She pursed her lips. “Are you questioning my dedication to the well-being of my father’s stables, Your Highness?”
His laughter came again, softer this time. “Far be it from me to doubt your sense of duty, princess.”
Evelyne arched a brow, ignoring the sudden warmth creeping up her neck. His hair, slightly tousled from the wind, framed his face in a way that was entirely unfair. He looked nothing like a prince at that moment. He looked free.
She glanced away, collecting herself. “Should you even be riding before your wedding? What if you fall and break your leg?”
“Then you shall have to marry my grandfather instead,” his grin was wicked.
She threw him a look. “Very funny.”
Alaric finally exhaled, his smirk softening. “Shall we go for a ride together? Since we are both so devoted to the care of these horses.”
She hesitated, knowing full well she should refuse. But something about this moment felt different.
And for once, she wanted to step into it.
“Fine,” she said at last.
Alaric grinned, reaching for the reins.
She turned abruptly and went to her horse, placing a saddle upon its back.
“You have very long hair,” he remarked, his voice more thoughtful than teasing. “Beautiful.”
No.
A sudden rush of panic clawed at her throat. She clutched at her hair, trying to gather the long, loose strands, and considered running back inside, abandoning the ride altogether.
“I won’t tell anyone,” he teased. “That I saw you so scandalously with your hair unpinned.”
“Is this funny to you?”
“Is it important to you?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, after a brief pause, he pulled something from his pocket and held it out to her.
A gold scarf.
Evelyne blinked, caught off guard and reached for the cloth. Before she could speak, he had already turned away, giving her a moment of quiet. Her fingers moved quickly, twisting her hair into a braid. The fabric still held the faint scent of him, warm and steady. It lingered longer than she expected, grounding her more than she wanted to admit.
She exhaled slowly, steadying her trembling hands.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Alaric turned back to her as though nothing had passed between them. Evelyne pressed her lips together, heat prickling at the back of her neck. Gods—her hair. She had fussed over a stray curl when she was about to do something far worse. A midnight ride. Alone. With a man who was not yet her husband, with no chaperone. If the court ever caught wind of it…
She stole a look at Alaric, occupied with tightening the horse’s bridle.
“If I had known about this little escape in advance, I would have planned it better,” he admitted. “But I don’t know the area. Do you have a place in mind?”
Evelyne hesitated only for a moment before nodding.
“The lake,” she said finally. “Follow me.”
Without another word, she mounted her horse. Alaric followed, and together they rode into the night air, cool and damp with the scent of earth and grass.
