He huffs as he picks up on everything I’m wishing for. “All of that and more is coming for you, my queen.”
I roll my eyes. “Less of the queen, more of the floof planning, because I cannot ride for two diurnals in this state.”
Hart glances over his shoulder from his position beside Nash. He winks at me, and there’s no doubt in my mind that we’d still be in bed if we’d had time. What do people call it? A honeymoon? I have no need of seeing the wonders of the world when everything I want and need is in their hearts. And their breeches.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot makes endless circles around us like a protective pooch. The poor guy is going to tire himself out if he doesn’t slow down.
“We need to ride until sunset, or we won’t get there on time,” Hart says.
And we have to be on time to ensure his sister stays alive.
We ride. We ride some more, and then, just when I think the universe might show mercy, we continue riding as if my suffering is part of some grand cosmic entertainment.
“My floof has officially filed a complaint,” I announce to no one and everyone. “It has drafted a strongly worded letter and everything.”
“You do not have a floof that can write,” Theo says, his chest warm and solid against my back as the horse carries us forward at a steady pace.
“Are you the proud owner of a floof?” I shoot back. He grins wild and wide. “Don’t answer that. Anyway, she’s capable of many things. None of them currently pleasant.”
“We’ve been riding for four turns,” Hart calls out, as though that makes it better and not worse.
“Exactly. I was not built for this. I’m in my pillow princess era, not whatever this torture is. I need regular worship to maintain a healthy floof.”
“Make it stop,” Charming drawls.
“You were worshiped this morning,” Theo murmurs, his breath ghosting over my ear, which does nothing to help my current situation.
“That was turns ago,” I explain. “I have needs, Theo. Immediate, pressing, very sore needs. Floof rest and airing.”
Theo’s hands tighten on the reins as he exhales, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and restraint. “I could carry you.”
I turn my head enough to fix him with a look. “Absolutely not.”
“It would solve your problem.”
“It would create several new ones,” I counter. “None of which are suitable for a moving horse, an audience, or my dignity.”
“Dignity is overrated,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose.
Genie floats alongside us, hands clasped behind his back like a man enjoying a leisurely stroll rather than witnessing my slow descent into madness. “You could always walk.”
I stare at him. “We do want to arrive on time, don’t we?”
He smiles. “I’m just making helpful suggestions. You could always wish for an ever-healthy floof, free from bruising and chafing.”
I have never been more tempted by a wish.
Ahead of us, Hart laughs, the sound carrying back on the wind as he leans toward Nash to say something I don’t catch. Malachi rides behind us, a steady presence I can feel without looking, while Charming continues to exist in a way that irritates me on principle. My sister remains her typical stoic self, eyes peeled for danger and cataloguing everything for future reference.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot is having the time of his annus. The broom zips in wide, enthusiastic circles around the horses, darting between legs and tails like a creature that has never once considered the concept of consequences. He swoops low, then higher, then... I grimace.
“Watch the horse,” Nash snaps as Sir Sweeps-A-Lot clips the flank of his steed.
The horse startles, rearing just enough to send a ripple of chaos through the group as reins tighten and curses follow.
Theo steadies us with ease, one arm locking around me as the world tilts for a terrifying heartbeat before settling again.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot freezes mid-air, innocent as can be. If I were a broom, I think I would look the same.
