“We explicitly said no disasters on this road trip,” Malachi says, voice edged with warning.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot slowly drifts backward, then spins in a neat little circle like he meant to do that.
“He’s proud of himself,” I utter with a low chuckle.
Nash and Hart glare at him over their shoulders in warning. We continue on, the rhythm of hooves picking up again. The path widens, and we pass through a small cluster of villagers gathered at the edge of the road. Their reactions are mixed. Some cheer. Actual cheering. Hands raised, voices calling out blessings and thanks, eyes bright with something that looks dangerously like hope.
Others throw things. Not large things. Nothing fatal. But enough to make a point. A loaf of bread hits the ground near Hart’s horse. A wilted cabbage narrowly misses Charming. What a waste of an opportunity.
“Idols above,” someone shouts. “You’ll doom us all.”
“Bit dramatic,” I call back, lifting a hand in what I intend to be a reassuring wave, but I think lands more like unhinged enthusiasm.
Another voice rises. “Free us!”
“Yes,” I agree. “That’s the plan.”
“Or destroy everything!” a different villager yells.
“Also a possibility,” I admit. “We’re keeping things flexible.”
“Daphne,” Gwyneth hisses.
“Right. Inspiring. I can do inspiring.”
I straighten in the saddle, ignoring the way my entire lower half protests. My floof is going to need a damn massage.
“People of—” I gesture because I didn’t catch the name, “—this place! We ride not for glory, nor crowns, nor the questionable actions of the Idols, but for freedom! For choice! For a future where no one tells you how your story ends.”
The horse shifts, and my balance follows. Theo’s arm tightens as I tip sideways, my grand speech devolving into an undignified grab for stability.
“Also for better seating arrangements and floof rights for all,” I finish, clinging to him with what little grace I have left.
There’s a beat where the villagers digest my words. I don’t even make sense to myself, so hopefully there’s no follow-up questions.
Someone cheers, while someone else throws another cabbage.
“I think that went well,” I declare.
“It did not,” Gwyneth replies.
“I didn’t fall off the horse,” I counter.
“Almost.”
“Almost,” I repeat. “Which means I didn’t. This is what winning looks like.”
Theo’s chest rumbles with quiet laughter, and he presses a kiss to my temple. “Chaotic optimism looks good on you.”
“It’s all I have,” I say, lifting my chin as we ride on. “That, and a very brave floof.”
After a brief toilet break, we continue on with the floof torture. The landscape shifts from the vaguely familiar to the unknown.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“On the outskirts of So Far Away,” Genie explains.
“We got here fast.”
