“You’re not going to be bearing any riders for a while,” I murmur. “Neither of you will.”
Ashwing huffs and protectively noses her colt closer to her flank. His tiny white wings twitch with every movement.
I find three apples tucked into a saddlebag and use my dagger to slice them evenly. They accept the pieces without hesitation, breath fogging the cold air.
Then I feel a gentle nudge at my back.
I turn to find the tall silver-gray watching me expectantly. He snorts softly, as if to say,What about me?
I smile and hold out my palm. Aetherion takes the remaining slices in a single bite, ears flicking with satisfaction.
For a moment, I just stand there, coat wrapped tight around me, the familiar scent of horse and frost in my lungs, the silence of the woods curling soft around the edges of the dawn.
I return to camp to find Kieren packing his saddle bags. “We’re out of bandages,” I say as I return to camp. “If you reopen that wound again, I might just let you bleed out.”
Keiren huffs a comical sigh as he tightens a saddle strap. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
I don’t respond, letting a long pause stretch between us.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I blink at him, startled by the question—and by the way he’s managed to stand. He’s shirtless, his muscles flexing as he works. The wrappings across his chest are tight, highlighting the deep curve of his shoulders and the long scar trailing down one side of his ribs.
Did I sleep well? What on earth…?
“Fine, thank you,” I reply stiffly.
He glances up. Our eyes meet—and it’s like looking into twin storms. Blue veined with gold, ancient and beautiful.
For a moment, he looks more myth than man. Scarred. Bleeding. Still standing.
I turn away too quickly, fixing my eyes on Ashwing and her colt.
“Glad the little fellow made it,” he says behind me. “Pegasus births are often fatal. For both mare and foal.”
My head snaps back to him.
“You did the right thing,” he continues, his voice low, “reaching in and pinning the wings back. That’s the only way they can pass through the birth canal.”
I blink at him. “How do you—”
But before I can finish, Keiren lets out a sharp whistle, summoning the horses. Aetherion emerges first, proud and unbothered, his hooves silent over the mossy ground. Brimstone barrels after him, head tossing defiantly. Ashwing trails close behind, her gait tired but graceful, the tiny foal prancing at her flank like a wisp of wind made flesh.
“We need to go,” Keiren says, already moving to saddle Aetherion. “There’s a storm coming.”
I glance up. The sky is perfectly clear—blue and bright, framed by shifting green canopies and birdsong. Not a cloud in sight. “What storm?” I ask incredulously.
He throws the saddle with all our remaining supplies over Aetherion and tightens the last strap into place. Then he extends his hand, fingers curling around the saddle horn. “Come on; you’re riding with me.”
“No way.” I cross my arms tight, hugging myself and shaking my head.
His brows lift like he expected the answer, just not the venom behind it. “Neither Brimstone nor Ashwing can carry you in their conditions,” he says calmly.
“So, what, now you’re a horse expert?” I snap.
He shrugs, irritation threading beneath his otherwise cool tone. “I told you, I’m a man of many talents.”
“More like secrets,” I say, not meaning to voice it aloud. I straighten anyway, chin lifting to meet his gaze. “And are all the rumors about your ‘many talents’ true, Your Highness?”
