I open my eyes to see him fastening the saddlebag to his horse once more.
“What were you doing in the woods?” he asks, his back tome.
“Following the huntsman’s map,” I say. “I met Tassilo along the path.”
His jaw tightens.
“Did you see who was shooting?”
“No,” I admit. “Only the arrows.”
He nods once, grim, and pops a piece of gingerbread into his mouth.
“You like gingerbread?” I ask, a small smile curving my lips.
“Of course,” he says, licking his fingers clean as he checks the stallion’s reins. “Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I just never imagined you eating sweet things.”
He arches a brow.
“Pray tell—why would you be imagining anything about me at all?”
Heat floods my cheeks.
“No, I didn’t mean—I mean, I don’t generally imagine things about you. Why would I? We barely know each other—”
He makes a noise that suspiciously sounds like a laugh. I can’t see his face, though, so who knows what’s going through his mind.
“I’m only teasing, Your Majesty,” he says evenly. “I understood what you meant. And yes—I do love gingerbread. A terrible habit, perhaps, but one small indulgence I allow myself now and again.”
“They say gingerbread is the Devil’s indulgence,” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Far too much pleasure for something so unnecessary.”
Ashford scoffs.
“I imagine the Devil has far more important matters toattend to than tempting people with gingerbread. If he concerned himself with every small joy, he’d never get any real work done.”
He helps me back into the saddle, then mounts behind me. He sits close enough that I can feel his warmth through my clothes. It should be uncomfortable, a position way too intimate between two people who barely know each other. But I feel safe.
We ride in silence for a while. Then I glance back.
“It’s strange. I don’t remember where the King’s guards went.”
He tilts his head.
“There were guards with you?”
“Yes. Charles never lets me go anywhere without them. They were some distance behind—but I remember seeing them shortly before the attack.”
Ashford hums.
“I will be speaking with your father about this and see what I can find out and where the guards went.”
“You think they were involved?” I ask, incredulous.
“Maybe. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be returning to court this instance,” he says earnestly. “But I am sure the King is already worried and wondering where you are. News of the altercation surely has reached the hunting party by now.”
I look up at him. His brow is furrowed, his lip caught between his teeth in thought.
