Page 70 of Nightingale

Just as he liked.

Rian cursed again, bringing up the pace one last time as he tried to find his own pleasure, panting heavily as she rode out the last wrings of hers. When he came, he called out her name in return, something that made her feel complete, whole.

And with that joining, she understood that they’d crossed over a line that could never be uncrossed.

Thirty Four

He stayed the night by her side, resting into the day as well until Amir entered without warning, and glared down at Rian. Enough so that Vrea told him to knock it off before she kicked him out. Amir had informed her that he would be letting her mother know, which then she informedhimthat the Queen didn’t need to know of her bedroom activities.

Vrea wasn’t really sure what her mother would make of this situation since she didn’t care who her children took into their beds, as long as it was consensual. No titles, no stations mattered, but this was also different because ofwhohad entered her bed, and by proxy- her.

It remained a tense subject, even now as Vrea rode through the cities, passing by small houses and dwellings. They’d packed up the remainder of their items, mostly given from the war camp and the chests that Vrea had in her tent, before borrowing mounts and leaving for Vasthold.

There was no sign of their horses.

It would take them seven days, if they were lucky. Amir insisted on joining just as she’d predicted beforehand, along with five other men who volunteered that rode at their sides and back as Amir took up the lead. Rian was at her side, quiet after he’d applied another round of medicinal paste to his wound and folded the linen back around his shoulder, throwing a new shirt atop it all.

Vrea was grateful for the guarded company, considering that the wild plains-cats could leap out from the sandy dunes at any moment, looking for their next meal. They weren’t as large as a horse, but big enough to take down a human with a swipe of their clawed paw. On her way to the war efforts before, she’d witnessed an attack on her armed escort.

One that stuck with her.

She wasn’t a fan of the massive felines, even if their smaller counterparts could have nice features. There were stray cats that darted around Vasthold that she enjoyed. Including one that she’d kept and trained as her personal pet. Vrea highly doubted she’d come back to find the male cat still waiting for her.

Amir had found the orange creature sneaking through the kitchens as it stalked a mouse and after he fed it a bowl of milk, he’d brought it to her. She’d liked the cat enough to name it and feed it, which kept the feline coming back. He was allowed to roam wherever and the servants knew that it belonged to her. But with the years gone, Vrea was sure the cat thought she abandoned it.

Rian was tense as they rode through the first night, aiming to make it before winter hit. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as terrible as Carylim, but it still wouldn’t be pleasant. Blistering winds that drafted the sand up in tunnels of gold and grit, a chilling temperature that allowed her to bring out her badger-fur cloak, and lined pants.

At least they didn’t get snow like Carylim did.

She’d heard tales of how the white powder could freeze one’s toes off if they weren’t properly dressed. How the mountains became even more dangerous with potential avalanches instead of regular rockslides. There was even talk of how high the snow could get, if the winter was worse than the one previous.

In her three years locked away in Hawksmoor Keep, she’d never seen a season as bad as they all suggested. There had beensnow, but fat flakes that didn’t stay for long. It was cold enough to keep the balcony doors shut for the last year that she’d been allowed to open and close them, and biting enough that she’d piled on the velvet robes and fur-lined slippers they’d offered her.

Nothing like the fall breezes they experienced as they rode for her mother’s castle.

Whenever they stopped for the night, Amir slept by her side, watching over her for certain hours of the evening and then having another take his guard as he rested. He refused to let Rian stay with her, and she knew that it was pointless to try to argue against him and his iron-clad logic.

She’d already pushed his limits enough.

Rian was set towards the back of the bedrolls, alongside two other men that observed him warily. They didn’t bind him, because she flat out denied their request, much to Amir’s chagrin. But he slept soundly, without issue according to the men.

They ate in the early hours and the late, snacking on dried figs and roasted camel meat that Amir had packed, with full water skeins that passed back and forth between them all. The first half of the week went by in a sand-filled blur as their horses staggered through the dunes, passing by villages that were scattered about the territory.

Rian remained quiet for most of it, contemplating his own thoughts and actions if the scrutinising look on his handsome face was any indication. She missed their jaunty conversations, the sarcastic lilt of his medium resonance, the way he met her fire with his own. Even if the sentries were better in the long run for their protection and security, there was a part of her that wished it was just the two of them once again.

Vrea caught his eye on her a couple times each day, with a heart-fluttering smile that usually followed. There was no timefor them to be alone, to have a moment to themselves as Amir lingered around her constantly. Which was a drag because her body ached for another round and she desperately wanted to give in to it. By the winks he sent her way, Rian looked as though he did too.

Which only made the long trek feel even more impossible. Luck was not on their side either, dragging into a couple more days of the aching ride.

When the eighth day came, and Vasthold was within sight, she couldn’t deny herself an hour with him.

It wasn’t long before they’d reach the towering castle, and her family who hated his people. Before they would have no time at all, since her brothers would drag him away before he could get a single word in to her.

Vrea pulled her horse back, earning a neigh of protest as she waited for him to catch up. Amir shot her a glare, disdain and unhappiness clear in his onyx eyes. But she held her place firm, refusing to canter back up to her place in the line, refusing to do anything but hold for the Prince who steadily made his way to her with a click of his tongue.

She was the Princess, not Amir.

Though the image of him in a crown and frilly skirts lightened her mood quite a bit.

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