Now I was going to live these stories.
“Wildervale,” I whispered, eyes on the shaded green stretch that dominated the center. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Is it peaceful?”
Gideon gave a short laugh. “Only if you think whispering trees and forgotten gods are peaceful. Stay sharp when we cross it.”
He looked up and grinned at me, then tapped the next mark north. “One step at a time, Princess. We’ll get you to Caerthaine with your limbs intact, your dignity mostly preserved, and, if the gods are kind, your humor sharpened.”
I smiled, a faint, almost involuntary gesture. The solid black line of the path in ink provided an anchor of sorts, though the true landscape remained shrouded in doubt.
When it came time to mount, I paused beside the unfamiliar mare they’d brought for me. The saddle looked impossiblyhigh. I reached for the stirrup and nearly tipped backward.
Alaric chuckled. “Need help, Wynnie?”
“I’ve never ridden before,” I admitted, the words tasting like ash.
Before he could move, Erindor appeared beside me.
He didn’t speak, just offered his ungloved hand. His calloused palm felt steady. I placed my hand in his, and he lifted me easily, effortlessly, into the saddle.
For one moment, our eyes met, and something passed between us. Not heat, not lightning, but something quieter. Like the hush between two heartbeats.
“Thank you,” Igasped out, feeling the tell-tale flush creep up my neck from the unexpected kindness.
He said nothing.
And with that, the gates opened. The road stretched like a ribbon of uncertainty ahead of us.
As we rode out, I clutched my journal tightly and looked back at the garden balcony one last time. The roses there were already beginning to close for the season.
Above us, a single dove cut across the morning sky.
I gripped the reins tighter and shifted my gaze forward. Behind me were duty, silence, and the shape of a life not chosen. Before me stood a prince I did not love, a war unseen, and something within me I had not yet grasped.
Something that might one day burn.
…
The sun climbed higher as the road narrowed beyond the outer walls of the palace, winding into the scrub and shade of the Eastwood trail. For a while, I tried to focus on the rhythm of hoofbeats, the sound of birds hidden in the trees, and the occasional creak of saddle leather. But it was impossible to ignore how uncomfortable Iwas in the saddle. Each rut in the road sent a jolt up my spine,jarringevery bone. Adull throbsettled in my lower back, and my knees, already stiff from the journey,locked up. I shifted for the third time in five minutes, hoping no one would notice. Unfortunately, someone did.
“You ride like you’re trying not to touch the horse,” Gideon said beside me, his voice low and amused.
“I’m trying not to fall off,” I scolded.
He grinned. “That’s fair. But you’ll want to relax your legs a bit. Let the movement carry through your hips. Right now, you’re bracing every time the horse shifts, and that’s only going to make it worse.”
I tried adjusting, but it only made me slide sideways in the saddle.
Jasira trotted up beside us with far more ease than I expected. She looked perfectly at home on her horse, her posture relaxed and confident.How is she doing that?
I stared at her. “What’s your riding experience?”
She gave me a crooked smile. “Just because I like embroidery doesn’t mean I’ve never left the palace, Wyn. I grew up on a vineyard. Horses are easy.”
I blinked. “That actually explains a lot.”
“You should see me with a crossbow,” she chirped, and then kicked her horse ahead to join Alaric up front.
“Here,” Gideon chimed, and guided his horse a little closer. “Watch me. See how my hands stay light? Let the horse find its rhythm. You’re not steering a cart. It’s a conversation.”
