I poke him in the shoulder. “Hey, now. Did you get me out of school?”
He leans against the wall, hitching his right leg across the left. “If I did, it would be justified as an extra tournament reward.”
“So, what’s there to do around here, friend?”
“Want to take Nightshade for a ride?”
I pause, tilting my head to one side. Memories of his touch simmer in the back of my mind. I need to be careful. No more bizarre lust demon episodes, particularly with guys who only just proved they aren’t total jerks. But hey, friends do stuff like ride horses around. We can do that.
I nod once. “Sure.”
“Good. I’ll have some riding togs sent over.”
“Pants, please.” I’ve seen these thrax ladies riding side-saddle in long dresses. Not my thing.
He grins. “I’ll make sure they offer you a wide selection.”
“Great.” I yawn and stretch. “See you at the stables in an hour?”
“You don’t need more time to get ready?”
I sniff. “Do I look like that girl to you?”
He chuckles. “No, you don’t.” He swings open the door. “In an hour, then.”
Lincoln steps out the door. An army of servants pour into the cottage, all wearing traditional gowns and tunics. They bring me food, things to wear and fill up a copper tub for a bath. I wash, have a snack, and decide to dress in brown leather pants, tall black boots, and a corseted red blouse. My long auburn hair is tied back with a black velvet ribbon.
I find the stables. Lincoln stands outside with Nightshade and a sleek black Arabian horse.
“I’d like you to meet Bastion.” He gestures to the black horse.
“He’s a beauty.” I pat the horse’s neck. “Another from the House of Striga?” I comb my fingers comb his silky mane.
“Yes. I didn’t raise him, but we’re still very close.” He adjusts Bastion’s saddle, and then runs his hand through the horse’s mane as well. Our fingers brush; the touch is a shock of connection.
I pull my hand away quickly, my heart thudding at double-speed. I catch Lincoln’s gaze, seeing intensity there. His hand didn’t move against mine by accident. Suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Focus, Myla. You only want to be friends with this guy. Time to change the subject. “How’s the Furor?”
A smile dances in Lincoln’s eyes. “Much better. He still hasn’t changed form, but we moved him to the palace infirmary all the same.”
“I’m glad.”
Nightshade trots up beside me, tossing her bluish-gray head from side to side. I get the feeling she’s anxious to run. Gripping her saddle, I haul myself onto her back.
Lincoln does the same with Bastion. “Ready?”
My heart decides that now is a good time to beat so hard, a whoosh of blood sounds in my ears. Ready for what, exactly? Friendship, trouble, something else?
I grip the reins more tightly and work hard at acting cool. “Sure. Where to?”
“Follow me.” Lincoln clicks his tongue. Our horses take off at a gallop.
Nightshade’s hooves thunder beneath me as Lincoln and I tear through the compound. Thrax poke their heads out tent flaps and windowsills as we ride by. They don’t get cable out here, so I guess the Prince’s afternoon ride qualifies as entertainment.
The ground opens up into rolling hills covered in greenish-yellow grass. Smooth gray clouds cover the sky. Nightshade and Bastion fall into in a slower rhythm, every breath and hoof-fall in perfect sync. A line of hedges looms ahead.
Lincoln glances over his shoulder, smiling in a way that I feel down to my toes. His wavy brown hair dances across his face, highlighting his strong cheekbones and firm jawline. He nods to the low wall of green. “Do you think it’s too dangerous to–”
I dig my thighs into Nightshade’s barrel. “Hyah!” My horse races toward the hedge.
Behind me, Lincoln clicks his tongue. The thrum of Bastion’s hoof-falls sounds behind me, drawing nearer by the second. The hedges close in. Nightshade shifts her weight onto her back legs, and then springs forward. There’s the weightless joy of flying through the air, followed by the heavy thud as we hit the ground. Lincoln lands a second behind me. I pull Nightshade’s reins so we circle Lincoln and Bastion. “And that is me kicking your butt!”
He laughs. “I didn’t realize it was a competition.”
My face beams. Okay, how awesome is this? Normally, I hang with people who obsess that I’ll hurt myself—or them—with the warrior stuff I do. Case in point: if Cissy complains one more time how I chipped her tooth in grade school, I’ll scream. Now, here’s Lincoln, trying to beat me over the hedge wall, then laughing when he loses.
I guide my steed so we’re side by side. “To a warrior, everything’s a competition.”
Lincoln eyes me carefully. “Are you really prepared to all-out compete with me?”
I stick out my tongue. “Do your worst.”