I grip his arm like a lifeline. “Thank you,” I mutter, letting him haul me to my feet.
And then—“By the gods,” Fenric chokes out, stumbling back a step and waving a hand in front of his nose. “Yousmell.Like a cursed battlefield latrine. No—worse.”
I glare at him as I try,desperately, to shake some of the mess off the back of my leggings.
“I’maware, Fenric,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
Darius tries not to laugh, but fails spectacularly.
Thane stands just a few feet away—every inch the Warlord he always is. But his eyes . . . they’re too bright. And his lips are twitching, the corners threatening to lift.
He’s trying not to smile.
I narrow my eyes, hopelessly brushing the back of my leggings with a stick I found on the ground. It only smears the mess further.
“Don’t you dare,” I mutter.
His brows lift, but he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’tneedto. He just stands there, perfectly composed, while I look—and smell—like I lost a fight with a barnyard.
I decided at this moment I no longer need to live here. I will, immediately, start a new life in a distant land. Possibly underground.
That’s when I notice who’s standing with Thane.
Garrick. Rian. Jarek.
No.
Garrick stands with his arms crossed, his entire body trembling from the effort of holding back a laugh. His mouth is clamped in a tight line, but his eyes are wild with delight—like this is the best thing he’s seen all month.
Jarek is smirking outright, one brow arched, eyes flicking between me and the offending horse.
And Rian . . . oh gods, Rian. His lips are pressed tightly together, shoulders twitching like he’s in actual physical pain. His arms are crossed, posture stiff, but the gleam in his eyes is unmistakable.
Theysaweverything. From the body slam into their Warlord to the manure-splattered exit.
I close my eyes for half a second and whisper, “Let the ground open and take me now.”
Fenric, unhelpfully, fans the air near me. “Too late, Spiritborn. You’re famous—andfragrant.”
That’s when Fenric and Darius suddenly remember themselves. They straighten at the exact same time—snapping to attention like soldiers who just realized they’ve been joking around in front of theactualleader of the realm.
In perfect unison, they raise their hands to their brows and salute. “Warlord,” they say crisply, their voices echoing across the street with all the solemnity of a formal greeting.
It’s so absurdly timed—so completely ridiculous after everything that’s just happened—I nearly choke.
Thane regards them with calm precision, though the amusement still lingers behind his eyes like a barely contained storm. “At ease, gentlemen,” he says, his voice smooth—steady.
And then he looks at me, that gleam still in his eyes—brighter now and impossible to miss. He’s not exactly smiling but the corners of his mouth keep twitching, like he’s fighting it witheverything he’s got.
“Are you okay?”
I nod once, stiffly, dignity in tatters. “Fine,” I say. “Perfect, actually.”
“Wait here—I’ll be right back,” Thane says, voice soft, yet still commanding.
He turns without another word and walks toward the apothecary, disappearing inside with that quiet, purposeful stride of his.
We’re left standing there in silence. Well—almost.
