She fell quiet, watching the road. Nythir studied her posture. From the way she sat straight, shoulders back, to her loose grip on the reins—all of it screamed noble-trained rider.
“Slouch,” he murmured.
“What?”
“Slouch. You’re riding like you’re leading a parade.”
“I don’t know how to slouch on a horse,” she hissed, muttering something about etiquette lessons. Nythir wasn’t worried about her magic exploding someone—he couldn't care less about that. He worried about her talking to anyone and revealing her not-so-hidden secret.
Nobility lived in posture long before it lived in titles. You could take the crown away and still spot a ruler by the way they occupied space.
He reached over, nudged her shoulder until she crooked forward a bit. “Like this. Think ‘mild back pain,’ not ‘royal portrait.’” After saying it, he realized there must have been portraits of her. He hoped one day she’d let him see them.
She tried to follow his instructions and somehow made it look like she was being tortured.
He sighed. “We’ll work on it.”
A laugh drifted back along the line. One of the younger merchants, a lanky boy with sun-browned skin and annoyingly bright green eyes, twisted around in his saddle to grin at her.
Nythir catalogued the boy automatically.
Friendly posture. Loose confidence. No visible weapons. The kind of man who relied on charm instead of caution. Dangerousin a different way. Charm unsettled him more than blades. Steel announced its intent. Smiles waited for an opportunity.
The irritation that followed was sharp, immediate, and inconvenient. There it was. Unwanted. Unhelpful. He filed it away underdistractions to be dealt with later.
He told himself it was vigilance. He was very good at lying to himself.
“First time on the road?” the boy asked. “You look like a festival banner.”
Nythir did not grind his teeth.
“Yes,” Essie said, polite as ever. “First time outside the city, actually.”
“Seriously?” The boy whistled. “You’re in for a treat then, miss. Name’s Teren.” He flashed a smile that probably worked on tavern girls. “If you need someone to show you around camp tonight, I know all the good spots to sit. Less rocks.”
Nythir’s magic prickled under his skin so faintly he could almost see it.
Essie brightened. “That’s very kind. I—”
“She’ll be with us,” Nythir cut in. “Training.”
Teren glanced at him, then back at Essie.
“Right,” he said slowly. “Didn’t mean any offense.”
“None taken,” Essie said quickly, shooting a look at Nythir.
Teren winked at her before turning back around.
Nythir kept his gaze on the road, imagining the boy tripping over his own feet into a puddle.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Essie said after a long moment.
“Do what?”
“Answer for me.”
“Yes, I did,” he said. “Because you would have said ‘yes’ to anything that sounds even vaguely friendly.”
