“Thank you, Sebastien. You can’t know what this means to me.”
Calling Kismet over, he thought that he might know what it meant to her, because this—this unarmored feeling between them—was everything he’d ever wanted.
13
Thorn rode in Prince Sebastien’s warm embrace.Sebastien.It was so very good to finally know his name. She’d thought it might be him from the moment she glimpsed him riding toward her—grown up, but the same bright golden hair and easy smile, his cloak streaming like a banner over him and his horse. But even though she’d escaped the cottage in order to find him, his appearance seemed so very unlikely. But he was undeniably here. Her prince.Sebastien.
And now, at last, they were together, every moment passing as in a delirious dream. A metaphorical dream, and the good kind, nottheDream, which didn’t care to deliver delights like this. Or, if it did, they didn’t persist, instead quickly morphing into awfulness. The prince stayed perfectly, vividly real. And he was besotted with her, as if he had recognized her in return. She’d never experienced anything like this feeling of being cared for, being cherished. They had been linked by fate from long ago. However he’d known to recognize her, she accepted it.
She didn’t understand why he was calling her Rose, but she loved it. So much better than Thorn, so much prettier, like a special pet name that he’d coined just for her. With him, she would be the rose and not the thorn.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, murmuring the question in her ear as they rode, then kissing her cheek high on the bone near her temple, which made her shiver in pleasure. “Cold?”
“Never, in your arms,” she answered, twisting back to smile at him.
He smiled back. “I know you’re still not yourself, that walking the Dream… hurt you, but how are you feeling now?”
He understood her so well. “Much better, now that you rescued me.”
“You’re awfully quiet.” He stroked her hair, studying her face. Sebastien reallylookedat her—and she felt herself steady and solidify, no longer the ghost wandering the cottage garden. “Walking the Dream must have been so tiring.”
“Yes.” It had been, but her mind was beginning to clear. What did he know about the Dream? “I tried to do it too soon, maybe,” she confessed, thinking he might have advice.
“I’m honestly surprised Monster Zoltan taught you the technique already.”
“Monster Zoltan?” she echoed, scanning her memory. None of the books she’d read had been authored by someone of that name.
“Sorry, I know you don’t like me calling him Monster.”
“I’m just trying to understand,” she said, racking her brain. Had he explained about this monster when she first stepped out of the dream?
He still frowned. “I’m worried about your memory. Will it come back?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. She was always foggy after the Sleep of Ages, and probably walking the Dream hadn’t helped, but she always recovered eventually, and she was feeling more herself all the time. It was lovely to have someone worry about her. “I’ll be right as rain soon.”
“Good.” He cuddled her close and she luxuriated in his affection. “You shouldn’t have walked so far through the Dream when you only just learned the technique. It’s so dangerous.”
“I couldn’t wait a moment longer.” That was absolutely true. “I’d already waited for so long.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be badgering you. We’ll stop at an inn tonight. It’s not far. Let’s get you a good night’s sleep and a solid meal. You’ll feel better for having eaten.”
That sounded so good. “I love food.”
He laughed, such a lovely joyful sound. She’d imagined it, watching him, but hearing it was like a miracle. Being with him was even better than she’d dreamed. “I love food, too,” he told her, and kissed the top of her head.
At the inn, Sebastien dismounted and handed her down. People flocked to him, bowing, saying, “Yes, Your Highness.”
“This is Kismet,” Sebastien told a young girl who took the gelding’s reins, giving her a coin. “See that he gets an extra portion of oats.” He winked at her and she blushed and smiled.
“Yes, Your Highness,” she said, giving Thorn a curious glance before leading Kismet away.
Sebastien led Thorn into the inn in much the same way. Inside, a cacophony of voices, dishes, music, song, and shouting echoing off the high rafters blasted her. Thorn stared, agog and aghast. So many people. Making so much noise. They laughed, engaged in tumbling, overlapping conversations that went too fast for Thorn to follow, even if she’d been able to focus in on just one, more people than she’d imagined existed crowded into a room larger than her entire cottage had been. She quailed, intensely missing the quiet solitude of her garden, perversely wishing to be back at that place she’d vowed she’d never return to.
Sebastien stepped into her line of sight. Not touching her, as she longed for, but that was apparently inappropriate, given whatever manners governed such things. He’d said something about knowing she wouldn’t want to be recognized or for them to seem to be together, which she’d thought had to do with her escape and not getting caught, but now she wondered. With a sudden stab of panic, she realized she knew next to nothing about court etiquette or how to behave in the world.
“My lady?” Sebastien asked with a quizzical brow. “Are you well?”
My lady. Did people in the world have so many names?
