Ugly. Crippled. Useless.She’d grown up on such words, thought herself hardened to them. But now, they lodged deeper than before.
If the same words passed through Lord Wulfbane’s lips, would she be as immune?
She nearly jolted when he reappeared at her window.
“’Tis a fine weather we’re having this afternoon, Princess. Would you care to ride with me if the carriage feels stifling?”
When she met his eyes, she knew he’d guessed: It wasn’t the carriage that suffocated her, but the company within it.
“With pleasure, my lord.”
The convoy halted at once. Ignoring the women’s outrage, she stepped down from the carriage.
She’d never ridden before, though her father’s stables brimmed with horses. Lord Wulfbane’s stallion was the finest she’d ever seen—black as obsidian, its mane catching the light. The creature stood with the arrogance of a beast bred for war, every line carved for strength and endurance. And its rider—broad-shouldered, steady in the saddle—looked as if he and the stallion were hewn of the same stone.
Tedric approached to help her mount, but before she could lift her hand, Lord Wulfbane had hopped off. His arm circled her waist. Her heart lurched—not just at the sudden motion, but at the sheer, effortless strength of it.
The world tilted as he lifted her, then steadied. He settled her sideways onto the saddle—a thick fur already laid over the leather—and swung up behind her before she could register the height. His body curved around hers as he gathered the reins, his arm a thick band across her midsection.
She felt the rise and fall of his breathing, the restrained power in the frame that now cradled her. Warmth seeped through layers of leather and wool, a profound sense of safety enveloping her. The stallion moved, hooves striking the earth in a steady rhythm, and his arm remained at her waist.
The hush that followed held none of the scorn she needed to brace against.
It was quiet, at last.
CHAPTER 11
ALEXANDER
The princess was light in his arms—slight and fine-boned, scarcely heavier than a strung hunting bow. Duskwane tossed his head at the new weight, but the stallion bore it without protest. Two riders were never ideal, especially for a lengthy journey, but Alexander would give the stallion extra rest tonight. The princess, at least, was no heavy burden. Not to the horse. And, increasingly, not to him.
“Do you ride, Princess?” he asked after a moment.
“No, my lord. I’ve never had the chance.”
“Your father keeps horses at the palace, does he not?”
“Many. He is fond of Asadian horses. But most are kept at the hunting grounds on the southern plains, where he holds his annual hunts.”
He patted his stallion’s strong neck. “Duskwane was a gift from my distant cousin in Asadia. He’s fierce, even as a colt, but steady once trained. A good mount for war.”
He raked his brain for something amusing to say, something to coax a smile from her. “Or for carrying princesses,” he managed at last.
It sounded absurd the moment he said it. Yet before he could regret it fully, he felt a subtle tremor through her frame—the shake of silent laughter.
“If you wish,” he pressed on, encouraged, “I’ll teach you to ride once we’re in Parandor. The forests of Blackwood-Veyrde are threaded with old trails—winding through pine and over stone bridges, away from the world. They would suit a gentle mare, and a patient rider, perfectly.”
He paused, the protector in him surfacing. “Though you must promise not to stray from the path. The woods are vast, and it’s easier to become lost in them than you might think.”
She didn’t answer for a moment, as though weighing the offer. “I’d like you to teach me,” she said softly.
Tension eased from his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted her to accept—not as a lord securing compliance, but as a man hoping for a shared future. An image flashed: a sun-dappled forest trail, her laughter on the breeze, the two of them riding side by side. Maybe a hound following, a pair of rabbits in its jaw.
The vision was so simple and domestic it startled him.
They rode in silence, hooves beating against packed earth. The scent of pine and woodsmoke rode the breeze, but beneath it, Alexander’s senses strained. He could smell the soap she used in the lake, and the sharper aroma of herbs she must be keeping somewhere in her clothing. But her natural scent—her Omega—remained out of reach.
He could only presume she employed some method of Heat suppressant. He had heard of such things. Still, understanding its purpose did nothing to calm his blood. He clenched his jaw and looked away.
