I would agree, if only it didn’t feel like it cost me.
ChApter
Thirteen
Sir Holden walks a step behind me as we head for the stables, the path before us golden from the early morning sun. Despite the king’s suggestion that we take a carriage to Delasurvia, my uncle and I both declined. The journey will be much quicker on horseback. While Mylo and Uncle Kormak gather last-minute provisions, Sir Holden and I have the task of fetching the horses.
When the stables come into view, I spot a familiar figure moving about near the doors, and a small smile ticks up the corners of my mouth. Dante’s hair is windswept, his cheeks slightly flush, and the sight of his broad shoulders stirs a fluttery feeling in my stomach. He’s accompanied by an unfamiliar guard, and my smile is replaced with a frown. I should have guessed that the king doesn’t trust his own son. Dante appears to have just returned from a ride, and the new guard tagging along watches every move he makes.
Though I’d very much like to talk to Dante before I leave—even just to say a chaste goodbye—I’m not certain I’ll be able to get near him without butting heads with this lurker.
I glance over my shoulder at Sir Holden. “Do you recognize thatguard?”
Sir Holden nods once. “The king appointed him to trail Lord Stregasi as his Royal Ward. Name’s Sir Donovan Greystone.”
A Royal Ward. I suppose that makes sense. Silas no doubt wants to make sure his only remaining son is protected, especially during the upcoming tour.
When we’re a couple of yards away, Dante spots me and does a double take. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, I can tell he wants to swallow up the distance between us. Instead, he takes in a long breath before he averts his gaze, pretending to be highly interested in removing his riding gloves.
Sir Donovan regards us, his back straightening. Broad-shouldered and built like a fortress, his strawberry-blond hair is clipped short, and his brown eyes assess me with a cold, impassive stare. He doesn’t bow, doesn’t offer a greeting. Just stands there, arms rigid at his sides like a sentry carved from stone.
I steel myself for his disapproval of my appearance at the stables when Dante happens to be here, but how else am I to retrieve my horse?
“Donovan,” Sir Holden says, breaking the silent tension. “Allow me to introduce you to Her Royal Highness, Celeste Westergaard, heir to the Delasurvian throne.”
I almost smirk. It doesn’t escape me that Sir Holden has used my full title on purpose to get a rise out of Dante’s guard.
Probably realizing a proper response is expected of him, Sir Donovan blanches before greeting me with a bow. “Oh, yes. Of course. Pleased to meet you, Your Highness.”
I nod my greeting. “Sir Donovan.”
His focus returns to Sir Holden. “I was told the princess and Lord Stregasi are to avoid being seen together.”
“We need to grab our horses,” Sir Holden explains, “and then we’ll be on our way.”
“It will just take a minute,” I put in before he has a chance to argue that a princess could send someone else to the stables for her. “Paul was instructed to prepare them for us ahead of time.”
Sir Donovan’s eyes go between me and Sir Holden before he nods.
“Have you been told about the wood paths?” Sir Holden asks him, walking closer to the guard and clapping him on the back. “Very important to keep your eyes on.” He uses the position to turn Sir Donovan to face the woods—and away from me—and then points toward the trees.
I take this as Sir Holden’s way of giving me a moment with Dante. The man is no fool, and it occurs to me now that under all that muscle and armor, he also has a heart.
I slip into the stables, and Dante takes my cue, following me into the dim hall that leads to the horse stalls. The stable smells of fresh hay, oiled leather, and shit, and the lanterns lining the wooden beams cast flickering shadows.
In the next moment, there’s a firm but gentle hand on my elbow. The touch sends a thrilling shiver up my spine.
“How long will you be gone?” he asks.
There’s no trying to talk me out of it. No telling me it’s too dangerous to leave the castle. He doesn’t even insist on coming with me. And though I wouldn’t mind being able to spend time with him and wouldn’t argue if he did want to come along, it lifts a weight off my chest knowing he respects my decision. That he knows my strength and skill and doesn’t question if I’m capable of heading off without him.
It’s not a squad mission; it’s a mere escort and return. Though one never knows what could be waiting out there, ready to strike.
“Before the week is up,” I respond, checking over his shoulder to make sure we’re still alone.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll keep Sir Holden safe,” he teases.
“If he doesn’t annoy me,” I tease back. “So that’s your new watchdog.”
