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Pulling out two more plates for us to eat off, a luxury we hadn’t had in some time, I waved a hand at the bird. “What is this?”
“Um,” Ren said, and I knew he’d chosen to deliberately misunderstand my question from the wicked glint in his eye. “Wildfowl? Emphasis onwild.”
“Really? Smells like chicken.”
“Could be,” he ventured, cocking his head to examine it from another angle as if that might change its scent. “Awildone.”
“And wild chickens cook themselves too, do they?” I asked, amused.
“You know what,mi amor?” he said, poking a long finger into the crispy skin that had a dozen herbs and peppercorns decorating its surface, “I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t strolled on by and saw her shaking her little feathery ass over a campfire.”
I voiced the concern I’d actually been asking about. “At least tell me you weren’t seen.”
“If I was seen, Nat, do you think I would have come waltzing back here?”
“You areyou,” I pointed out. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d knocked on the front door of the estate, demanded they serve you food, and then berated the servants for not moving quickly enough.”
“That was the backup plan,” Ren declared. “Luckily, this little one was left unattended near a window, and I decided to banish her loneliness by introducing her to all those foul potatoes in our stomachs.”
I sighed. “You could have been caught.”
“You’reaccusingmeof recklessness? Fuck off.” Ren fidgeted, playing with the hem of his coat and suddenly unable to meet my eye. “I just wanted to get you something…I thought you might be hungry after last night.”
Oh, the affectionate little snugglemuffin.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and gently knocked my forehead against his. “It’s amazing. Thank you for breakfast,moy knyaz.”
The small, soft exhale he let out went straight to my heart.
We ate the chicken on the doorstep of the lodge, our fingers soon slick with grease and our stomachs pleasantly full. Ren’s leg pressed against mine, warm and comforting, and we watched a family of white-furred foxes venture across the frozen lake, the mother diligently herding her young to make sure none of them fell behind.
And then as the sun rose higher in the sky and we ran out of excuses to linger, we packed up everything of use, tossed the remnants of our meal into the snow for the local wildlife, and left behind the little bubble of contentedness we’d managed to carve out for ourselves these last two days. We’d saved some time by cutting across the mountains early without needing to travel all the way up to Cašran Pass, but it would mean nothing if we squandered it by staying any longer.
It had been nice to recuperate, to build up our strength again and spend time in each other’s company in a way I knew we wouldn’t be able to do once we reached Stavroyarsk, but it was time to leave. Every day that Quareh was in Navar and Welzes’ hands was another day that Ren’s people – our people? – were subjected to intolerance and inequity, and what of our attempts at building peace with the north? I could feel those hopes slipping further away as everything fragmented around us: my vision of Val turning Ren over to the false king who had stolen his throne, Kolya’s death and how we were to explain it to Astrid, the battles on the border…
I paused as an idea hit me. It was over a week’s walk from the Grachyovs’ estate to Stavroyarsk, but if we had horses, we could reach it in less than three days. We didn’t have enough money to purchase any, but…
“Ren,” I began. “Remember how Commander Grachyov tried to have me killed while I was in Quareh so that Mazekhstam could hide their fuck up from my family?”
My prince growled at my side. “I haven’t forgotten what I’d like todoto the bastard for that, I promise you.”
“Well, I was just thinking he owes me a lot more than a chicken.”
Ren’s expression perked up at that. “Are you suggesting we engage in some petty thievery?”
I grinned back at him. “I’m suggesting we engage inverypetty thievery.”
*
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You know when you do that thing I don’t like?” I asked as our stolen horses plodded their way down the street, the salt which was used by the locals to melt snow crunching under their hooves.
Mathias snorted. “You mean talking?”
“Hmm. Close,” I said. “I don’t mind you talkingsometimes, Mat. Like when you’re sprawled over my bed and begging for it.”
“So, never?”
