Even though I found my balance, he still held me against his chest. My teeth ground together, dreading what was to come. I closed my eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see the fear there. He knew I didn’t want to go. He didn’t need to know I was terrified.
“Do not speak until we breach the throne room, when we–”
“The throne room? Right away?!” I cut in, pulling back. “I’ll have no time to prepare myself? To bathe?”
“You sacrificed that when you ran. Again.” His gloved hand pushed my dark hair from my face. “You will say, ‘I, Elspeth, Second Born of Veiled King Vardis, challenge Prince Regent Adastrus to the Rites of the Gods.’ You must speak those words exactly.”
“Sainte, I don’t even know what that means! No one’s told–”
“Repeat it.”
“No! Tell me what I’m agreeing to first!” It was too late to turn back. I was too close to the castle to get away. But Ineededto understand what I was walking into.
“Say it.”
“I, Elspeth, challenge–”
“Say itright.”
“Sainte!”
I slammed my forehead against his armor. He remained obstinate, failing to grasp my plea for gentleness. I craved his protection, his assurance of safety and guidance.
I was scared.
And I needed him.
His warm hand cradled the nape of my neck, letting me have a moment as I fought my panic. My breaths came in quick gasps. I was an adult, a princess, for gods’ sake. I could do this. Right?
I had to.
“I, Elspeth, Second Born of Veiled King Vardis, challenge Prince Regent Adastrus to the Rites of the Gods,” I whispered, voice catching.
Sainte lifted my chin to force my gaze to his. Fear, iced and acrid, shivered through my being. We were about to get back on that horse and not stop until I was truly and utterly snared as a Princess of Wynterborne.
“Killip Gheten, Elspeth.”
Happy Birthday.
Chapter 9
If I thought we rode hard before, it was nothing compared to the speed that we flew down the streets as dawn broke. The gray horse wheezed, stumbling to obey the harsh demands. Its mane whipped across my face as I pressed against its neck, moving with the rise and fall of each rapid stride. Sainte’s chest pressed against my back, his arms locking me in place as he maintained control of the reins.
Wynterborne’s changes over the years were hard to gauge, considering there wasn’t much to recall. There was little chance to absorb the sights amidst the chaos we stirred. Shouts and yells trailed us, resounding through the streets as we raced uphill toward the castle.
I dared a glance upward, coarse hair stinging my cheeks. A large common bridge and several narrower ones connected the city to the royal grounds. They resembled massive ropes, tethering the grounds to the mainland. I lowered my face and shut my eyes, trying to dredge up my memories of the terrain.
Ahead, a clamor erupted, and Sainte pressed on without hesitation.
“Clear the way!” His voice sliced through the chaos, raw and harsh.
Shouts erupted around us, punctuated by Sainte’s curses. He veered left, forcing me to hunch down as our horse lurched in response. It swerved, but Sainte spurred it onward, charging past the two men stationed at the bridge’s entrance.
The thunderous gallop reverberated across the stone, hooves striking a rhythmic beat that echoed through the snowy abyss below. Behind us, voices rose in shouts, summoning more guards to arms.
“Captain Nytestorm!” a loud baritone voice rang out.
I dared to peer up as he slowed the horse to a quick trot, nearing the bridge’s end. Once we crossed, we would be on royal ground. The man addressing ushad dark hair and a clean, open face. A giant black stallion clad in a white and green blanket stood at his side.
