It was a bad time of year for a search party. The spring rains had rutted the roads, leaving them soft and challenging to ride.
I stood in the stables outside Bram’s stall, working a brush down his flank in strokes that were firmer and faster than usual. The rest of my company had already finished with their mounts; only Thom remained, methodically oiling our tack. The quiet of the stables felt wrong. Every movement was automatic, a routine I clung to when what I wanted was to drop the brush and find Pip, to put my hands on him and assure myself he was whole after three days without me.
“Good boy.” I ran my knuckles along the ridge of his jaw and held out a sugar cube on my palm. “You handled that river crossing well. So brave.”
He lipped at it, flicking his ears a little.
“You’re right. Next time we’ll take the bridge.” I moved the brush to his shoulder, working out the road dust.
He turned and head-butted my arm, and I slipped him another sugar cube. This time he took it with the delicacy of a courtier accepting a canapé, his velvet lips barely grazing my skin. I pressed my forehead against his neck, the smell of horse, hay, and iron—a scent that was fundamentally home—filling my lungs, and for a moment I stood there, letting the tension of three days on the road drain out through my boots.
“Spoiled boy. Not as spoiled as Pip though.”
Bram snorted, and I chuckled.
“I missed him,” I told Bram, because it was easier to admit it to a horse. “Three days without that boy talking at me should have been a peaceful experience, but it wasn’t.”
Bram huffed.
I turned for the hoof pick and found something far better: Pip, standing at the end of the aisle.
He was wearing something new: not shorts, for once, but a tiny pleated skirt that stopped well above mid-thigh, paired with stockings that climbed to just below the hem. He fiddled with the wooden ring at his finger and bounced a little.
Pip’s mouth spread into a grin so wide and immediate it seemed to light the aisle. He curled his fingers into fists, his whole body vibrating with the effort of not launching himself at me right there in the hay.
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.
“Long enough to hear you call your horse a good boy and feed him treats and press your forehead against his neck and hug him,” Pip said, in a voice that was vibrating with suppressed emotion.
“That was absolutely not a hug.”
“Aeldryc the Ironstorm. The fierce, badass commander of the Grey Guard gives his horse sugar cubes and talks to him about feelings.”
“I do not talk to him about my—”
“I heard you!” Pip was across the stable in three strides, his skirt swishing against his thighs. “You said you missed me. Can’t take it back.”
“I was brushing the dust out of his coat, just standard grooming.”
“Standard grooming does not involve sugar cubes and forehead-pressing, Ricky.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He leaned against the stall door, his face was so bright it made the sconces look dim. Bram, the traitor, swung his head toward Pip and nickered, a low, warm sound that I had not heard him make for anyone else, not even Thom.
“Hi, handsome,” Pip said to my horse, reaching into the pouch at my waist and stealing a sugar cube, holding it out to Bram. “I missed you too.”
Bram took the sugar cube. Where was the loyalty?
“Thom,” I called. The groom’s head appeared from the tack room, a bridle draped over one shoulder. “Can you finish Bram for me? My twink has come to greet me.”
“Of course, Commander. He was giving me the impression that river crossing was more trouble than you let on.” Thom said this with complete sincerity, wiping his hands on a rag. “Sounded like someone got cocky.”
I turned to Bram, who bobbed his head.
I handed the brush to Thom and pulled Pip further down the row of stalls, out of sight of Thom and Bram, then cupped his face and kissed him.
He arched against me, his hands digging into the edges of my chest plate, gripping it as he kissed me back with everything in him. I tilted my head and deepened the kiss. He tasted of sugar, like he’d been stealing the Queen’s sweet cakes again. This was what I had been thinking about for three days on a muddy road while Bram judged my every move.
