“And if I offer myself and am forced to marry your heir?”
“If you offer yourself and we accept, the dragon gets a lamb for dinner, and you get to come to the grasslands and learn to ride our horses. We’re not as uncivilized and bloodthirsty as you seem to think we are.” He steps even closer, and I can smell soap and cedar and leather. “Please,” he whispers, “just offer yourself.” I swallow and reach up to take the piece of hay out of his hair, but he grabs my hand and holds it against his chest. “I know we just met, and I know you were trying to steal my father’s horse, but I like you.” A slow smile warms his face, and I find myself staring at his mouth. “You make me want to smile for no reason. In my grandfather’s day, if a woman was brave enough to ride a horse lord’s stallion, he would drag her off and marry her. You are different from the other noblewomen of Faodara—fearless. I think you would like living in Anthar, and I think I would like having you live there.”
He stares down into my eyes, and my heart starts to pound. Aside from dancing in a packed ballroom the night before, and the rare arm of support offered by a guard or a coachman, I have never been touched by a man. Not the way he is touching me now, his warm fingers entwined in mine, our faces close. And then my heart starts pounding for a different reason. “Wait…since I stole your father’s horse, are you saying I’m more likely to be taken as the wife of your heir?”
He nods, and his fingers tighten on mine. “I wouldn’t mind stealing you away.”
The quiet morning comes alive with the sound of horses. “I told you not to touch me,” I snap, and step away from him as five mounted guards circle us, their hands on their sheathed swords.
“Princess Sorrowlynn, we have orders from your father to return you home immediately,” Ornald growls, glaring at the horse lord. His dark brown hair is standing straight up in the back, like he just rolled out of bed. “If you refuse, we have been ordered to return you by force.”
I swallow and study my shoes. Ornald was there three years ago, the day I was whipped for riding astride. When my father drew blood, Ornald took the willow switch and broke it. He was the captain of the guard. My father demoted him to the lowest-ranking position with no possibility of advancement.
Golmarr steps up beside me, so close that our arms bump. “Is something wrong?” he asks. “Last night I invited the princess to go riding with me. I did not realize Lord Damar would be sending guards after us.” I take a deep breath and look up. Ornald glances from the horse lord to me, his green eyes guarded. “I’m not familiar with your rules. If I broke some sort of conduct, I ask that you blame me, not her.”
“You’re out all alone with our virgin princess,” Ornald snaps. “It didn’t occur to you that that is unacceptable?”
“On my honor as a prince of Anthar, I swear to you that I have behaved with integrity and honor, and have had only the princess’s best interest at heart. My family and her family have a long-standing relationship of mutual respect. I meant no harm by inviting her out for a ride.” I glance at Golmarr from the corner of my eye. For a barbarian, he is well spoken.
Ornald’s gaze moves down the horse lord and stops on his bare feet. “Where are your shoes, boy?” he asks.
Golmarr looks at me and grins, and his eyes fill with mischief. “Princess Sorrowlynn was in such a hurry to leave this morning that I didn’t have time to put them on.” The guards laugh, Golmarr laughs, and I look right into his eyes and smile. “It doesn’t help that I slept in the stables, either,” he adds, pulling the piece of hay from his hair. “I had a feeling that the princess might want to leave before sunrise.” He winks.
My eyes grow round, and my cheeks start to burn. He knew. All along he knew I was going to run.
“Well, mount up, and let’s get back to the castle,” Ornald says, dismounting to help me mount the stallion. “Nona is hysterical. You are supposed to be getting ready for the ceremony, Princess.”
I am bathed and oiled and perfumed. My nails are filed down, and my hair is braided into a coil around my head again. I am dressed in white lace bloomers and a matching camisole, four white petticoats, a voluminous white skirt, and a baggy white shirt that is buttoned up to my neck. Nona wraps a white pearl-encrusted corset around the white shirt. I don’t have the heart to fill my lungs as she laces it up, so by the time she is done, I can barely breathe, and the late breakfast I ate is being squished. When she is not looking, I tie a silk handkerchief around my wrist. Taking the dagger from my dressing table, I slide it beneath the handkerchief and let the baggy fabric of my sleeve fall over it.