Page 261 of A King's Oath

“Me too!” Brahmi followed suit.

“Do you even know what the vote was for?” Sharan knocked on her forehead. She knocked on his stomach — “Whatever it is I always vote for my Mama.”

“In that case,” Samarth raised his hand — “So do I.”

43. Protector

Samarth sat in the passenger seat of Ava’s French SUV, the seatbelt pulled tight across his chest, though his heart had long since escaped restraint.

Outside the window, the Loire Valley blurred into brushstrokes of pale green and soft gold, like some watercolour Ava might have once sketched in a school notebook. The breeze through the crack in her window smelled like lilacs and wet leaves. It smelled like her world — quiet, self-built, untouched by him until now.

Behind them, Brahmi was talking. Nonstop.

“Buthowdo you swing to the left if your hand is on the right? Won’t I fall off?”

“No, baby, you use your thighs,” Samarth answered, turning slightly in his seat to face her.“They are your seatbelt.”

“Seatbelts go across you like this,” she pulled her own car seat one taut.

“And your thighs go across the horse like this,” he mimed an arc. “When you need to hit the ball on the left side, you use a neck shot. That means your mallet crosses over the horse’s neck — not your body. You don’t lean. You swing from the wrist.”

She frowned, unconvinced.“But if I swing likethat, I won’t know where it hits! I can pray it hit right…”

He laughed, as did Sharan behind him. Samarth leaned forward, grabbed a rolled-up newspaper from the pocket, and held it like a mallet.“You hold steady like this. It’s like twirling spaghetti — but without letting the fork spin in your hand.”

That got her. Her eyes lit up.“Ohhh! Like spinning on your toes without letting your tiara fall!”

“Exactly like that…” Samarth trailed, catching Ava’s knowing smirk in his periphery. And it hit. She had taught him topography once with such metaphors. And he had been using these for as long as he could remember in his own life, kingdom, court, administration. Metaphors to match the person, to get his point across.

“Sam!”

“Yes, baby?”

“Sam?” Sharan pronounced.

“It’s my field name,” Samarth glared at him.

“Right, Sam. You have a lot of names,” he quipped.

“Can you show me how to do it when we reach there?” Brahmi leaned in her seat.

“I’ll take you up on a horse with me and show you.”

“Reaaaaally?!”

“Really,” he smiled.

“Then I am also getting a pony and riding off into the hills,” Sharan chimed.

“Make sure you know which rein to pull to brake.”

Brahmi giggled the loudest at him ribbing his brother.

“Hey, mini jockey, you think I don’t know which rein to pull?” Sharan mimed, pulling only the right one as he had done as a kid and gotten thrown off. Brahmi’s giggles were louder and she reached out and began to show him which reins to pull and how —both and with equal pressure.

Samarth glanced at Ava. She was quietly driving, sunglasses on, listening to the happy chatter.

“Are we almost there?” He asked.

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