The feeling settled strangely in my chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome as I finally moved, easing the sting of the wood in my back. Closing my eyes once more, I allowed myself a moment to relax against the soft seat of the alcove.
Sunlight flickered across my face in a fading light, as the clouds drifted across the stained glass. Tomorrow I would ride into the territory of wolves who did not want me there. Next to a King who wanted to use me, parade me.
I could not decide which I found more dangerous. The wolves waiting within the forests, or the man who had just walked away.
Chapter Seven
I decided that I now despised mornings.
Penny woke me well before sunrise, shoving a cup beneath my nose while shaking my shoulder. The scent rising from it was thick and sharp, something green and bitter that reminded me unpleasantly, of fresh cut grass left too long in the sun.
“Drink,” she insisted, pressing the cup closer.
“No,” I groaned, dragging the blanket over my face and attempting to shove the offending drink away.
“Elara,” she warned, her patience already thinning. I ignored her, refusing to lift my head.
A moment later the blankets were ripped from me entirely, the chill of dawn air spilling across my skin like icy fingers.
“I will set myself on fire,” I muttered darkly, cracking one eye open to glare at her through a haze of sleep.
“Drink,” she repeated again. There was no escaping the tone in her voice. Penny could command an army if she chose.
So, I drank, not bothering to question what it was. I knew she wouldn't tell me anyway. Penny didn’t answer questions if she didn't want to. It was infuriating, only occasionally did it work to my advantage.
The liquid slid down my throat, thick and unpleasant, clinging together like poorly made gravy. It tasted just as terrible as it smelt. I forced it down without argument, knowing the sooner it was finished the sooner she would leave me alone.
The next hour was spent with Penny braiding my hair far too tightly, tugging at my scalp with a rushed efficiency before dressing me in layered, grey, riding leathers. The clothing fit me well enough, but it made me feel less like a person and more like The King’s property.
Before my brain was fully awake, and able to argue that I did not want to be dressed as Rhael’s pet, I was being pushed out of the door and sent on my way.
The stables were already alive when I arrived.
Grooms hurried between stalls, tightening saddles. Guards leaned against posts sharpening blades, the scrape of steel against stone ringing through the mid-morning air. Horses stomped impatiently against the hard ground, their breath fogging in pale clouds. The place sounded less like a stable and more like a battlefield preparing for war.
Rhael was already there. Waiting.
He stood beside a massive black stallion. The riding leathers on his body were fitted in a way that made it difficult to not notice the strength of his frame. A sword rested across his back, the hilt worn smooth from use. His hair was loosely tied, several strands catching the early light.
He looked irritated, very irritated. His silver eyes snapped towards me the moment I stepped towards him. They narrowed instantly as if my very existence had personally ruined his morning.
“You are late,” he hissed, each word clipped and precise.
“Good morning to you too,” I replied after blinking slowly, still struggling to wake myself up.
“Do not test my patience today. We have far to travel.” His voice remained low, careful not to carry to the surrounding guards, though his hands tightened visibly on the stallion’s reins.
“I am aware,” I muttered. “Penny reminded me roughly eleven times.” It wasn’t an exaggeration, every other sentence she had spoken this morning involved warnings about distance, danger or behaving properly.
“Mount.” Rhael ordered, ignoring my complaints entirely.
“On what horse?” I asked, glancing around the stable yard. I assumed the animal meant for me had simply not been brought out yet.
“You ride with me,” he said simply as he tugged the stallion closer.
“Excuse me?” I asked, staring at him blankly. The words not quite connecting with what he expected from me.
“You will share my horse,” he repeated slowly, as though speaking to someone particularly dense. His hand remained on the reins, waiting for me to comply.
