Page 134 of Realm of Thieves

But winter isn’t here yet. Even though there will always be snowfall in the mountains, Andor says we won’t get snow at Stormglen for a couple of months. Until then I’m soaking in the long shadows and shimmering wheat fields and chilled nights that lend themselves to talking with hot pear cider by the hearth.

I’ve been keeping busy too. Andor and I have gone back to the Midlands twice, both to collect more suen and to visit my mother. Our talks are short—and strange, if I’m being honest. She’s my mother and yet she’s not anymore. But even just those brief sessions with her are enough to heal the hole inside my heart, knowing that she’s not quite gone from my life. She’s also been helpful with tips on how to raise the deathdrage, which should be hatching in, oh, about sixteen months. It turns out that the egg has a very long gestation period due to the dragon’s size. But that’s fine with everyone since we need the time to prepare for it. Well, fine for everyone but Torsten, who wants his damned dragonnow. For what purpose, we aren’t really sure. One dragon that will want to kill everyone but me doesn’t really help the Kolbecks or the people of Norland. It’s not as if anyone can ride the thing into a coming war.

Speaking of the patriarch, ever since we returned from the heist, Torsten has begrudgingly welcomed me into the family. I know he doesn’t like me, I know he thinks I’m beneath him (though he thinks that of everyone), and Andor’s uncle still goes out of his way to make me feel uncomfortable, but at least I’ve been accepted. They know I’m here to stay. Andor waxed poetic about me while he held his knife tohis father’s throat, something that would have been romantic if I hadn’t been so afraid for our lives at the time. But other than publicly declaring his feelings for me in a fascinating display of courage and vulnerability, things haven’t really progressed.

And I’m not complaining. I don’t actually expect Andor to want to marry me. I’m an Eslander, a Freelander, and I don’t know of any Norlander that has married into my people. We’re either fanatical dragon worshippers or rebels, and neither of those things is an asset to either the Kolbecks or the royal family of Norland.

But still. Some nights we lie in bed together and I wonder how long I have. I love Andor with all my heart and I know he loves me. I know he has declared me to be his, that he has chosen me over his family. And yet I’ve never been in a relationship before. They’ve seemed so trivial when so much of my life was about survival, and I’m not sure of how one should go.

I suppose I should keep taking each day as it comes. Be grateful for what I have with Andor and ignore the fear in my heart that perhaps this is only for now and not forever.

So I push that feeling away and I surrender to the moment, galloping beneath the tall pines, their smell extra fragrant as a few fallen boughs pepper the path, chasing after my dark prince and his black horse. When the woodland path opens up into a field of shimmering wheat and tall white flowers, I urge Juniper onward, galloping until we’re neck and neck with Andor.

I give him a saucy grin, the one that tells him I’m about to win this race, and his eyes flare in determination as he kicks at Onyx.

But it’s no use. Juniper is at her top speed now and we soar past the heavier horse until we’re in the lead.

I whoop and holler, twisting in my saddle enough to stick my tongue out at Andor, and then guide Juniper back into the forest, following the trail up the mountain. After a while we both slow down to give the horses a chance to catch their breath, but Andor starts gettingcloser again as we approach the glowfern tunnel and soon both of us are galloping through the darkness. The glowferns whiz past us like blue shooting stars, and I’m breathless and giddy by the time we stampede out of the tunnel and into the white world of Lake Efst.

The cold is a shock to my lungs, enough that I pull Juniper to a stop. She throws her head up, steam rising from her nostrils as she snorts, and I stare at the beauty in front of me, the wide expanse of glittering white snow, the light fog that showers us with sparkling flakes, the bright blue lake that seems to glow like a crystal.

And then Onyx races past me, all the way to the lake, before galloping back.

“I won,” he announces, head held high. “The race was to the lake.”

“What?” I cry out. “We never agreed on that!”

He shrugs, giving me a smug smile. “Those are the rules.”

“You just made that up! You’ll do anything to win!”

“Won you over, didn’t I?” he says as he dismounts, the snow just past his ankles. He pats Onyx on the flank. “Now, how do you want to do this? I feel using our horses as shields is a little unfair.”

My mouth drops. “You’re the one who used your horse as a shield last time.”

“But we both have horses now. That’s no fun.”

With a wicked glint in his eyes, he reaches into his pocket.

Then he reaches down into the snow with that same hand and starts to make a snowball.

“No,” I say, starting to panic as I get my boots out of the stirrups. “No, that’s not fair, wait until I get down.”

But my dress is caught over the tip of my boots, making it harder to pull them out of the stirrups and dismount, so instead I’m squirming in the saddle.

And Andor has already shaped the snowball perfectly and holds it back, ready to fire.

“Andor, don’t you dare!” I yell.

Too late. I attempt to duck but he anticipated that and the snowball hits me square in the middle of my forehead, the cold blast showering me with snow. It’s while I’m noticing that despite the lack of suen in his body, he still has incredible aim, something heavy falls right onto the base of Juniper’s neck.

I stare down, blinking hard at the sight. Snow has scattered across Juniper’s mane, but nestled right in front of the saddle’s pommel is something even more glittering.

It’s a silver ring.

My heart pounds in my throat as I dare to glance at Andor, so afraid of getting ahead of myself, of what this ring could be.

But he’s walking toward me, a grave yet anxious look wrinkling his brow, his eyes imploring as he stops at the side of the horse and goes down on one knee.

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