Again Shae flinches, almost imperceptibly.
“Sorry about that,” Arthur says cheerfully, not feeling sorry at all. “I hope you can understand my concerns.”
“It’s fine,” Shae mutters.
It’s impossible to tell whether that’s a lie as well.
***
“Hey, princess,” Arthur calls out as they enter the stables. Dust swirls gold in the morning light, and Duchess’s elegant nose immediately appears from the stall window. “Have you finished your breakfast yet?”
Evidently so. Instead of dropping her head behind the stall door to continue eating, her ears remain pointed expectantly in his direction. He laughs and steps forward to stroke her nose.
The stablehand’s voice sounds from the tack room at the end of the barn. “Are you leaving? Give me a second, I’ll get her tacked up for…”
Wyatt emerges from the tack room only to stop short, voice trailing off. His handsome freckled face whitens as if seeing a ghost, and Arthur’s confused for a moment before he remembers the necromancer lurking behind him. He glances over his shoulder to see Shae’s face twisting in a scowl.
“That would be great,” Arthur says with a smile. “We’re ready to head out.”
But Wyatt’s no longer the cheerful, friendly man who flirted with Arthur the night before. His shock settles into a grim expression. “Sorry, I just remembered Ilora needed me in the kitchen. Your tack’s all in there, you can grab it yourself.”
Arthur doesn’t need any magic to know he’s lying, but he doesn’t call him on it. “All right. Thanks for taking care of my girl.”
“Of course, sir. You have a safe journey.”
Unfortunately for Wyatt, the nearest route to the inn is beyond the pair of them. He has to walk right past them to get out, and just as he’s passing them, Shae says, deadpan, “Boo.”
Wyatt jumps half out of his skin and sprints the rest of the way to the inn.
Arthur sighs. “That wasn’t necessary.” He’s getting the sense that Shae doesn’t get along well with people. Probably safest not to ask if he’d ever considered the problem might be his personality as much as the necromancy. “Come on, let me introduce you to Duchess.”
It’s Shae’s turn to look nervous now. He steps up to the stall, but still hangs back a bit behind Arthur. “She’s… pretty.”
There are a lot of other words hiding in that pause, Arthur figures. Big. Scary. Seriously big. Duchess stands seventeen hands at the shoulders, and she’s all muscle. Shae’s far from the first person to find her intimidating. But if Shae has an issue with his horse, this job is going to be a problem.
“I’m guessing you don’t spend a lot of time around horses.”
“We didn’t have them growing up,” Shae answers. “I don’t know how to ride.”
“If everything goes well you won’t need to.” Arthur scratches under her forelock, and she leans into the petting. She hasn’t even looked at Shae yet, focused completely on Arthur. “Mostly she’ll just be carrying our packs, and we’ll walk unless we need a quick getaway. Here, give her this.”
He holds a cookie out to Shae. Duchess’s ears immediately swivel in the necromancer’s direction, finally acknowledging his existence.
“Lay your hand out flat and move slow. She won’t bite.” Thanks to very careful training, but Shae doesn’t need to know about that.
He steps back and watches like a hawk as Shae edges forward. The necromancer follows Arthur’s instructions to the letter, slowly offering the hard cookie in the center of his gloved palm.
Duchess delicately lips the cookie from his hand, barely even touching Shae. Crunching noises fill the barn, and she looks between Arthur and Shae, ready for the next treat even as she’s still eating the first.
Great, Duchess likes him. Now as long as…Arthur peers at Shae’s face, and all his thoughts disintegrate until they’re no more than the dust in the air.
The necromancer’s smiling. He’s practically glowing, eyes shining as he stares up at Duchess. There’s something fragile about the expression, and Arthur wonders when the last time he smiled was. Wonders what it would take to get him to smile again.
“She’s so nice.” Shae turns to Arthur. “Can I pet her?”
Arthur wonders how he’ll survive the direct force of Shae’s smile turned towards him. His blood pools low in his stomach. “Absolutely,” he says gruffly. “Stay away from her ears, but feel free to pet her while I tack up.”
He strides towards the tack room, fantasizing about snow and cold rivers in an attempt to bring his sudden arousal down. Not that Shae would notice, given how distracted he is by the most beautiful horse in the world. Arthur takes his time gathering his tack anyway.
