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Chapter 9
The wooden wine cart shook uncomfortably over the bumpy stone road that led us north. For the first hour or so, I didn’t mind. I was too distracted by the excitement of the adventure. The endless green fields of my father’s kingdom looked so beautiful. The sun was shining down on farmers working in golden cornfields. I was used to garnering more attention as I traveled, but that was when I rode in my pompous royal carriage. On this old wooden thing with two aged horses pulling us, most people didn’t bother to look up, let alone bow or wave.
By now, several hours into our journey, my buttocks had started to hurt from the endless shaking and lack of soft cushions. I was sitting next to Sarolf on the front bench. His annoying sister Henrike was in the back with my belongings. Sighing loudly, she pushed another of my trunks to the side to make room to stretch her legs.
“I thought you told her to bring only the most essentials,” she said, as if I wasn’t even present.
“He did,” I answered before Sarolf could. “That is why I left most of my belongings behind. I barely have enough dresses to change for a month.”
“And what about that?” She pointed at Fiona, my white horse, who was tied to the back of the cart, trotting peacefully along with us.
I tugged one of my curls behind my ear. Some hair needles were getting loose, and I had no maid to fix them.
“What about her? She is my horse and goes where I go.”
Henrike rolled her eyes. “This horse shimmers as bright as the sun. Every idiot knows its worth. You are making us the target of every thief in the North and South combined. Your silver dress doesn’t help either.”
I covered the silk that glittered through the dark wool coat Frida had let me borrow. Not that it did much good. My white stockings and matching silver silk shoes were still sticking out.
“It’s not my fault Frida’s outfit turned out to be too small for me,” I countered. “And this dress is made of cheaper silk.”
“And that horse?” she insisted.
“Fiona won’t be in your way. I’ll personally take care of her.”
Even if I was drowning in gold and riches,that horsewas all I had left in the world. She was my friend and the only creature that loved me back.
“That mare is not a working horse. She has no use for us. We will sell her the first chance we get.”
I rose to my feet and turned to face Henrike. My fiery gaze met with hers. “Don’t you touch her.”
Henrike stood as well, both of us wobbling in the shaking cart.
“Or else?”
“Stop it, both of you,” Sarolf interfered, looking back and forth between us and the road ahead.
Suddenly, the cart came to an abrupt stop. In reflex, I tried grabbing something to hold on to, but there was nothing. I lost my balance and swung sideways. As I prepared to go flying off the cart, I felt strong hands grab my arms and pull me backward. I landed hard, but not on the bench or road—on the carpenter’s lap!
His muscular, lean body felt hard and warm. Twisting my head, I looked up at his face. He was as surprised as I was. For a moment, we just stared at each other, eyes wide.
“My name is Manfred,” a man called from the front of the cart. I looked away from Sarolf to see an older, chinless man sitting on a brown horse right in the middle of the road. I cleared my throat as I regained control over my body and jumped back to my seat next to Sarolf on the bench. My whole face was burning like fire. So was my stomach.
“How dare you,” I whispered to Sarolf, straightening to confront the man in front of us. Sarolf turned to Henrike, who was getting up from off her butt in the back of the wagon.
“Are you all right?” he asked, holding out a hand to help her up.
Henrike frowned and stood, ignoring his hand. Sarolf sighed, then turned to the older man in front of us. He was dressed in fine wool with a long cape. The golden rings on his fingers shimmered almost as bright as the top of his bald head.
“Why are you blocking our way?” Sarolf asked in a harsh tone.
The farmer pointed at the fields. “All this land, I farm for the king. I heard gossip about a white horse among my workers.” He redirected his finger at Fiona. “About a mare brighter and more beautiful than the morning sun.”
Henrike let out a smug laugh. The man was proving her point about my horse.
“I rode for over an hour to catch up with you,” Manfred said. “Name your price. I shall pay it.”
I crossed my arms. “She is not for sale.”
