“Not when the right person says it.” She winked, then bid farewell.
I enter the stables, marching past stalls filled with the most stunning horses I’ve ever seen. Gleaming white manes and tailsoffset hides of dark gold, and doleful brown eyes peer at me as I deposit myself on a bench outside a stall.
Moments later, Lachlan emerges with his mare. He’s wearing a different kind of uniform today; one that resembles his white armour, but looks to be made of leather rather than metal. The horse clacks her hoof against the floor and throws her head back, snorting, as he begins saddling her for our journey.
He murmurs as he works, then fishes a pink sugar cube from a sack hanging on the wall. Her lips snuffle over his open palm, and I catch the tail end of his praise, delivered low and soft as he pats the side of her neck.
“…my good, gentle girl.”
Something deep within me perks up. I hastily shove it back down.
“Do you like kelpies?”
His question startles me—I didn’t think he realized I’d arrived. “I thought she was a horse.”
“Kelpies resemble horses. But they’re ancient shape-shifters, really. They can travel through certain natural phenomena faster than you can blink. Water, wind, clouds, shadows. This girl here’s a light kelpie.”
“Well,” I say, fascinated, “I suppose I do like kelpies, then. Since I like horses better than most creatures. Especially humans.”
He snickers, gesturing for me to join him at his kelpie’s side before placing a sugar cube in my hand.
I flatten my palm beneath her snout, and she gently takes it. Warmth radiates through my chest that I have been deemed worthy of her trust.
That, or she’s easily swayed by sweets. We will get along famously.
“What’s her name?” I ask as we walk out into the paddock.
He raises a dark, pierced brow, then turns to her. “Tula, light kelpie of Tír na Strelle, meet Charlotte, queen-to-be, most recently of the human realm.”
Tula flares her lips, snorting at her master, while I try to recover from Lachlan wrapping his lush voice around my first name. I want him to say it again.
It is a thing I suspect I should not want.
I shake off the daze and approach Tula, who dips her head and allows me to pet her neck. “She’s sweet. But who will I be riding?”
He stares down at me, confused. “We’re riding Tula.”
Before I have a chance to protest—which, let’s be honest, I would have done rather weakly—Lachlan cups my waist, his large hands spanning my ribs to the flare of my hips, and lifts me bodily into the saddle.
“I could have done that myself. I know how to mount.”
His pierced lip twitches as he shrugs, then hoists himself up behind me, wrapping thighs as hard and thick as iron posts around my own.
My face reddens at the intimacy of the position. George wasn’t much for riding, and even on the outings he’d deign to take with me, I always rode my own horse.
Lachlan clicks his tongue, flicking Tula’s reins, and she ambles through the paddock gate.
As soon as we exit the castle grounds, we are swarmed by fae with the same pointed ears and ethereal beauty as the man behind me. I recognize a few from the ceremony yesterday. They follow our progress down the paved marble streets, tossing cut flowers in a shade of pink so pale it almost looks white. Lachlan tells me its petals only open on clear nights when the stars are visible.
“For good luck,” he rumbles at my back. “They are wishing you well.”
Shouts ofmy queenandkingmakerring out in our wake. It is a strange thing, adoration from complete strangers. Will they turn on me if another duke wins the Wild Hunt? Or will they respect me as their queen regardless of my husband’s House?
Lachlan receives as much attention as I do. More, even. Fawning glances abound, and as we pass a dress boutique, a group of bold young women wolf-whistle. He tenses behind me.
I wonder whether he has a wife. There’s no ring upon his finger. I suppose it’s likely he has a lover, maybe more than one. I can’t imagine a man like him—handsome, powerful, self-assured—goes without companionship for long.
The buildings stretch fewer and farther between, and the crowd thins as the paved road gives way to packed dirt. Lachlan steers Tula into a wild forest, beyond which the sky is a mauve watercolor smear of approaching twilight.
