Those odds were less than appealing.
Yet, what was my alternative? Return to Wynterborne to be used as a pawn? Wear fancy dresses and pretend to be royalty?
My options were miserable either way.
I needed more time, perhaps an opportunity to lodge at an inn where I could secure a horse and some coin. Surely, we wouldn’t be camping along the road for the entire journey. They’d have to restock their stores or re-shoe their horses eventually. I decided to wait for that opportunity and seize it when it came. Traveling in this state would be too risky.
“Oi, Princess?”
Ugh.
I pushed myself to my feet and wandered back to Grimm, stumbling only because I couldn’t see in the dark. The moon cast his silhouette, but little else. As he moved, I squinted, realizing he had offered his arm. At least he knew how to treat a woman.
My hand found the crook of his elbow, and I let him lead me back. I picked my feet up high as I walked to avoid ending up on my face. At the camp, I grimaced as he returned me to the spot that reeked of vomit.
I settled in and crossed my legs, watching as Sainte rinsed puke off the saddle. The moonlight was feeble, casting uncertain shadows. He’d likely miss a few spots.
Good.
“Eat.” He jerked his head toward the corner of the blanket, where a small portion of food waited for me.
I prodded at it, uncertain. “Could be poisoned.”
“No point in killing you now.”
I pressed my lips and nodded. He had me there. I palmed the dried meat and hard biscuit. The bread felt more like a rock than anything edible. How appetizing.
I ate, or rather gnawed, until my jaw ached, then swallowed. My stomach settled with every bite I forced down.
Sainte spread out the horse blanket and glanced between what I presumed was his bedroll, where I sat, and the blanket. I shifted my weight, smearing in whatever stink I could as I grinned, hoping my teeth were visible in the dark.
Choose your smelly options, Captain.
With a sigh, he reclined on the horse blanket, his lower half draped along the cold grass. He bent one leg at the knee, running his fingers through his hair. I stared, feeling a twinge low in my belly.
No. There would be no thoughts on his good looks. No resurrections of any childhood crushes. I was beyond that.
“So, to Wynterborne?” I asked.
He closed his eyes and dropped his hand over his belly, keeping his right arm stiff against his chest. “Yes.”
“Where are we now?”
“Thinking of running?”
I scoffed, then rested my head on the clean part of the saddle, gazing up at the starry sky. “Even I know I wouldn’t make it back.”
There was a grunt of agreement, then he went quiet.
Don’t do it.
Don’t, El.
“Will your arm be all right?”
His amused snort sent a wave of self-disgust rolling over me. I wasn’t worried. He deserved what he got. Right, I’d just keep telling myself that.
“I’ve suffered worse.”
