Page 72 of The Exile's Curse

"You still hate me, you mean?" he said. "Well, if that's what you do with men you hate, then I'm happy to be hated."

She threw a pillow at him. He caught it and laughed. Then busied himself tugging on his boots while she pulled the covers around her shoulders, aware that she was still naked while he was not. When he was dressed, he straightened. Tossed the pillow back to her.

"Let me know if you need to hate me again," he said. "I'm more than happy to be of service." Then he walked out the door and left her lying in the dark.

Two days after the wedding, Chloe found herself gathered with half the court, Lucien, Honore, Gilles, and Theo for the traditional post-wedding hunt. Chloe hadn't ridden regularly for years and had tried to wriggle out of the event, but she lacked a decent excuse, and Irina, who had appeared at her door the first evening following the wedding with a tea she insisted would be good for a hangover, had promised her a quiet horse.

How Irina had known Chloe was pretending to have a hangover to avoid dealing with Lucien was a mystery she hadn't tried too hard to solve. Either Allita had talked or Giane had gone seeking advice from the healers after Chloe had lied to her about being ill. Either way, it didn't matter. She'd avoided Lucien for the first day after their—

No, she didn't want to think about it.

Every time she thought about it, she felt him again. Tasted his mouth on hers, knew the bite of his fingers, the rush of pleasure as he moved beneath her or above her or behind.

Thinking about it was a very bad idea.

Though, when one hid in one's room, pretending to have the mother of all headaches, to avoid seeing the man one was trying not to think about, it left little else to do but think about him.

The second day, which was also a day devoid of any official events or diplomatic duties, she'd accepted an invitation from Irina to work in the stillrooms. Irina had only inquired how she was feeling, not teased her any more about Lucien as she had at the ball, and then put her to work. Chloe suspected she was working off some emotions of her own now that her sister truly had married the king and her new status had become irrefutable.

It had been a peaceful day, but now, on this third day, when the newlyweds would rejoin the court for the start of the month of festivities leading up to Katiya's coronation, it was back to work.

She stroked the nose of the dun gelding one of the stable hands had led over to her. He seemed friendly enough, accepting her patting with half-closed eyes. His name, she'd been informed, was Spetya. Near enough to “sleepyhead.” That was hopefully a good sign that Irina had kept her promise.

"He likes peppermints," Irina said, appearing out of the crowd, as she had a habit of doing. "They all do. The Herdmeister uses them in training." She fished in the pockets of the long jacket she wore over breeches and extracted a waxed paper bag. "Don't give him too many, but a few now will help you make friends."

"Thank you." Chloe extracted one sweet and offered it to the horse. He lipped it out of her hand and snorted appreciatively. Shoving the bag into her own pocket, she smiled at Irina. "Any other tips?"

"Stay near the back if you don't actually want to hunt. If something happens and you get separated, stay with your horse. They know their way back here. Or even to the city if worse comes to worse."

"I hope so, because I doubt I would." The day's quarry was apparently some breed of fierce wild pig that lived in one of the forest valleys. Which meant riding down off the mountain behind the city on what had to be some hair-raising paths. The fact that the Andalyssian women rode astride, in trousers, when they didn't wear them any other time was proof enough that the riding would be precarious. Maybe it wasn't too late to fake another headache?

"Also, keep your cloak on. You'll feel too warm sometimes, but the weather turns fast. You don't want to be fumbling in saddlebags for your cloak if a storm brews." As if to demonstrate her point, Irina fiddled with the ties of her own dark blue cloak, which matched her riding outfit, testing the security of the knot.

Chloe wore her black corps cloak, though her breeches were civilian brown wool and the longer jacket a darker green. The Andalyssians probably would be appalled if they knew it had been cut down from one of Jean-Paul's castoffs, but it had been the quickest way to provide her with a habit suitable for the northerner's sensibilities.

She stayed talking with Irina until everyone began to mount. The dun wasn't a large horse, so she managed that part easily enough, though it wasn’t her most graceful moment. If riding was going to be a regular part of her diplomatic duties, she would have to ask Imogene to ride with her sometimes once they were back in Lumia to sharpen her skills.

As she settled into the saddle, gathering the reins, she spotted Lucien's blond head near the front of the assembled riders. His horse—a long-legged gray—sidled in place, though he seemed to keep it under control easily enough, laughing at something the man next to him said. As though he felt her watching, he turned in the saddle, and their eyes met.

She couldn't look away. She wanted to, but the wave of wanting that swept over her as his eyes found hers froze her in place. The movement of the hunt saved her when Spetya started following the other horses and forced her to look ahead.

The ride down the mountain took even more concentration than she'd anticipated. Spetya gave her no trouble, but the road was terrifyingly narrow in parts and the drop off the mountain dizzying. It was a little like being on the navire again, seeing the ground recede and the next flat patch of land appear far below. Not a pleasant sensation. Though it didn't seem to worry any of the courtiers. They made small talk, calling good-naturedly back and forth as they rode. Most of the gentle teasing focused on the king and his new queen. Mikvel and Katiya seemed to take it in stride, which made her think it was all part of the ritual of the wedding.

It took nearly two hours to descend to the plateau where the actual hunt would take place. Grassy fields gave way to a dense forest of tall trees. Riding in forests, she recalled, wasn't often much easier than riding along hills. Given she had no desire to kill a pig, wild or not, the hunt seemed more another test to endure.

But first, lunch. On the very edges of the plateau, several large tents waited for them, along with a small army of servants to take care of horses and serve refreshments before they were all ushered into the tents to eat. Even so far from the city, fresh flowers festooned the tables and ceilings and ornate earth lamps provided light, reminding her that this was part of the wedding rituals despite the facade of a country picnic.

Sure enough, there were speeches and toasts and many, many courses, ending with a cake almost as large as the one served at the ball. The servants must have been up before dawn to have everything ready. The thought of riding or walking the mountain road in the dark made her feel vaguely ill, and she ate sparingly, not wanting to ride on a stuffed stomach. She did, however, sneak a few pieces of the toffee-and-nut confection they served with dessert into her pocket. That seemed easy enough to eat on horseback if she got hungry later on.

There was, thankfully, no sign of kafiet. There was plenty of tea, and some of it, she suspected, was laced with something alcoholic, as the men who drank it grew rowdier. But hers seemed unadulterated. It was warming and refreshing, but when she stood by Spetya, ready to remount, and realized she had already grown slightly stiff after the morning's riding, she wished she'd chosen something stronger.

Chapter 22

Lucien watched Chloe wince slightly, then mask the expression as she remounted. But there wasn't much he could do to ease her if she was sore, and after the last two days of her making every effort to avoid him completely, he doubted she'd appreciate any offer of help.

Charl had liked to ride, and Chloe had seemed to enjoy it when she rode with them, but riding the parks of the city or the de Montesse or de Roche estates was very different to the mountain terrain they were traversing. The forest would be easier, of course, but things could get wild in a hunt, and the valley ran back into the mountains on all sides.

He'd refused the Ilvsoir-laced tea, wanting to keep his wits about him. He'd hunted wild pigs before. Nasty beasts. Capable of injuring or even killing a horse or a man. He'd leave that part to the Andalyssians and try to stay back and observe. But he still had to take one of the long spears the servants were handing up to the riders and settle it into the niche formed in the saddle and harness straps to hold it in place. Most of the women didn't take one, Chloe included. Katiya did, positioning it in her saddle with practiced ease.

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