The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Bonus Chapter 41.5

Hours earlier that afternoon, the same pair of riders hastened through the trees with far less urgency.

"This is a fool's errand," Beatriz growled in Bazeran. Rain slicked off her cloak as she rode, hastening through the damp forest.

"A lover's errand," Nisha corrected. "You can thank me later."

"Frederico will–"

"Frederico will never know," Nisha interrupted, slicing a sharp look at her best friend. "Did he honestly expect you to sit up in your window, pining like some storybook maiden?" She scoffed. "Men."

Beatriz' pressed her lips into a line. If she were being honest, it hadn't taken much coaxing from her best friend – she'd been sketching a plan before Nisha had burst into her room. Not even the miserable rain had given her pause. It had approached in shimmering curtains as the riders disappeared into the pass and had not relented even as the two women snuck out to the stabled horses.

She hadn't wanted to let him go. She hadn't wanted to release him from how she'd twined her limbs with his as she'd slept. She ached, all over, both from injuries and the dread that she might never see him again.

"He's a heartbreaker, of that I'm certain," Genevieve had whispered, when they'd huddled together in her bed, before he'd come back from Nisha's tent. "But he's also very much in love with you, cherie."

A blush heated Beatriz' cheeks at the mere thought of it. Of him leaning down to peer up through the curtain of her hair, towards her face. Of the feel of his forehead pressed against hers.

I think I'm too far gone to turn back now...

All of it had come to this. To the decision her best friend had offered. To sneak out of her brother's safehouse and follow the foreign prince. Nisha had offered because she didn't trust a charming man farther than she could throw them. But Beatriz had agreed because it had felt too much like goodbye. With the storm swirling outside, something had prickled along the skin of her neck as she'd kissed him goodbye. She didn't like the ominous sense of foreboding that had settled on her shoulders as he'd ridden away without looking back.

That wouldn't be their last kiss. Not if she had anything to say about it.

But now, after a half day's hard riding through the rain, the urgency had waned. She was slowly feeling more and more of a fool. Perhaps he regretted all of his words, or perhaps he valued his freedom and safety back in Pretania more than any of the promises he'd made her. Perhaps he would be different, surrounded by his own countryfolk. Perhaps he'd smirk and swagger at her, and tell her it had all been a game...

"Stop it," Nisha barked. Her dark eyes had fastened onto Beatriz' face. "He's not Ammar."

The sound of that rotten egg of a man's name on Nisha's lips had Beatriz bristling. But she reined in her horse nonetheless. "Which is precisely why we should turn back."

Nisha kept riding, with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "I passed your prince up once, Bea. I don't think I'll be able to resist the temptation of a warm bed and a warm man after today's ride."

"That stopped being funny when you nearly chopped my hand off." Beatriz called after her.

"I mean it this time. I'm starving and I'm freezing and I want to go back to where the sun blazes hot all day and the only weather I have to worry about is a sandstorm. In the meantime, I think a Pretanian prince's bed will be a pleasant place to–"

Beatriz' horse thundered to a stop in front of Nisha's. A smirk played across the smaller woman's face.

"Enough," Beatriz snapped, her brother's tone in her voice.