“Dammit all to Divine’s hell,” I hiss under my breath as I grip the reins, forcing myself to stay seated in the saddle.
I haven’t even been riding for very long yet—thirty minutes, tops. The night is thick and misted, like the air is holding up frozen patches of fog, forcing it to cling to our bodies as we travel over the frozen landscape.
I slept like the dead all day, so I should be well-rested and ready to go, but instead, I feel tired and sodden, like a towel wrung out.
I grit my teeth when my thighs begin to shake. My legs feel like one giant bruise from the inside out, though I have plenty of bruises on the outside too. Every time Crisp takes a step, I wince from the strain, my entire body sore.
The past seven days have been grueling. Even though the weather has held for the most part, it’s still not easy to journey all night every night in the dead, stark cold of Sixth Kingdom.
Each night, I’ve slogged my way through re-learning how to ride a horse, and my muscles hate me for it. I’m only able to ride for a few hours until I practically fall off Crisp and have to stumble back into my carriage.
But I don’t like to be cooped up in there, so I try to press on. I force myself to sit, to ride, to handle the strain, because the trade-off is that I get to be out in the open and enjoy the fresh air. I get to talk to Sail, who’s always ready to ride at my side with an easy smile and a story.
It’s nice, nicer than I can even express, to have a friend, to be without the constraints of a cage. Even if I do freeze my ass off.
Tonight though, my thighs and back are screaming at me earlier than usual, threatening to revolt. Unfortunately, my stomach isn’t satisfied either. The dried meat I ate as soon as I woke up didn’t do the trick, and I’m already hungry again. Tonight is going to be long.
“Alright there?” Sail asks, shooting me a smirk. His pale facial hair is longer now that we’ve been on the road for over a week, but it’s still growing in uneven patches. Though somehow, he manages to make it look charming.
“Fine,” I lie through gritted teeth as I try once again to shift on the saddle and relieve the ache in my back and legs. It does nothing other than irritate Crisp. I reach down and let my gloved fingers stroke over his white fur. “Sorry, boy.”
“Took me months to stay seated on a saddle,” Sail tells me as he rides beside me. His own horse is a beautiful, calm mare, her white hair dappled with brown streaks.
“Yeah? I’m sure your sergeants loved that,” I say, shooting him a smirk.
Sail gives me a crooked grin. “Every time I fell off the damn things, they’d make me muck the stalls. And shoveling horse shit out of a frozen stable is just about as bad as it sounds.”
“Lucky you.”
“Well, we didn’t have horses in the shanties,” he replies, and there’s no bitterness there, just an open, honest fact.
“I imagine not.”
“But once I stopped being so afraid of the damn things, I stopped panicking and getting thrown off.” He runs a stroke down his horse’s neck, a friendly touch that makes her chuff. “I sit a horse right proper-like, don’t I, beauty?” he croons to her.
I snort out a laugh. “If only your sergeant could see you now.”
Sail shoots me a grin and sits up straight again. “What about you?” he asks, tipping his head at me. “Ever been tossed off or muck a stall?”
“Thankfully, no. But never say never, right?”
“I don’t think the king’s favored will be having to hold a shovel any time soon,” he says, shooting me a grin.
He’d be surprised about the things I’ve done in my life, the things I’ve had to do. But I don’t say that, for the same reasons I don’t say how I actually learned to ride when I was younger. Or who taught me.
As we ride, I steal looks at Sail when he isn’t looking.
It’s strange to have a friend.
More than the desire to go outside, more than the craving for change, I realize how much I’ve wished for this, this connection with another person. Not an alliance for similar goals, not anything driven by politics or society or even lust. But a simple friendship. Just two people who enjoy talking to each other, who can share stories and meet in laughter, conspiring only for one another’s amusement.
I wonder what it would be like if I loved someone like Sail. I imagine it would be easy, to fall into his air, to be caught up in something as kind and straightforward as he is. Another life, perhaps. Another body.
“Colder tonight,” Sail muses, his observation pulling me from my thoughts as I take in the landscape.
“It is,” I agree, feeling the chill just as he says it.
Traveling at night has taken some getting used to. At first, every shadow in the distance seemed eerie and haunting, but I’ve learned to just focus on the trail of the guards in front of me, the carriage lanterns bobbing left and right as we go.
The scenery hasn’t changed too much since leaving Highbell. As far as the eye can see, there are snowy hills and jutting rocks. We left behind the last of the outlying villagers days ago, and for the most part, the weather really has held for us, only sputtering out a light snow or occasional sleet.
Below, Crisp jolts me slightly to the side as he goes around a rock, and when I clamp my thighs down to keep from sliding over, I suck in a painful breath. Sore. My thighs are so damned sore.
“Carriage.”
I look over at the gruff voice, finding that Digby has come up to ride beside me. He moves around throughout the night, heading to the front, the back, and all throughout the middle. He’s attentive, constantly mobile within our procession, checking on everyone and everything, making sure our pace is good, our direction correct, that everyone is riding well and keeping alert.
“Not yet,” I say, offering a smile to cover my grimace.
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.
“Storm’s rolling in,” Sail says, drawing my attention back to him.
“You think?” I ask, looking up at the sky. All I can see are clouds moving across a darkly illuminated sky, as if the moon wants to come out, but she can’t break through. It looks no different than all the other nights, to be honest.
Sail taps his nose. “I can smell a good storm. It’s a gift.”
I hum. “And what does a good storm smell like?”
“Like frozen hell.”
I snort. “That sounds a bit ominous, don’t you think? And besides, the clouds always look like that.”
But Sail shakes his head. “Just you wait. I think it’s going to be a bad one.”
“Should we make a bet?”
Sail nods enthusiastically, but Digby cuts in. “No.”
I swing my head to look over at him. “What? Why not?”
“No betting with the king’s favored,” Digby says, looking over my head to Sail.
I frown. “That’s no fun.”
Digby shrugs. “No having fun with the king’s favored, either.”
My eyes narrow. “Well, now you’re just being mean.”
He shoots me a long-suffering look before he clicks his tongue, making his horse pick up the pace to move past us.
“Don’t worry, my lady,” Sail cuts in. “In this instance, he did you favor, because you would’ve lost the bet.”
I laugh, tipping my head back at the brooding sky. “Now you’re just baiting me.”
He wags his light brows. “Shall we make the wager, then?”
I open my mouth to answer when another woman’s voice cuts in. “A bit juvenile, don’t you think?”
My back straightens at the sound of Polly’s voice. The saddles’ carriage rolls slightly in front of us, Polly’s arm is currently hanging out of the window, her blonde head resting on the crook of her elbow as she watches me with disdain.
I thought that traveling with the other royal saddles might warm them up toward me, might soften the edges of the gulf between us, but it hasn’t. For the most part, we stay separated. I haven’t had more than a passing glance at the others. They stay in their carriages or shared tents, and I stay in mine, and none of them make any attempt to talk to me.
Except Polly.
But it’s not so much talking as it is showing off her clear dislike for me.
“I’m fairly sure that making bets is the second-favorite pastime of men in this kingdom, and they wouldn’t call it juvenile,” I reply.
“Second favorite?” Sail repeats. “Then what’s the first?”
I shoot him a smirk. “Buying time with a saddle.”
Sail laughs shyly, but Polly ruins it by snorting. “And what would you know about it? The king never rides you when he calls for us. You aren’t even a proper royal saddle. He only lets you watch. It’s quite sad, really. You’re just a trophy. Hot-blooded males don’t want a cold metallic bitch in their beds.”
Embarrassment flares into me, all traces of my earlier amusement burned and shriveled away with an ugly flare of degradation. It’s one thing to have to endure watching Midas sleep with others, but for her to throw it in my face, and with Sail and the other guards nearby to hear…
Polly smiles at me, clearly pleased with herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep King Midas satisfied.”
Sail shoots me a sympathetic look, but that somehow just makes this all so much worse. Notching my heels against Crisp’s sides, I urge the horse forward. I don’t offer Sail a fake explanation for fleeing as I dart past him and the carriage, there’s no point.
I pass by Polly’s carriage without a look, my teeth gritted and my cheeks searing. Clenching my fingers on the reins, I direct Crisp between the guards in front of us, squeezing my way past them, not caring when their own horses are forced to move over.
Distance. I just need distance.
I veer around horse after horse, not slowing down until I’ve nearly made it to the front of the caravan, far away from Polly and her hateful tongue. As if I could run away from my own disappointments. As if I could avoid my hurts, my shame, my dark thoughts that creep out every time I close my eyes for sleep.
One day, I suspect those plaguing thoughts will want to stop being ignored. They’ll catch up. They’ll slink past me, refusing to be hidden in a tear-soaked pillow or between the cracks of a mirror.
Sooner or later, every troubled thought and aching bitterness is going to come pouring out and demand I face them.
But not tonight.
Not yet.
