He clicked his tongue. Brisa stepped forward, and the world opened before them. Morning mist clung low to the earth as they rode, fallen leaves muffling the sound of hooves along the narrow trail. Trees rose on either side, their branches webbed with crystalline dew, and the path ahead curled toward the waking village.
Brisa’s gait was smooth and sure beneath her. She sat tall, hands loose on the reins, but her senses remained taut—attuned less to the horse’s motion and more to the presence riding beside her.
Duskwane matched Brisa step for step. Alexander rode as though the beast were part of him, every movement seamless. And though he said little, she felt him. The heat of him. The weight of his gaze whenever it drifted to her. His scent was as present as the cool morning air, and her blood thrummed in response.
“You’re keeping your seat well,” he said finally, voice light beneath the clip-clop of horses’ hooves. “Brisa likes you.”
“I think she’s just patient,” JingYi replied, patting the mare’s neck. “More than I expected for a warhorse.”
“She’s retired. The fiercest ones often make the gentlest companions, once they choose peace.”
His words struck her oddly—like something said in jest but meant more than he let on.
She dared a glance at him. The early light softened his features, caught his lashes, his cheekbones, the furrow between his brows that hadn’t yet eased with the morning. He was too handsome—impossibly so—not in the delicate way of palace courtiers, but in the carved certainty of someone who belonged entirely to this rugged countryside he moved through.
And she . . . she was too aware of herself. Of her thighs pressing against the saddle. Of Brisa moving beneath her. Of the air between them—thin, almost suffocating.
She adjusted herself, trying to ease the unfamiliar strain in her right thigh. It wasn’t true soreness, but a tense, burning fatigue from gripping too hard, from fighting her own body’s instinct to melt into the motion.
Alexander noticed. “You’re holding your breath and gripping with your knees. It’ll wear you out faster. Try to relax into her stride.”
She forced an exhale, willing her muscles to loosen. “It’s harder than it looks.”
“Everything is at first.”
Another few seconds passed before the words slipped out of her mouth, “And I’m already sore in places I didn’t even know exist.”
Alexander blinked. His gaze caught on hers, and for once, he had no reply. In the space of one breath too many, she realized how she’d sounded.
Her lips parted. A sharp inhale—too sharp, too loud.Why did I say that? What possessed me?She snapped her eyes to the trees above, pretending to watch a pair of birds chasing each other. Fascinating. Truly. This was completely normal behavior. All the while, her cheeks burned.
Behind her, Tedric let out a cough that was absolutely a smothered laugh. She refused to turn around. She would simply become one with the forest.
Alexander cleared his throat. “That’s . . . common,” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “You’ll feel it more tomorrow.”
She ducked her head and didn’t trust herself to reply.
They continued riding, not speaking much until they arrived at Daan’s home. He helped her dismount slowly. Her legs were sore from the ride, but the pride from having done it overrode the pain.
The cottage door swung open. Elsa stood with sleep still clinging to her face, yet her eyes shone with a vigour she didn’t have yesterday.
“Brother’s awake,” she reported. “He’s still a bit warm, but Mam said his fever’s broken.”
The relief was a balm on her spine. JingYi smiled at the young girl. “That’s good to hear.”
Inside, the hearth smouldered low. The cottage smelled of boiled herbs and damp cloth, but the sharp edge of sickness had dulled. Daan lay on the mattress propped up by a few pillows. His face was still pale, but the fever’s flush had ebbed, and the sores around his mouth had dried out.
Elswyth stood as JingYi and Alexander entered.
“He drank the tonic,” she said. “Didn’t fight me. Said it tasted awful and then fell back asleep. He woke up again, just now.”
JingYi offered a smile and knelt at the boy’s side. “That’s promising.”
Daan blinked up at her. “Highness.”
Then his gaze flicked—once, then again—toward the doorway where Alexander stood. He didn’t hold the look. His eyes dropped quickly, and he pulled the blanket higher over his chest.
“My lord,” he croaked his greeting.