Page 86 of The Twisted Throne

“That leaves only one solution.”

James dropped Maven’s reins, the mare dancing sideways as he grabbed the front of his uncle’s coat, dragging him close. “My father isn’t going to burn bridges with Ithicana until he has what he wants from Cardiff. If you want the betrothal broken, convince Ronan to give my father everything he wants, and he will send Ahnna home on the next ship with smiles and fanfare and empty promises to give to her brother.”

“Why must Cardiff bend first?”

James’s grip on his uncle’s coat tightened. “Because like it or not, Harendell holds the power, Uncle. If Ronan gives my father an offer he can’t refuse, the people will support his decision. But if my father breaks the alliance with Ithicana and changes the laws with no bird in hand, they will turn on him. Convince Ronan to bend and let’s see this done, because there is nothing that I would like better than to coat my blade with the blood of those who slaughter the elderly in the name of justice. Put the law on my side and I will be vengeance.”

Shoving his uncle away, James caught Maven’s reins and walked toward Verwyrd, the Sky Palace glowing like a beacon in the night sky.

—

It was miserably late bythe time he passed through the gates. Dismounting, he handed Maven’s reins to a yawning groom. “She lost a shoe. Have the blacksmith see to her in the morning.”

But instead of beginning the long walk up the spiral, James found himself heading into the stables.

Many of the horses were lying down, but Dippy had his head over his stall door, the gelding giving James a long look as he walked toward him.

“Your behavior was not acceptable,” he informed the horse. “You were apparently a shitty racehorse, so unless you wish to findyourself sold off to pull some farmer’s cart until you die of exhaustion, you’re going to learn to be a good riding horse for her. Am I clear?”

Because if James was going to ruin Ahnna’s life, the least he could do was ensure she got a good horse in the bargain.

Dippy snorted and tossed his head. Taking that for a yes, James saddled the horse and led him out into the yard. “The sooner you do this right, the sooner we can both go to sleep.”

For the next hour, he worked with the animal, teaching him to stand still. He liked horses, and for all Dippy was as skittish as they came, he was a quick learner. Finally satisfied that the gelding would stand for Ahnna, James restabled him, and then, dawn lurking in the east, he started the long climb to his bed.

Lestara’s words preyed on hersoul the entire night, and when morning came, Ahnna dressed in the silk replica of her Ithicanian clothes that Hazel had made for her, her maid having removed the bloodstains and cunningly repaired the tear. It might not spare her mockery, but at least she’d be comfortable while enduring it.

Two hours after dawn, she was striding down the spiral with her guards in tow, where she found a yawning James sitting on a bale of hay. He eyed her clothing but said nothing, only rose and led her into the stable. His eyes were shadowed as though he’d had little sleep, but he was clean-shaven, and over the smell of horses, she picked out the scent of soap and cedar. He didn’t say anything as they walked past the long rows of horses, yet she found herself deeply aware of his presence, and of the scarce few inches between their elbows as they walked. So much so that she passed by her horse’s stall without noticing, and James said, “Have you reconsidered your mount?”

“No.” Her voice was more indignant than she intended, her cheeks warming.

“God forbid you make a decision that might make my life easy,” he muttered, leaning against the stall door. “You need to learn to take care of him. If you’re ever caught in a bad spot, a good horse can save your life, but you won’t get far if you can’t even put on a saddle.”

This seemed reasonable and was much the same way she’d been taught to sail. You wouldn’t get far if you couldn’t lift your own canvas or repair a hole. “All right.”

Under James’s critical eye, she brushed the horse and picked his hooves clean of a shocking amount of shit, after which he inspected everything like a jeweler inspecting the quality of a gemstone. “Satisfactory,” he said, then gave her a long-winded and boring explanation about caring for saddles and bridles. Ahnna focused on every word despite her primary interest being getting on Dippy’s back again.

What seemed like an eternity later, they led the horse out into the yard. Putting the reins over Dippy’s head, Ahnna bent her knees to vault onto his back, but James shook his head. “Stirrup. You’re not a twelve-year-old jockey getting paid for your madness.”

“That’s how you did it.”

Giving her a world-weary sigh, James put his foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Dippy shifted a little, his ears flicking backward as though listening.

“Your turn.” James dismounted, holding the reins and stroking the horse’s neck, expression bored. Yet he radiated tension.

Likely because he was anticipating another half an hour of her hopping around on one foot, trying to get in the saddle.

Scowling, Ahnna stepped closer and then lifted her foot, fittingher toe into the stirrup. Dippy didn’t move. Ahnna held her breath, waiting for him to pull away, and when he didn’t, she lifted herself upward, settling in the saddle. The horse didn’t move. Neither did she.

“Good boy, Dippy.” James patted the horse on the neck.

“What about me?” she demanded. “I got on. Give a little credit where it’s due.”

Their eyes locked, and James said, “Good girl, Princess.”

Ahnna knew he was mocking her, but heat rushed to her face even as it pooled low in her stomach. She had commanded a garrison of soldiers. Ruled in proxy. Fought a war. No one,no oneever spoke to her like that, because it would be answered with a fist to the face.

Yet she said nothing, feeling as though the whole world had fallen away, leaving only her and James. And the very forbidden attraction that lurked between them. An attraction they both seemed unable to step away from, despite it having the power to damn them both.

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