All's Fair in Revenge

Chapter 33: Chamomile

The next morning, in a moon-shaped courtyard outside the castle's main entrance, a bulky stable hand with square shoulders materialized from the fog along a gravel path. He'd come from the gatehouse with two saddled horses. One was a mare with a white coat and black markings. The other was familiar; the black stallion Thorne had lent me the day before. Behind them, three of the prince's personal guards waited in the shadows ready atop their own mounts. Opposite them, perched on every other marble step, stood a footman in waiting and me with them. He had asked me to go for a ride.

When I inquired about the destination, Enric refused to expand, other than to suggest he wanted to show me something. So, I came prepared for everything.

"Where's Lord Thorne," I asked the handler with mild curiosity, running my hand over his horse's snout who bent to sniff my leg as if he could sense the various weapons hidden beneath my heavy gray overskirt. I had chosen the outfit because of its thickness but also for the scarlet wool peeking through the embroidered-edge eyelets in the shape of three overlapping and interconnected arcs; a symbol the humans had stolen from Eyr and her sisters. It was only right I steal it back.

The horse nudged one the daggers I had secured to each thigh. Did he sense the small knives tucked into each boot? Or the fifth nestled between my breasts? Probably, he was Thorne's horse after all, and I hadn't been able to sneak weapons past him either.

The weight of each blade left indents on my memory. I hadn't secured so many weapons to my person since the tavern. How different things would go if Thorne pressed me against the wall now, dragged his hands along my thigh, my—

"Your Highness?" The stable hand shook me from my daze.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Only that Lord Thorne isn't joining you and His Royal Highness on the cliffside. He did, however, insist you borrow his favored stallion for the excursion," he said, leaving to check the tack was secure.

The cliffside? Enric planned to show me a cliff? "Lot of good these blades will do if he plans to chuck me into the Ortusalis. What do you think...um...well actually, I don't know your name, do I?" As if exasperated with my manners, the horse responded with a puff of air from his nose. "Hmm. Equine sarcasm. You are Thorne's."

"Sleipnir, Your Royal Highness." The stable hand returned to check the saddle one last time. "Like the ancient g—"

"I know of Sleipnir." Many tales had been told of the horse of gods, but they originated long before the new world's birth. Now, it was simply a name in a tome buried somewhere deep in the spire. Thorne had probably learned of the god from a Druvix scholar because if there was a castle and a Druvix prince no one knew about, why not an entire Druvix library, as well?

Not no one. Dorsette knew all about it. They even had a treaty; one that may or may not include a union between a certain prince and princess. A treaty I would very much like to read and then promptly shred for who knew what else it contained? In its present condition I was already despondent with the first line item.

I wiped a streak of dirt from his fleecy, round jaw and whispered, "Sleipnir, huh? I never once believed any of those rotten stories they tell of you." I swear he purred.

"Your Royal Highness, may I assist you?" asked the handler as I swung my leg over Sleipnir's back. "Never mind." It had taken some time to acclimate to the restrictions and weight of Dorsi fashion, but I quickly learned to manage lest I rely on the promptness of human men for the remainder of my stay.

The saddle curved to my thighs as if I'd been the one to wear it in. Black leather reins felt feather light in my palm and Sleipnir responded to the slightest shift in my position. In the haze of the engagement, I hadn't the mind to appreciate Sleipnir's might nor notice his innate stillness. In the quiet of the courtyard, it became unmistakable, remarkable even.