“I’m sorry, miss, but it’s on his orders.”
“Well, what’s in the stables?” I ask.
“Horses, Miss,” he answers flatly.
“Okay, I meant why does he want me there?”
“There’s a trip to the village for supplies.”
Supplies is vague enough to mean anything and nothing, but I don’t push. I change direction, pulling down my overalls and staring down at the plain tunic I got from Kael’s sister. Cycling through the same three clothes has been a stark reminder of where I am.
A place with none of my belongings.
The air is cooler than I expect as we step outside, the castle already awake with the quiet hum of people carrying on with their duties. Tucked into the curve of the outer wall, the stables are situated lower than the rest of the keep. The smell hits me first: hay, leather, damp earth.
Rowan is already there, standing with his back to us, one arm resting on the black horse in front of him. He grabs something from his pocket and places it in front of the horse before rubbing its nose with a soft pat. He isn’t wearing his armour today.
Instead, he’s dressed in dark, fitted trousers with a long black hooded cloak. The hood hangs low, shadowing his face. When he turns, it reveals only a few strands of dark hair and his jaw. It suits him far too well, and I stop pretending not to be staring at him. Rowan is attractive, and he knows it, in a way that’s sharp and dangerous. He turns to find me staring, his eyes darken as he swallows, causing his jaw to tighten. I don’t even bother looking away this time, letting the moment settle low in my chest, all flutters and foolish courage.
“Ah,” Kael says, clapping his hands together. “Perfect timing.” We break eye contact immediately, turning away, my pulse still tripping over itself.
“Ready to go?” Kael asks Rowan, giving him a wink and a slap on the back before heading to mount his horse. I look around the stables, assessing which horse I will probably ride, but the stables are empty. Except for the black horse towering above Rowan.
“Um, which horse am I supposed to be on?” I ask Rowan.
“There was a late call for patrol at the border. Most of the horses were taken this morning,” he says.
“You’ll be riding with me,” he says and I give him an unsure nod of my head, feeling my stomach tighten.
“Right,” I mumble. Thomas hesitates, glancing between us before stepping back.
“I’ll see you on your return, miss,” he says. I offer him a lazy smile, my eyes still wide and processing the situation. And then it’s just me and Rowan and the horse.
“I uh… I’ve never,” I ramble. Rowan gives me a smirk that causes heat to rush to my cheeks.
“I've never ridden a horse before,” I admit, embarrassed. He ignores my comment and swings up first with practiced ease, settling into the saddle. He reaches down, offering me his hand.
“For balance,” he says
I hesitate.
It’s not the fear of riding a horse. That is something I have always wanted to do, actually. It’s more for the sudden awareness of how close I am going to be to Rowan. I take his hand, his grip firm as he lifts me easily. He places his hands on my hips, guiding me into the saddle until I’m seated firmly in front of him. The moment leaves no room for awkwardness, no space to overthink. The horse jolts slightly, lifting its front leg, and there is suddenly nowhere for me to put my weight but against him. I stiffen on instinct, pulling forward. Only for him to wrap his arm around my front and pull me back into him.
“Relax,” he says. “You’ll unbalance the horse.” His voice is a murmur, so close to my ear it causes me to shiver.
The heat of his firm body behind me is unyielding.
His chest rises and falls slowly, controlled. We set off, Kael in front of us, and I’m acutely aware of everything. Feeling the rhythm of the horse beneath us. The way Rowan’s knees frame my legs. How our hips rock in time with the horse’s movement. I feel hot and flustered and entirely unsure what to do with myself. I don’t know when I stop thinking about it exactly, only that at some point, my body adjusts and I give in to the pull. Leaning back into him and letting my body trust him. It earns me a small sound from Rowan, which I choose to pretend didn’t happen for the sake of getting through the rest of the day.
The village gradually emerges from the distance, a tiny settlement that brings to mind the enchanting scenes of a fairytale. From the saddle, the village doesn’t announce itself.
It simply unfolds.
The road narrows and dips, and the stone gives way to water. A canal cuts cleanly through the centre of the village, its surface reflecting the sky in soft brown fragments beneath the low-hanging trees above. Buildings lean in close on either side, as if they have grown accustomed to sharing their pale stone walls with the aged pavement below. I lean forward in awe of its beauty. There are tables lining the canal’s edge, chairs pulled at uneven angles, lanterns illuminating either side in rows. It reminds me somewhat of Venice, but older and even more romantic. Something is missing, though. It takes me a moment to realise what it is, and by the time Rowan brings the horse to a stop and drops lightly to the ground, I’m already looking for it.
“Where are all the people?” I ask.
“Many of them left before the King sealed the gates shut,” he says, tilting his head to look at me atop his horse. “Those who stayed don’t waste daylight hours,” he says simply. “Why would they all just leave?” I ask.
