Page 94 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

Thirty-Four

FIVE DAYS LATER, Charis felt more like herself. The Sister Moons Festival, the day that Calerans celebrated the official end of autumn, was nearing. The weather had been a dense, misty gray with bouts of furious rainfall for most of the week, but this day had dawned sunny and mild. She rose early, ate so much of her breakfast that even Tal was grudgingly impressed, and then sent word to the stables that she and her bodyguard required two horses.

“Where are we riding this morning?” Tal asked as they made their way to the stables. “The bluff again?”

She smiled. “Not this time. I thought we’d ride through some of the surrounding streets. Let people see I’m strong and healthy. Let any Montevallian spies carry that news back to their king.”

Tal frowned. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea to ride a horse into town when someone wants to kill you.”

“The beauty of it is that no one but you and I know where we’re going. Hardly enough time for someone to set up an assassination attempt.”

“Still—”

“I can’t live in a cage, Tal. I’m already going to imprison myself with my marriage. I’m not going to cower in a corner. If someone wants me dead, they are going to have to become bold enough to face me themselves, because I’ve taken away every predictable opportunity. No more social engagements until the Sister Moons Festival ball at the Farragins’, where I will eat nothing, drink nothing, and keep you glued to my side.”

“You know I hate to argue with you—”

“I know absolutely no such thing.”

He grinned, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes. “But this is a risk, Charis.”

“My entire life is a risk.” She patted his arm as they came to the stables where Grim waited with her black mare and Tal’s bay. “The kingdom needs me to show everyone I’m alive and capable. Let’s go.”

They mounted the horses and headed into the surrounding fields as though once more going for a sedate ride around the palace grounds. When they were out of sight of anyone who could report their movements to a spy, they turned toward the road that led away from the palace and into the streets of ornate mansions owned by Arborlay’s nobility.

“Winter’s almost here,” Charis said as a damp, chilly wind tangled with her hair.

“At least we don’t get snow in Arborlay.” Tal pretended to shudder. “I enjoy living somewhere that isn’t covered in ice and snow for months.”

Charis considered this for a moment. The north would start getting snow in a month. Montevallo might be snowbound even sooner. That gave her at least until spring before the wedding could take place. A few more months to pretend the easy friendship she shared with Tal could continue indefinitely. That she could flirt with the spark of attraction between them and hoard the memories to keep her warm when everything changed.

“I lost you to your thoughts,” Tal said, giving her a smile as she blinked at her surroundings. They were on the road that led to the homes of the Everlys, the Comferoys, and several other prominent members of the nobility.

“I was just thinking that I’m enjoying this lovely morning ride with you.”

“Liar.” His voice was tender.

She sighed. “The fact that you can read me so easily is highly inconvenient.”

“Out with it, secret keeper. Unless it really is none of my business, in which case we’ll just continue to discuss the weather.”

She laughed. “Fine. I was thinking that the ice will keep Alaric and the Penbyrns from wanting to schedule the wedding until at least spring. I’m not sure which son he’ll choose—Vahn or Percival.”

“Do you have a preference?” Tal sounded cautious, as though unsure whether she wanted to dive into this discussion.

She was feeling cautious about it too. If it became too real, the chasm within her would crack open again. But with the buffer of winter standing between her and a wedding, it felt safer to say, “I don’t know much about either of them. I think Vahn is a little bit older, but maybe he’s already married? Hard to get a spy into a walled-off city to obtain good information. I don’t know about marrying someone older than me, but a man can be kept in line no matter his age.”

Tal grunted.

“And Percival Penbyrn. Who names their son that? Sounds utterly pretentious. I imagine he’s another Ferris, though probably without the sense of entitlement. Most younger sons are too far from the line of succession to expect that kind of power.”

“Probably cuts every bite of food into perfectly symmetrical pieces.” Tal raised an eyebrow as though inviting her to play along.

Charis grinned. “Carries a handkerchief he uses exclusively to wipe down cloth chairs before sitting in them.”

“Oh, not just a handkerchief,” Tal said. “He carries his own teacup with him. Has a holster for it on his belt.”

Charis laughed again, and the specter of the wedding faded a bit. “Whatever will I do with a pretentious king consort?”

---