It was apparent to me that I was meant to guard her, and I had never failed a post. So, that would have to be enough.
…
By the time dawn broke, I was already at the stables. A dull gray-violet defined the sky, and the air held the burden of an approaching storm, though clouds hadn’t gathered. Horses shifted in their stalls, snorting into the cold, while leather creaked beneath my hands as I tightened Flora’s girth strap.
Boots scuffed against stone behind me. They sounded like light and careful steps. I turned.
It was Princess Wynessa and her personal lady.
She looked delicate, not in the noble sense of ornament and poise, but like someone still learning how to stand up in a world that had pressed too hard. Her cloak snagged briefly on the stirrup as she passed. She waved off the guard who moved to help and tugged it free herself, though her hands trembled.
Her hair caught the early light, a glint of copper and gold. Her posture was straight, too straight, the kind of stiffness that came from trying not to fold. Her eyes swept the yard as if she expected someone to call her out for being here. I moved closer toward her; she hardly reached my shoulder, and I wasn’t a large person by any measure. A solid foot separated us, enough to make her look like she’d drown in a borrowed saddle.
She looked at me. I held her gaze long enough to nod.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For…coming.” She cleared her throat. “On this journey. I mean.”
A pause.
“I’m Wynessa, by the way,” she added quickly, like she’d only just remembered how introductions worked. “But…I suppose you knew that.”
I gave a low grunt in acknowledgment. Little could be voiced.
She and her lady stepped back a few paces, just out of arm’s reach, their voices lowering to a whisper. They probably thought I couldn’t hear.
Wynessa turned toward the other woman beside her; Jasira, if I remembered correctly. Dark curls pinned back in a twist of green silk. She had a grounded look about her, with strong arms and a solid posture. Not a guard, but someone who’d learned how to protect things, anyway.
“I think he hates me,” the Princess murmured.
Jasira huffed. “He doesn’t hate you. He looks like he was sculpted by someone who’s never laughed.”
Wynessa gave a quiet, breathless laugh.
I looked away, pretending not to have heard.
She turned her attention from Jasira and stepped closer to a nearby stable hand who was no older than fifteen, with hay in his hair and a saddle strap clutched in his calloused hands. I’d seen him once or twice around the barracks but never bothered to learn his name.
“Good morning, Talen,” she said gently. “Thank you for readying the horse.”
The boy blinked, wide-eyed. “Y-you’re welcome, Princess,” he stammered, his cheeks going crimson.
Wynessa smiled like she meant it. “This one’s yours, isn’t it?” She reached to pet the nose of the chestnut gelding. “He’s beautiful.”
Talen nodded mutely.
I clenched my jaw. Of course, she knew his name. Of course, she asked after the horse as if it mattered. She had no ideawhat the road ahead held, and she was wasting her attention on stables and pleasantries.
Then, to my horror, she added, “I’ve never really ridden before. Do you have any advice?”
Talen’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Oh, uh, don’t—don’t grip too tight with your knees. Let the horse move under you.”
“Like dancing?” she suggested, with a hopeful tilt.
“Sort of?” he stuttered, clearly overwhelmed by her questions.
I turned away, biting back a sigh.
She was going to die.
