“My judgment is based upon the fact that you are trying to sweep an extramarital affair under the rug by dangling a metaphorical carrot-horse in front of me!” I cried.
I stopped, realizing, for a fact, that Cyrushadn’tthrown me beneath the carriage with Sam. Sam was talking about his actions at the ball, not my tryst into the moonlit wildness with his friend whom Ihadvery much properly met and conversed with.
“Your Highness, sir, I—” I exhaled.
“Please. Call me Sam, Svana,” he said.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“We cannot continue to exist at odds,” he said. “People will notice.”
“Then I’ll leave,” I said.
“Leave?” he asked.
“Yes. I’ll have Miss Josie ensure I am packed and gone by this afternoon.”
“You cannot leave,” he said. “How would that look? We’ve announced your stay.”
“What do I care?” I asked.
“My father will be furious. Yours, I’m sure,” he said.
“Same question, Prince.”
“…Give me a chance,” he begged. “A-At least give my friend a chance. To entertain you, if nothing else.” He spoke faster. “It’s a dream of mine that you'll know him, and he is well-versed in all things horse; I’m not. I think you could–”
“Did you just gloss over what I said?” I asked. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t care how well your friend likes horses. I don’t like you.”
“He isquitethe decorated soldier.”
“What doesthatmatter?” I asked.
“He canprotectyou,” he said.
“Protect me?” I balked. “I haveknightsfor that. I have a whole empire for that.”
“Do your knights ride for leisure?” he checked. Sam sat straighter. He fingered the rim of his glass. “Even if they did, they have obligations here. Orders. They conduct patrols as theyalwayshave, an arrangement that hasalwaysbeen in place since the Treaty. I’m sure they’re even stricter now, what with the looming threat of bandits.”
“Bandits?” I asked. “The ones your father did not take seriously?”
“Never mind him,” Sam hurried. “If you are unhappy with the arrangement, I could...?”
“I’m unhappy,” I told him. “Now what?”
“...Unfortunately, I was not prepared for you to decline my idea.”
“Is thisappropriate,sir?” I asked.
He frowned. “Iswhatappropriate?”
“For me, your future wife, to spend my days with a strange man? I’m,” I stuttered; I imagined dancing with Cyrus in another field and scoffed. “You wouldn’t ratherwespend time together?”
His face transitioned through a series of responses as I waited.
“I said I hate horses,” he said.
“You said that you werescaredof them. Now youhatethem?” I asked.“That’s so much worse than taxidermy.”
