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Juliana ought to have enjoyed the ride, and perhaps she would have, if it had been another day, different company, a different circumstance.
Because even though it was a fine day and Hawthorn was in high spirits and he didn’t, thankfully, demand they go outside the palace gardens, it was still hard to keep track of him. Every time he raced on ahead she pictured disaster unfolding—some unseen assassin leaping out of the bushes, trolls scurrying up from the earth, perhaps a merrow appearing from the lake.
None of those things had happened, but it didn’t stop Juliana imagining them.
Being on high alert all the time was exhausting.
It was one of the reasons she both longed for and hated her days off. She liked handing over that mantle to someone else, but at the same time, she could never quite shake it. It wasn’t that simple. She still imagined disaster befalling him in her absence and after all these years, the weight was almost like a crutch—she didn’t know how to stand without it.
What would it be like when the curse was finally over?
What would her life be like without him?
Hawthorn paused at the summer lake, the shadow of his great black mount spreading out across the still waters. He waited for Juliana to reach him, and they stood beside each other for some time as the sun began its descent, turning the lake to liquid fire.
Their horses nuzzled each other.
“If only we could get on as well as they do,” Hawthorn sighed.
Juliana did not remove her gaze from the sunset. “You want to nuzzle my neck?”
Hawthorn went quiet for a moment. “It seems as friendly a thing to do as any.”
“We are not friends.”
Hawthorn scoffed. “Liar. Race you that tree over there.”
“You aren’t going to demand a neck nuzzle, are you?”
Hawthorn grinned. “Only if you lose,” he said, and raced off.
A short time later, a sopping wet Hawthorn and a decidedly dry Juliana made their way back to the castle.
“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” Hawthorn said, handing the reins of his horse to Albert and sliding in through the back door, boots squelching.
“You didn’t have to try to nuzzle me, and yet you did.”
“I won.”
“I made no agreement. Even by faerie word, I’m off the hook.”
Hawthorn grumbled, pulling off his shirt as he ascended the stairs, and handing it to a passing maid who received a wink for her troubles and went away giggling. Juliana supposed she ought to have been happy he didn’t just leave it in a pile for someone to trip over, as he’d done frequently when she first took the job.
“The joke is entirely on you,” Hawthorn insisted as they climbed, “for I shall now be taking a very long bath with the door open.”
“I don’t think that’s the punishment you’re implying it is.”
Hawthorn’s grin turned wicked. “Why, Juliana, youdothink I’m a delight to behold!“ He walked into his bedroom and dropped his trousers.
Juliana walked away from him, back to her own room. “I think there is such a thing as doors.”
By the time Hawthorn had finished with his bath, climbed into a velvet suit, curled his hair to perfection and painted his face with silver, the revel was already in full swing.
Once more, Juliana was on high alert, watching as countless fae flocked to Hawthorn’s side. All had been checked for weapons before they entered, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find some other way to hurt him. Once a spritely-looking nymph had seduced him into an alcove and tried to strangle him with her hair. It took way too long for Hawthorn to realise he was in danger, almost too long for Juliana to get to him, and not nearly enough time before he returned to flirting with everything that moved.
So Juliana watched. She took note of everyone who spoke to him, where they went afterwards, who they spoke to, how much they drank. Most people attempting an assassination would be trying to keep their wits about them, although that didn’t rule out opportunists. Juliana had once stopped a very drunk faun who was trying to murder him (unsuccessfully) with their minute horns. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” had been his only defence.
Maytree had cut off his horns in retaliation, and several other parts of him before she got to his head. It decorated the Spring Gate for a full month.
