rose to captain so quickly.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Then yes. It is ‘rather young.’”
“Are you the youngest to have ever risen to that position? I don’t think we have anyone in our services so young with such responsibilities.”
He sighed. “I am. The youngest, that is.”
“The youngest captain in Scáilca? That is quite the accomplishment. It’s no wonder you’re at Caisleán. You are probably one of the best swordsmen of your age.”
He turned his head so she couldn’t see any sign of how uncomfortable he was with such praise. She waited for him to respond.
“I take my work very seriously,” he finally offered.
“I’m confident you do,” she stated. She dropped the conversation, and Ronan turned his attention once more onto the hills surrounding them. But after a few more moments passed, her stomach grumbled loudly.
Ronan glanced at her, and she shrugged.
They were passing through one of the villages now; it was as good a time to break as any.
He whistled to Domhnall and nodded in the direction ofthe market. The prince understood immediately and stopped Niamh, halting the convoy so they could pause to eat.
Kían and Niamh left to scout the market, while Ronan stayed with the royals and Ó Dálaigh. They had packed provisions—dried meats, cheeses, and bread—but when fresh food was an option, it was best to take it. Especially when they didn’t know what they would be facing in the Ghostwood.
Sore and sweaty, it was a relief to rest. They spread blankets just off the road, toward the northern edge of the village; Kían and Niamh met them with baskets of fresh fare. After a day of traveling, the smell was mouthwatering.
Ronan groaned quietly as he stretched out on the soft woolen blanket and enjoyed the shade. The pain in his hands and legs flared with the heat beating down on them, though he was used to that. Any changes in weather worsened it.
He looked over at Clíodhna. She was combing her fingers through her hair, sticking pins into braids and undoing the damage of a day’s ride.
“I’m not sure why you’re sitting with me now, after that horrible attempt at a conversation. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you didn’t want to talk with me then,” Clíodhna said, not bothering to look his way. “I would like to point out thatIdid everything right. You just suddenly didn’t know how to say more than two words.”
He rolled his eyes. “I had a job to do.” She ignored him and continued fussing with her hair. “You know that we’ll be back on the horses in an hour, and eventually all your work on your hair will be for nothing?”
“But for the next few hours, I will look better than I did before.” With a smug smile, she slid the final pin into place.
While he might not agree with her methods, her eccentricities were not completely beyond his understanding. He’d spent years around Domhnall. However, there was an optimism to Clíodhna that was utterly unique. Glancing back, he couldn’t help but notice her self-satisfied look had settled into a genuine smile.
“You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” He spoke before he could stop himself.
The glimmer in her eyes faded. “I pride myself on being different,” she retorted, too quickly.
“I didn’t mean that to be an insult. It’s refreshing.” He was grateful he clarified; her head seemed to lift ever so slightly.
“Happy to be of service, Captain.”
“Call me Ronan. After all, we’re supposed to be equals now, aren’t we, Princess?” he responded.
“Then you should call me Clía.”
“All right then, Clía.” Something about the name felt soft on his lips. He smiled.
***
