AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Here, the wildness was a pattern that only appeared uncurated at first glance. It was as lush as a winter landscape could be without the constant interference of nature mages—though she saw some of that influence, to be sure, in a few flowers that were not known to be winter-blooming—the carefully chosen foliage thriving in defiance of the cold that nipped at Clare’s skin. They crowded together in a semblance of free growth, yet were so carefully manicured that no limb or vine entangled with another unwanted. Everything lay masterfully placed so the exalted members of high society could pass through it and claim they appreciated that which was natural, when what they had really done was broken nature to their image of what it should be.
It was beautiful, and Clare loved it with the fierceness born of a life filled with ugliness. But while she loved it, she held no illusions about what it was. It was this singular difference between her and the kingdom’s courtiers that made her want to throw every single one of them into Renault County’s Howling Woods with nothing but their own skin and let them tell her then how much they appreciated nature.
Something of it must have showed on her face, because Miriam asked, “Do you know what you are in for, dabbling in this society?”
Three horses appeared from around a bend in the trail ahead, and she recognized Numair on Hellack before placing the other two. Lady Dahlia and—surprisingly, given her earlier state—Lady Meraland.
“Unfortunately,” Clare answered, “I rather think I do.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Not Her Type
Miriam watched the riders approach, murmuring quietly, “If you need help separating yourself from Prince Numair?—”
“I don’t need to separate myself from my friends.”
Lady Aula gave her a sharp look. “That boy is no one’s friend.”
Clare met the gaze, pointedly, so there could be no doubt or confusion as to her immovability on the subject. “He’s mine.”
Miriam sighed. “That must be why Lady Dahlia looks so pleased at present. She wants very much to be Princess Dahlia.”
The would-be princess, her horse keeping pace with Numair’s, had already trained on Clare a look that good breeding was desperately attempting to prevent from becoming a scowl. When Numair’s face broke into a grin and he urged Hellack into a trot to meet them, good breeding was defeated.
“Proconsul Aula, Miss Brighton, how delightful to run across you. Do you have room for three more in your party?”
“My lord,” Dahlia objected, for her horse had caught up to his just in time for her to hear, “they are traveling in the opposite direction. We would not want to ask them to retrace their steps.”
“Well, I did ask to join their party, so it would be us doing the retracing.”
Clare covered her laugh with a feigned cough. “By all means, join us,” she said, since he already was. Hellack executed a partial turn on the forehand, hindquarters swinging around neatly to settle him alongside Kialla. On a trail only wide enough for three to ride abreast, it forced Lady Dahlia and Lady Meraland to turn around ahead of them, becoming the de facto leaders of their little party.
This didn’t even last long enough for Numair to speak. Ahead, Dahlia was engaged in fervent murmuring to Lady Meraland who, while clearly having more wits than she’d had a few hours ago when Clare ran into her in the hallway, still looked mostly dazed and out of sorts.
Eventually, sounding confused rather than confident, Lady Meraland called back, “Won’t you ride with me, Proconsul Aula? I wish to talk to you about…” She trailed off, looking helplessly at Dahlia.
Disgust was written in every line of Dahlia’s body. “Honestly, Ella, you are acting completely odd today.”
Lady Aula let out a long-suffering sigh and trotted ahead to join Lady Meraland, while Dahlia naturally made noise about giving them privacy and dropped behind to join Clare and Numair. The latter kept Hellack so firmly on the far left of the path that Dahlia had no option but to take up the empty space on Clare’s right. The lady made a single attempt to guide her horse between Kialla and Hellack, but when Kialla pinned her ears, head snaking out, and bit at her horse’s face, she decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.
“I don’t understand why you’ve never done anything about that horse,” Dahlia snapped to Numair. But she was looking at Clare when she added, “She needs to be made to understand her place.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Clare said breezily, “I find her spirit refreshing.”
“I didn’t ask you, did I?”
Riding with Dahlia of Moria, Clare decided, was going to be a true delight.
“She’s too beautiful to tame,” Numair said. He was, naturally, not looking at the horse when he said it. His gaze fell to the hibiscus flower tucked into the small braid behind Clare’s ear. “Nice flower.” At least he had the good sense, when he reached out, to touch one of the blooms on the horse.
Since he looked entirely too satisfied with himself, she answered, “Nice scarf.”
“Isn’t it?” He looked down at the green scarf, as if he’d possibly forgotten he was wearing it. “I think I’m rather fond of it.”
Dahlia seemed to recognize some level of subtext was occurring, but as she couldn’t discern what it was, she resorted to what Clare suspected was her default response of derision. “Why are you wearing that thing again? You wore it two days ago and it looks like you bought it in the Midtown markets.”
He leaned conspiratorially towards Dahlia—which the woman might have appreciated had it not, in this particular instance, meant it was Clare he was getting the closest to—and whispered theatrically, “That’s because I did.”
