But not nearly as jarring as the moment when they hit the ground with an unceremoniousthud.
Ambrose tucked her under his arm, rolling them across the grass to break their fall. The moment they stopped, Imelda scrambled out of his grasp, breathless and wild-eyed.
Beneath him, his horse cloak stirred limply.
That hurt.
Ambrose threw the cloak over his shoulder.
Someone leaned out the window far above them, pointing and shouting.
“They’re getting away! To the courtyards! Go!”
Ambrose forced himself to stand. Just beyond Imelda loomed the dark line of trees, their branches shining like knife blades in the moonlight. He darted forward, catching Imelda’s hand as, together, they ran deep into the woods.
***
A few hours later, Ambrose tossed the last of the branches onto the fire. The sap crackled and popped, throwing sparks into the air. Imelda sat before it, warming her hands. The horse cloak was wrapped snugly around her shoulders, neighing softly in its sleep.
Behind her was the makeshift tent Ambrose had constructed, strung together with the enchanted dresses that Imelda had pulled out of a walnut. Sapphire and silver silk billowed gently in the woods. Up here, the mountainous air was crisp but not frigid, and the thick line of trees kept them safe and out of sight.
Ambrose sat down on the log beside Imelda.
She hadn’t said much since they’d run into the woods. He thought she would be furious or scared, but that arch smile hadn’t left her face since she’d knocked out the innkeeper with a torch.
“That was rather fun,” she said.
“Fun?” he said in disbelief. “You almost killed me.”
“I saved your life,” she said primly.
“Just barely. You couldn’t wait for me to get out of the sheets before you set them on fire?”
“Isn’t that the opposite of what most men want?”
Ambrose stared at her, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, he laughed. Imelda grinned at him. For a few long minutes, they settled into a warm silence, and a disconcerting daydream hit Ambrose: Was this what it would have been like between them?
“You know, you’re quite strange,” she said.
And just like that, the daydream fell apart.
“No need to flatter me.”
“It’s a compliment in its own way. Since when does a noble prince who is severely concerned with whether or not one is wearing shoes know how to pitch tents in the middle of the woods? Or build fires from nothing? Wouldn’t you be…I don’t know…sitting by your host’s fire and strumming a lute or something?”
Ambrose sighed.
“Perhaps said noble princes got locked out of their rooms quite often as punishment. And so they had to learn to make their own fires. Or sing lullabies to fall asleep. And keep warm when it grew cold.”
He wasn’t sure what made him tell the truth in that moment. Perhaps it was because he’d almost gotten eaten by a bed. Or perhaps because out here, the stars in the sky seemed closer, as if this moment was cut off from the rest of the world.
Imelda watched him with those strange lioness eyes. Then she drew her knees to her chest, staring into the flames.
“I would’ve loved to spend a whole night under the stars. My father would never let me or my sisters do that. He was rather controlling.”
“You?” Ambrose said in disbelief. “Controlled?”
He was beginning to think Imelda could not be commanded to do anything other than what she wished.
