“None that would fit.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I muttered. “I’ll be riding a horse, Sainte. I want clean pants.”
He pulled his lips to the side thoughtfully, watching as Urien finished saddling his stallion. He eyed our scrutiny with a raised brow, then headed our way.
“Good morn, Princess,” he called with a cheerful cadence, though his smile wavered as I shifted with discomfort under his gaze.
Sainte pushed himself to stand. “Your trousers, Urien.”
“Eh?” He peered at his pants, then up at Sainte with a confused wrinkle on his brow. “What about them?”
“I need your spare—”
Urien blinked, looking between us.
“—Now.”
The soldier turned on his heel, rubbing the nape of his neck as he trudged back to his horse.
Men lingered near their mounts, now watching our exchange.
“Is it safe to assume your soldiers won’t shy away from a bit of blood?” I asked, mortified that a group of strangers would witness this.
His blue eyes darted over his group, and he pressed his lips. “I’ll saddle your horse.”
My face brightened as I gazed up at him. The situation wasn’t nearly as bad if it meant I’d finally ride on my own. My poor muscles were exhausted from riding double with Sainte, balancing behind him. And my crotch ached from pressing against the lip of the saddle, a discomfort I was sure he was aware of.
Also… that chestnut mare had long legs—perfect for outpacing the men’s sturdier drafts.
Urien retrieved a pair of trousers and headed back our way with a frown. When he handed it to Sainte, who then passed it to me, recognition lit his features.
“Ah, she bleeds!” he said, dipping his chin.
I glared, though it wasn’t like I’d be able to hide it. Still, his blunt voice was far more uncomfortable than Sainte’s subtle nature of addressing it.
He waggled his brow with a jeering smirk. “At least there’s not a bastard on the way.”
There it was. The relief that a woman wasn’t with child.
“Not that it’s your business, Urien, but I could have told you that,” I grumbled.
Sainte jerked his head toward the others. “Clear the men out, but leave the chestnut. Wait for us on the road.”
I scowled, waiting for him to turn his lanky arse around. He shot me an obliging grin, then nodded. On his way back, he barked orders to mount up. The men shared a few confused glances and half-hearted shrugs, and soon, they disappeared beyond the treeline.
“Clean up.” Sainte stalked over to the mare to finish readying her tack.
After a deep breath, I detached myself from the blanket and stood. Bright red blood stained the inside of my thighs, but the bedroll was a dark brown, proving my pants saw the worst of it. After I gathered the fabric strips and waterskin, I hurried into the trees opposite of the men.
I washed up, folding my torn, withered pants. I wasn’t one to waste and planned to clean them at the next water source. Urien’s trousers were too big, hanging loose around my waist. I rolled the hems, then secured the waistline with Ethyan’s belt, cinching it tight.
When I returned, Sainte watched as I approached, holding his hand out for my trousers and waterskin.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely, surprised by his reaction and assistance.
I expected to be treated as a burden as I always had by men. When I looked at the mare, thinking of how fast she might outpace the others, my heart felt heavy.
Curse this guilt.
