“Well, the world is certainly brimming with delusions today.”
Delusions? Is that a kind of sweet?
“Why in the world would Ulrich give you to me?” Ambrose grumbled.
I believe I am to keep you from going mad.
“Splendid.”
As you wander through the woods, you will always have me, your trusty steed, to talk to!
“I would rather not.”
Or I can talk. I like talking.
Ambrose trudged out from the stables, watching his brother’s carriage take off down a road paved with gold, enchanted to speed up travel. Too bad that the road would only answer to Ulrich. If Ambrose tried to step on it, it would vanish into dust. Still, Ambrose stared after that blinding, golden light. Why couldn’t he just go to one of his brothers’ palaces? Be an adviser? Scheme from the sidelines?
Why did Imelda get to go home?
Imelda. Ambrose couldn’t think about her without feeling a painful twinge of guilt. She was a stranger to him, a slender shadow glimpsed from the vantage point of their shared balconies or staircases. Nothing more.
He wondered if she hated him. She must have been lonely and bored this past year. Perhaps she spent all her time mourning and missing her sisters, wishing for a husband she could love who would love her in return.
Ambrose glanced at the three carriages sent by Imelda’s father. No doubt they held her jewels, dresses, trinkets, and such.
Ambrose drew himself up. Failed marriage or not, he would act like a king. And a king would bid her farewell.
He marched up the steep, grassy incline from the stables to the waiting carriages. A breeze ruffled the silken curtains of the window, and he imagined he could see her.
And then, from deep within the carriage, came a strangled cry—
Ambrose reached for the hilt of his knife.
Something sailed out of the window at an alarming speed, smacking him right in the face.
“Ow!”
The carriage door swung open, and Imelda stepped out, brandishing a shoe and yelling:
“You can TELL my father that if he tries to put a shoe on my foot, he’ll swiftly find one right up his—”
Imelda paused, seeing Ambrose.
“What areyoudoing here?” she said imperiously. “Shouldn’t you be galloping through the woods on a horse?”
Ambrose stared at her, bewildered.
She asked you a question, said the cloak peevishly. Ambrose shook himself, then said:
“I don’t have a horse.”
False! I’m a horse!said the cloak.
Chapter 3
IMELDA
Imelda lowered her shoe, staring at Ambrose.
