“I thought it would be more fun to abandon our plans and escape with all the king’s men chasing us,” Damien responded smoothly, his voice edged with playful sarcasm.
“Luna, it’s good to see you again,” Gregory said cheerfully, as if they were friends reuniting.
Her glare sharpened. “I wish I could say the same,” she replied coolly, but Gregory merely smiled wider.
Before he could respond, Damien cut in, “As much as I enjoy small talk, now isn’t the time.”
Gregory laughed, clearly enjoying Damien’s misfortune more than was necessary. Luna sensed the humour wasn’t just about seeing his friend dusted in white powder. No. Gregory seemed to relish the idea of Damien being caught off guard.
“They got you good, hey?” he said, gesturing at the white speckling Damien’s coat. He opened a saddle pack on one of the horses and tossed Damien a black shirt and pants.
Within a heartbeat, Damien transformed, slipping into the clothes. “Your very obvious statement aside, we should get going.”
Gregory nodded and tossed Luna a shirt and pair of pants. She looked them over; the shirt had red circular symbols sewn into the bottom, and the pants were a simple beige with two pockets on either side. She made a swirling motion with her fingers at the men, and after receiving the hint, they turned around.
She slid the pants on under her dress, but she waited a second, ensuring neither were peeking, before slipping the gown off and the shirt on. Even though these clothes were nowhere near her usual attire, she was thankful to be rid of the gown.
“Okay. I’m done.”
Damien turned around, and with a little smirk on his face, he elbowed Gregory and said, “You should wear the dress.”
Gregory raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Damien looked back at the city. A few guards had exited the city limits and were now running through the rolling hills. They would need to get moving soon.
“Take off in the other direction,” Damien commanded, “make the guards think me and her split up.”
“Fine.” Gregory huffed. He pulled the dress over his head and over his clothes, muttering under his breath as he squeezed into it. Although it was tight, even with the back undone, it would suffice. From a distance, the guards would likely see the dress and not doubt her identity until they got closer.
Gregory crossed his arms, resembling a sulking cupcake.
Damien nodded in approval. “If you keep some distance, they probably won’t realize you aren’t her. We’ll stick to the plan—meet at Kalt Ravine in five days. If we miss each other, just keep going. I’ll join you at Winta’s.”
Kalt Ravine—the name sounded familiar, not only because she had studied geography maps in her lessons with Demetrio. She had recently learned something about the town, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was.
“Why do we need a distraction? Can’t we teleport?” she asked.
Damien guided Luna over to the mare with a dark chestnut coat. “Nina broke the teleportation system when she stabbed the leaf with her horn. We’ll have to travel by foot, or on horseback.” He patted the mare’s neck. “This is Pickles.”
Luna held her hand out to Pickles, and the mare sniffed it. Cautiously, Luna stroked Pickles’ nose; it was velvet soft. “Who’s that?” Luna asked, pointing at Damien’s horse.
“Barley,” Damien replied, giving his black mare a pat on the neck too.
Horses didn’t seem as dangerous or unpredictable as the king had claimed them to be when he’d refused her request to go horseback riding as a child. Back at the palace, riding had been on the list of forbidden activities. Hell, she hadn’t even been allowed near the stables.
“I’ve never ridden before,” Luna admitted, her voice meek.
Damien didn’t react beyond a slight nod, as if it made perfect sense that the king’s captive had never learned such a thing. After all, why would the king provide her a way for a quick escape. Without a word, he strode to Pickles, grabbed one of the saddle stirrups, and held it out, waiting for Luna to place her foot in it.
She tried, but Pickles’s height was more of a challenge than she expected, and stretching her leg high enough was an effort by itself. Just as she managed to hook the tip of her foot in the stirrup, Damien leaned in. His breath was warm against her ear. “You rode me just fine.”
Heat flashed across her cheeks, sharp and sudden.
For a moment, all she could focus on was him—the low timbre of his voice, the warmth of his breath, the gleam in his eyes that made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. And worse? Technically, he wasn’t wrong. The thought sent a fresh wave of warmth burning up her neck.
She rolled her eyes, willing the reaction away, and tried to haul herself up and into the saddle. Still, the stirrup was almost impossibly high. She tried again, and failed; frustration curled through her, until Damien’s hands caught her waist.
Steady and certain, he lifted her like it was effortless. Like he hadn’t just unraveled her entire thought process with one sentence.
