sidestep.”
“Then you will not need her,” a small voice said behind them. Mikelle looked up to Queen Miranda. Her hair was undone and fell around her shoulders. Her dress was simple blue cotton with no gilt, belted with a satin sash. Nolen looked ready to bark at her when she stated, “You will find a Class Six Air Mage there.”
“Kindle is a Class Two.” Nolen frowned.
“Your father is not.” She held his gaze, and Mikelle saw a tinge of concern pass over the woman’s face. She was not pretty but could have been far lovelier had she straightened her shoulders and carried her head with honor. As quietly as she had come, she slipped back into her hall.
Nolen’s face pinched as he contemplated the Queen’s words. Now, he was a handsome man with his shapely nose, square jaw, and flashy green eyes with eyelashes as long as any woman’s. His stature was far more dominating and commanding than his mother’s. It was a shame his nature was so unsatisfying. That, and he kissed like a wolf.
“Take the bags to the livery and have them saddle horses,” Nolen said to Gabriel, and Mikelle realized she was going to lose her stronghold. She put a hand on the nearest chair as he slipped away. She watched him go, his head hung lowly as he moved as quickly and quietly past Nolen who flexed his lips as if to snap at him but remained silent. He paused long enough to snatch the bags of Bianji and Lace from their shoulders and vanished around the door.
Mikelle kept her face smooth as she observed the exchange. Her stronghold would now have to be Bianji or the Prince. She could not manage to walk all the way to the livery without help, and Lace was too small. She swallowed, hating to think of herself as weak, but since the wrangling of the women earlier that day, she had not regained her strength.
“Prince Nolen,” she ventured and looked down at his arm. “We should be better acquainted if we are to be traveling companions.”
He turned and lifted his hand with a dark smirk. “I thought we already were.”
She took his arm and felt the smooth suede of his coat that smelled of leather. He was slender as a whip, but she could feel the touch of his body under the layers of wool. She swore he had not an ounce of fat to him and was in need of a loaf of buttered bread and bacon. If the Prince did not let up, Gabriel was going to follow suit quickly. She watched his face slim down, saw the looseness in the hem of his trousers, and had seen servants take untouched food from his rooms. He hardly ate a morsel since his flogging.
Nolen led them out, and she did her best to keep to his pace as the breath rose in her chest and heat flushed her face. He was telling a story about beating a baggage boy. He thought it was amusing, and she tittered when he paused, but she ignored most of what he said. As handsome as his outside was, he was a repulsive man.
The sun had already passed its zenith by the time they reached the livery. Gabriel stood with his back against a support beam, head down, glancing up now and again to survey the saddling of horses. A handsome gray destrier gave three men a fight but calmed when he saw Nolen. The remaining horses, well-bred coursers from the Kingdom of Aidenmar, were saddled and strapped with bags.
The livery was as clean as any hall, decorated in deep green tiles from floor to the arched ceiling, cobbled in dark river stones worn smooth. Each horse had a stall half as large as her bedchamber, and each brushed to a glossy sheen. Young boys and girls in the gray mantles of livery servants perched on stools beside stall doors tending to the other horses and tack. It smelled like horse and dust but was not as off putting as Mikelle imagined most liveries.
“Cinch that girth tighter. Would you have me fall to my death on your account?”
Nolen released her arm to go to the destrier as he barked at a young man. She made her way to Gabriel as quickly as she could, which was slow. If Bianji or Lace saw
“Then you will not need her,” a small voice said behind them. Mikelle looked up to Queen Miranda. Her hair was undone and fell around her shoulders. Her dress was simple blue cotton with no gilt, belted with a satin sash. Nolen looked ready to bark at her when she stated, “You will find a Class Six Air Mage there.”
“Kindle is a Class Two.” Nolen frowned.
“Your father is not.” She held his gaze, and Mikelle saw a tinge of concern pass over the woman’s face. She was not pretty but could have been far lovelier had she straightened her shoulders and carried her head with honor. As quietly as she had come, she slipped back into her hall.
Nolen’s face pinched as he contemplated the Queen’s words. Now, he was a handsome man with his shapely nose, square jaw, and flashy green eyes with eyelashes as long as any woman’s. His stature was far more dominating and commanding than his mother’s. It was a shame his nature was so unsatisfying. That, and he kissed like a wolf.
“Take the bags to the livery and have them saddle horses,” Nolen said to Gabriel, and Mikelle realized she was going to lose her stronghold. She put a hand on the nearest chair as he slipped away. She watched him go, his head hung lowly as he moved as quickly and quietly past Nolen who flexed his lips as if to snap at him but remained silent. He paused long enough to snatch the bags of Bianji and Lace from their shoulders and vanished around the door.
Mikelle kept her face smooth as she observed the exchange. Her stronghold would now have to be Bianji or the Prince. She could not manage to walk all the way to the livery without help, and Lace was too small. She swallowed, hating to think of herself as weak, but since the wrangling of the women earlier that day, she had not regained her strength.
“Prince Nolen,” she ventured and looked down at his arm. “We should be better acquainted if we are to be traveling companions.”
He turned and lifted his hand with a dark smirk. “I thought we already were.”
She took his arm and felt the smooth suede of his coat that smelled of leather. He was slender as a whip, but she could feel the touch of his body under the layers of wool. She swore he had not an ounce of fat to him and was in need of a loaf of buttered bread and bacon. If the Prince did not let up, Gabriel was going to follow suit quickly. She watched his face slim down, saw the looseness in the hem of his trousers, and had seen servants take untouched food from his rooms. He hardly ate a morsel since his flogging.
Nolen led them out, and she did her best to keep to his pace as the breath rose in her chest and heat flushed her face. He was telling a story about beating a baggage boy. He thought it was amusing, and she tittered when he paused, but she ignored most of what he said. As handsome as his outside was, he was a repulsive man.
The sun had already passed its zenith by the time they reached the livery. Gabriel stood with his back against a support beam, head down, glancing up now and again to survey the saddling of horses. A handsome gray destrier gave three men a fight but calmed when he saw Nolen. The remaining horses, well-bred coursers from the Kingdom of Aidenmar, were saddled and strapped with bags.
The livery was as clean as any hall, decorated in deep green tiles from floor to the arched ceiling, cobbled in dark river stones worn smooth. Each horse had a stall half as large as her bedchamber, and each brushed to a glossy sheen. Young boys and girls in the gray mantles of livery servants perched on stools beside stall doors tending to the other horses and tack. It smelled like horse and dust but was not as off putting as Mikelle imagined most liveries.
“Cinch that girth tighter. Would you have me fall to my death on your account?”
Nolen released her arm to go to the destrier as he barked at a young man. She made her way to Gabriel as quickly as she could, which was slow. If Bianji or Lace saw
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