I laughed, tearing off a piece of bread. “Something tells me if I asked, she would’ve arrived absurdly prepared.”
My old handmaid waited in Mon for my word. Freya was young enough to endure the pace, though even she hadn’t ridden so long before. Kallias warned us we’d ride hard, and I’d believed him. But I hadn’t expected a relentless trot from dawn to dusk. The endless rise and fall battered my bones, nothing like the smooth drift of a dragon gliding along coastal updrafts.
“She would have demanded a carriage or produced a pillow,” Freya said.
I finished the cold meal, grateful for it despite craving warmth. No fires tonight. Nothing that might slow our charge toward Lon. We carried only what we couldn’t do without.
She took the empty tray and eyed the thin furs on the ground. “Up. I need to see the damage.”
Standing felt impossible.
With a scoff, she slid her hands beneath my arms and hauled me upright. I bit back a string of curses as my trousers dragged against tender skin, pain flashing hot and bright.
Her fingers flew to my laces, loosening the white fabric.
Kallias ducked into the tent, with Greaves close behind.
Freya gasped, and I clutched my dress to my chest.
“Could you not announce yourself?” she snapped, then clapped a hand over her mouth, then waved a frantic hand at Greaves. “That was meant for your guard, Your Majesty!”
The man in black gave my state a single, neutral glance before turning to Kallias, waiting.
Lanternlight skimmed Kallias’ armor, the divine glow gone now, tucked away beneath skin and bone. “I will care for her.”
Freya’s lips pressed thin as she stared at Greaves like he was the true offense.
“Go,” I said. “I’ll check on you later.”
On stiff, wobbling strides, she headed for the exit. “I can manage, Your Majesty.”
She was the only other woman in camp, and far too stubborn to admit she might need help with those blisters.
Greaves waited until she stepped outside, then tied the tent closed. He didn’t meet my gaze again as he began unfastening his king’s armor.
“Are you well?” Kallias asked. Concern sharpened his features beneath the lone lantern.
“Saddle sore.” I tugged my dress higher against my chest. “I’ve lived through worse.”
He moved with infuriating ease, all too comfortable after the pace he’d set. A reminder that he was used to this. Horses. War. I knew halls and council chambers, soft chairs, and dragonback.
“I imagine it beats three days on a dragon,” he said, wrestling with a gauntlet.
A sharp laugh escaped me. “Hardly. You sit nearly flat. Properly seated, you leave with aching muscles at worst.”
His brows lifted as he bent to set his armor in careful order. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“You rode without a saddle.” I shook my head. “That changes everything.”
“I imagine preparation matters,” he said.
With a wince, I sank back onto the stool and waited while Greaves finished his work. The process stretched on. Methodical. Kallias assisted where he could, the two moving with quiet familiarity.
When the last gleaming plate lay stacked, the guard produced a small tin and passed it to his king. “I’ll be outside.”
Kallias nodded. “It won’t take long.”
“Kal, the fabric is thin.”
