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They even gave off an unnatural glow in the dim light of the shaded forest grove.
Archie held back a laugh. “You mean, I’m not supposed to step into a circle of ominous-looking mushrooms I wouldn’t have come close to if you hadn’t dragged me away from the group and deeper into a faerie’s forest?”
“Yes,” Ainsley agreed, with enough youthful spark Archie might have thought the girl was half-fae herself. Completely incorrigible.
Archie attempted to nod his head gravely. “I think I can manage that, Your Highness.”
“Marvelous. And if you see a fae or any other magical faerie beast out here, be polite, but don’t make any deals with them. Or take anything from them. Or tell them your full name. Or thank them. Or . . . well, just don’t.”
Archie nodded again. He was certain he would laugh if he tried to speak.
Ainsley turned back to find her guard—shadowing them from a respectful distance. “There, Sir Callum, you see what a good teacher I am? They really should have just let me sign up as Archie’s sponsor myself.”
The man nodded with a show of patience. “It would certainly appear that way, Your Highness.”
Archie snorted a quick laugh, no longer able to hold it back, but then he decided to take pity on the knight, taking a firmer grip on the princess’s hand. “Should we return to the others now, Princess?”
Ainsley let out a long breath, blowing a stray curl out of her face. “I suppose. If we have to. My brother told me I would hate this part—everyone just sitting around silently.”
Archie raised an eyebrow. “You mean the actual hunting?”
“Yes,” she said without a hint of irony. “I like to shoot, but—I don’t know if I will like the blood so much. And the sitting. And . . .” She frowned. “Oh, daffodils. Don’t tell me my mother was right all along; I’m not really much of a hunter, am I? I just didn’t like the idea that everyone was out having an adventure without me.”
Archie tried to make sense of her words. She had wanted to come out hunting, but she didn’t like to hunt. She had grabbed his hand when her interest had first started to wane. Was it too much to hope that the princess merely came out here because she enjoyed his company?
In that case, he couldn’t disappoint her. He couldn’t just stay silent. But improvising appropriately witty and entertaining turns of phrase wasn’t his strong suit. Not unless he could recite the pre-scripted words of a poem or a play. And before he could put his thoughts together, they had reached their camp, and a much-too-eager young man came to greet her.
Ainsley’s grip tightened on Archie’s hand, expanding her royal presence as he was tempted to shrink. The dark-haired lord was dressed similarly to Archie—like a noble huntsman. But the way he wore it—chin up, eyes sharp and proud.
He wasn’t just dressing the part of a lord; he was one, through and through.
“Now there you are, Ainsley,” he said in a lazy sort of drawl. “I must say, I was surprised to see that you were joining our hunt.”
“And why is that, Declan? You know I can shoot.” And despite what she had previously shared, it seemed she was ready to brave any obstacle—be it blood or boredom—just to prove it.
“Yes, but I suppose I just assumed you would still be . . . mourning,” the young lord—Declan—said, and Archie recognized that there were more to their words and benign expressions than he could see. Like they were speaking another language entirely. They were calling each other by their first names, and Declan already knew she could shoot—something Ainsley had said few outside of her family knew.
There was some history there, if nothing else.
Ainsley’s expression was certainly more controlled. Perhaps even a little dangerous. A smile on her lips but daggers in her eyes. Not just a princess but a young woman who could be queen. “Well, one cannot mourn forever.”
Declan kept his smile and matched her pace for pace—proving himself far braver and quicker with his tongue than Archie could ever be. Or perhaps simply more foolish. “It is a great relief to hear you say that. Especially since I stand to outstrip the castle record for deer caught this season.”
“Do you?”
He bowed his head with a modesty that could only be false, using the gesture as an excuse to come a few steps closer. “Yes, well, that record was set more than four years ago. I might have passed it earlier, if not for the plague.”
“Perhaps,” the princess said with the fluid force of a parrying blade. “But were it not for the plague, the current record-holder would be here to defend the title himself, so you still are at an advantage.”
“Indeed. And I do believe a man should take advantage of whatever opportunities present themselves. We cannot mourn forever, as you say.” Declan had gotten much too close to the princess at this point, and Sir Callum shifted, his armor rustling in protest.
It was such a simple gesture, one that didn’t require any words and that a man of any class should be able to understand.
Archie should have protested as well. He was certain he would have—if it were him against a man of his own station. But could he put himself in direct conflict with a lord?
Declan sneered at both Sir Callum and Archie—like he had already lumped the two of them together in his mind—and the answer came to Archie at once.
Yes. If nothing else, Archie was happy to have this man assume him to be one of the princess’s silent defenders, and Ainsley was more than worth the risk of offending a lord like this.
