Page 41 of The Princess's Chosen

"It'll take me a minute to get your—"

"No, I don't need a saddle! Just the bridle and the blanket," I snapped.

He stared blankly back at me, and I squinted as I stepped inside, seeing my horse's kit hanging by his stall.

"Nevermind, manage the others," I rushed out, running forward, my fingers clumsy as I fumbled for the latch.

"Your Highness, I should get…" The old man watched as I grabbed the bridle, gentling my motions as I fitted the bit to my horse's mouth and gently fastened the leather straps around his mouth and head. "I'll get you the blanket." I guided my ride out of the stall, and the man met me, slapping a quilted blanket over the horse's back just in time for me to leap up, huffing and ignoring his shocked face as I rearranged my skirts.

I pushed into a canter to leave the barn and then immediately squeezed my thighs around my horse's body, urging him forward, faster, facing the guards and my Chosen who rushed to follow.

"Princess Bryony, you must haveguards," Cresswell roared.

"Then hurry up!" I answered in a shout, and he had to stumble back to avoid being mowed down.

I was heading right for the gate, which was being pushed shut by three men, when I saw Thao running down the steps, the sheath of an inukat sword in his hand.

"Don't you dare shut that! On the crown's orders," I screamed to the gate, turning just enough to the front steps for Thao to throw me the sheath. I caught it by its strap, shrugging it around my shoulders, and then leaned down to brace myself against my horse's back, urging him into a gallop as we ran for the hanging gate.

Griffin had said Aric would stall, but how long could he really manage that, especially between Griffin's flight up the mountain and my race back down? Thao and I trained for an hour at a time, an hour and a half at most before we were too exhausted to go on, and that wasn't out and out fighting. Aric had maybe a half hour—three quarters if we were lucky—and some of that was already spent. I dug my heels carefully into my horse, my thighs like iron around his back, holding my seat for both our sakes despite the burn in my muscles.

He might win, I thought hopefully. He might throw his challenger before I get there.

He might slip and fail, and I'll be too late, too.

I held my breath and rode, eyeing the sloping mountain road carefully as the sun set behind me.

* * *

"You are a very,very good horse, you know that," I whispered, ignoring the scratch and ache of my legs as my horse trotted insistently through the streets of Rumsbrooke.

I didn't remember the way to the Wing and Rook but my horse seemed to know because every time I asked someone on the street for directions, we were already on the right path.

I gasped as he turned a corner and I recognized the buildings, saw the familiar crow sign hanging at the end of the street.

"I have to give you a lovely name," I said, patting his flank and slowly relaxing on his back as we slowed our approach. My body hurt, my hair was tangled in every direction around my head, my skirt splattered with mud from the road. If the people of Rumsbrooke recognized me with one glance, they second-guessed themselves with the next. I didn't look the part of a princess in spite of my fine gown, and that was probably for the best.

I jumped down from the back of my horse, guiding him to a water stall and tying him to one of the posts. "You kick anyone who tries to steal you, yes?" I said, brightening a little at his whinny before I rushed for the door. All of Owen's conversations were doing our animals good.

This time as I ducked into the tavern, taking the narrow stairs at the left down, my eyes didn't take so long to adjust. It was dark outside and only just a little brighter down here.

I heard the grunts of men, the clash of metal, and the clatter of wood and sighed in relief as I ran down the steps. If they were still fighting, Aric was still alive.

Alive, for now, a cruel voice taunted as I reached the great room and saw the scene. Both men were bleeding, but Aric looked by far the worst of the two, one eye swelling shut, the other red with the blood running down the side of his face. He had a fat lip and his shirt was torn, the arm of the other man around his throat, pinning Aric to his enemy's chest until Aric's face was flush, mouth working as he choked for air. And all around the room, men and women watched without moving. A few looked down to their empty glasses, worry or disappointment on their faces, but no one stood, no one intervened.

The other man, tall and handsome in spite of the cut on his cheek and the sweat on his brow, released Aric, who dropped to the floor with a wheezing gasp.

"The crown is mine!" the red-headed man cried out.

"The king is fallen! Long live King Emory!" the room cried with varying levels of enthusiasm.

"And now, Aric Martin," the man named Emory said, taking a grip of Aric's silver strands before kicking him hard in the back, making Aric wheeze and groan, "I think I'll have your head too, and gladly see the back of you."

The inukat whistled brightly as I drew it out of its sheath. "Absolutely not!"

Aric rasped, but it was only a sound, an acknowledgment, as the rest of the room took one breath and held it.

Emory blinked at me as I moved through fallen and broken tables, my blade raised. He grinned and tilted his head, eyeing me up and down. "I beg your fucking pardon?"

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