Page 90 of Rook of Ruin
“Are the same as mine, but my swords are bigger.”
I smirk and lift an eyebrow, and he laughs. “They are so beautifully lethal. I love them, Simon. Thank you.” Pride swells in his chest, and I whisper out of the side of my mouth. “I’ll be on my knees for you soon, my prince. To show you how much I love you.” Simon tries his best, but I see a bit of pink on his cheeks as he chuckles.
A servant takes the box as Simon adjusts the sheaths on my hips, putting my daggers in my left and my shortsword in my right and leaving one of the shortswords in a scabbard on Sal. Hauling myself up on my warrior horse, I smile as Simon moves Artho next to me—my foal, Elliot, trailing behind next to the royal carriage. It sits at the front of the carriages lined up with supplies; however, the very large carriage at the end gives me pause. It is reserved for the injured, and I say a silent prayer we’ll never use it.
“Ready?” Simon’s curly hair blows around his crown in the breeze.
I breathe in. “Ready.”
We smile at each other, then lead the procession. Everyone in the castle city of Marrith comes out to see us off as we ride through the main gate. The people bow and curtsy before us, and many kneel along the cobble streets.
“They are kneeling for you, their Ruby.” Simon smiles proudly. Shouts of well wishes for us, the newlyweds. Simon tosses gold coins to the children waving and the women with babies on their hips. Flowers are thrown, and Simon catches a white rose, handing it to me. The crowd cheers as I take it, inhaling its sweet scent.
Brown leathers appear in the distance. Pink flowers begin to fall gently from the sky as grey eyes find mine—we stare at one another before I glance away to catch one. Smiling, I touch the soft petals of a large pale pink ranunculus—my favorite. Ossian stands with Zane, two guards, and several other Rooks—not thatI can see their faces, I only see grey eyes on mine. I turn my head as we pass and then stare at the two flowers in my hand.
Remember.
There’s a feeling in the back of my mind so small. I’m supposed to remember something. I search the crowd. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Then I look at Simon, who is smiling and waving to the crowd. I gaze back down at the flowers and back into the crowd. Searching.
Haunting words whisper on the wind.
“Fight for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
I look back at Simon, who winks at me, and I smile brightly at him, letting the flowers fall.
My thighs chafe badly as we continue through most of the night. A few hours into our ride, I pass a few warriors who are happily chatting with Paul. Shaking my head at my friend’s curiosity and his sneaky way of gathering information, I check on the drivers and the warriors—relaying any urgent messages to Simon. When we make it to a clearing, Simon signals to make camp, and we help the warriors set up tents before we set up ours.
Steering myself through the tents, I find Paul enjoying a bottle of spice with a few warriors. I know if I join them, I will be nursing a hangover tomorrow morning and will likely impede any information-gathering Paul is attempting.
Silently, I slip back to the tent Simon and I share to see furs on the floor and a large makeshift bed with blankets, a small table and chair, a large lantern, a small vase with a basin, and a small round silver mirror. Exhaustion hits, but I sit at the small table with the romance book I brought and wait for Simon. As I read,I can’t help but hear Ossian’s silky voice in my mind. Page after page, he narrates each scene until I find myself closing my eyes.
Something shifts in the tent, and I jolt awake.
In the low glow of the lantern, Simon smiles softly down at me as I wipe the embarrassing drool from my mouth. We help each other with our crowns, swords, daggers, and leathers—and wash each other down from the basin before brushing our teeth and then falling into the makeshift bed. Sleep pulls us both under before I can get on my knees for him.
The morning comes quickly, and I wake before Simon. I slip out of bed, change into new underwear, quietly put on my leathers and weapons, brush my teeth, and plait my hair in a single long braid. I run out to the latrines, then grab two cups of thick coffee from Paul, who grumbles a “hello.”
Simon is still asleep when I walk in. I sit next to our bed and watch him before moving some of his soft salt-and-pepper hair out of his face.
“I love you,” I whisper.
Simon reaches over and pulls me onto the bed, crushing his lips to mine. I sigh against his lips, and he smiles against mine. “I love you.”
“Sir, you are needed,” a male voice yells out.
Simon groans. “Give me five minutes. I have my beautiful wife in my arms.” Simon smiles into my neck.
The voice laughs. “Yes, sir.”
Simon lies back and runs a hand through his hair. I straddle him and pick up the coffee mugs, handing him one. He sits up slightly, his hard muscles moving, and inhales the bittersweet aroma.
“How many days till Bethal? I never thought to ask. I was consumed byotherthings.” I feel heat rise to my face.
“Six till we get to Bethal’s border, eight to our home.” Simon yawns. “I would hope not bythingsbut by me.”
I poke him in the ribs.
