We walk in silence through golden hallways. The silence soon becomes decidedly competitive – amused on his end, stubborn on mine. He seems to want me to be the one to break it, but I stand my ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
I find myself stealing glances at him, my gaze grazing over his mud-stained boots, the rings on his fingers, the little gold hoop in his ear, the wicked-looking dagger at his hip. His hair appears even more tousled than usual tonight, as though someone had just been running their fingers through it. To my annoyance, the thought makes me blush.
Eventually he says, ‘I enjoyed your little display the other night.’
I experience a brief moment of victory at him being the one to speak first. Then I narrow my eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
He glances sideways at me. ‘What is it with you and wine glasses?’
I bristle, remembering the way he’d watched me in the banquet hall, the crimson tear on his tongue, the smile that saidYou can’t fool me, but points for trying.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say stiffly, which only makes him laugh.
‘This way,’ he says, leading me through an archway at the bottom of a long staircase.
Night air caresses my face, silken and cool. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the stables,’ Fox replies.
I frown. ‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘This gift you have in mind, it’d better not be a horse. It’s not a horse, is it?’
‘You ask a lot of questions, Storm Weaver.’
‘What else am I supposed to do when you’re so cryptic all the time?’
He smirks. ‘Another question.’
‘Seriously?’
‘There you go again.’
I glower, clamping my mouth shut, ready to resume our game of silence, determined to hate whatever it is he’s about to show me.
The palace stables are extensive and, like everything in this place, hewn from solid gold. Fox leads me past countless horses, golden thoroughbreds, charcoal-black ponies, even a number of silvery Threskan stallions belonging to King Balen. We soon come to a stall containing a velvety brown horse with a fine dark mane.
‘This is Cedar,’ he says.
I reach out a hand to stroke Cedar’s muscular flank, feeling his strength ripple beneath my fingers. ‘He’s beautiful.’
‘He is,’ Fox agrees, as the horse nuzzles into him, nickeringsleepily. ‘But he’s not why I brought you here. Why don’t you have a look in that basket over there?’
So I do, and all my resolve to hate whatever I find inside crumbles on to the hay-strewn floor. For in the basket, sleeping close to their mother, are half a dozen kittens. I let out a sharp gasp of delight and the cat, a plump, smoky creature, opens one beady orange eye and fixes it on me suspiciously.
‘Sorry,’ I whisper.
The musty air in the stables is suddenly replaced by the scent of pine and fresh mint as Fox settles himself beside me.
‘Pick one,’ he says, nodding towards the kittens.
I blink at him. ‘What?’
‘Pick one,’ he repeats. ‘For your brother. I said I had the perfect gift for him, didn’t I? Take any one you want. Take them all, if you’d like.’
I choke out a laugh. ‘Really?’
