Page 27 of Feral Guardian
She’ll be the best queen in a century.
Maria bustles up behind us with a small basket covered in a tied-off cloth. “Some bread and cheese for the road.”
Lily accepts it with a grateful smile. “Thank you, sincerely. We would’ve died without your help.”
“I doubt that.” Maria looks up at me. “This one’s trouble. You watch out for her.”
I nod. I already knew that a thousand times over. My troublemaking, prankster princess. I have no doubt she’s set some kind of lovely trap in the house to make it change colors or grow flowers.
Lily lurches forward awkwardly and throws her arms around Maria. “Thank you.”
The older woman startles at first but softens into the embrace. “You are most welcome, princess. And you are welcome back any time.”
Lily pulls back and then looks at me with her big, trusting green eyes. “I’m ready.”
The children run to follow us to the stable where Kor’Tar waits. He’s nuzzling the pale mare as I approach. The damnable stud probably mated her in the night. I whistle at him and Kor’Tar trots out from under the cover of the stable, presenting himself as ready to ride. He wore his saddle all night, and I gave him only a brief reprieve this morning to brush out his most serious stress areas.
Lily crouches down to give the children tight hugs, whispering to them in Seterian I can’t hear. The little girl nods, her expressionserious. Lily is leaving her impact on them, and I can’t help but feel that every family, every little mind, matters to her.
My queen.
She waves to Johan and Maria, then turns to Kor’Tar. I know she can mount him on her own, but I find myself holding her waist as I push her up into the stirrups. I climb on behind her and nod my farewells to the family.
Johan gives me directions to the road that leads into Yelesna, and I follow them until I find the narrow trail. Lily’s soft hair brushes my chin and I smell her rose and honey scent.
My hand snakes around her waist, splaying out and holding her against me. She sucks in a gasp, her fingers tightening in Kor’Tar’s mane. I only mean to keep her secured for the journey. It’s still a quarter-day’s ride, something I’m certain she’s not used to.
“Tell me about the things you did while I was at school,” Lily prompts when we’re well on our way.
I did nothing but train and consider her return to the kingdom. I worried over her well-being. I wondered if she was safe. She doesn’t want to hear these things, though.
“We have a new head archivist at the palace,” I say.
Lily chuckles. “I’m sure Alyse was happy about that. The last old crone wouldn’t let her sneak any of the books.”
“I hear he is just as attentive,” I say.
“He. Oh, no. Is he below the age of fifty? If so, he’s in danger of Alyseswooning,” Lily says dramatically.
My fingers flex over her stomach, pulling her against me tighter. “I believe he’s a few years younger than me. Very eligible for aswooningprincess.”
Her muscles contract under my hand as she giggles, and her left hand falls over my forearm on the reins.She’s just holding on, I remind myself.
She gasps and suddenly goes still. “Oh, don’t tell me it’s Kazimir.”
Of course, my princess would know every scribe in her palace. “It is.”
She laughs a throaty, impish laugh. “Alyse is introuble.”
I snort. “I have had only one interaction with him aside from passing in the halls, and he doesn’t seem very interested in swooning princesses.”
“How do you mean?” she asks. “I think most men would trip over themselves if Alyse swooned over them.”
The images of that encounter flash through my mind. The man, tall and lean, though still half a foot shorter than me, was imposing. The icy stare of his gray eyes, the determined grimace that perpetually formed on his lips, the way he was able to stand deathly still like he was frozen.
And the device that collared his throat, the way it shivered and glowed with power as he spoke. I’d wondered if he’d enchanted it for some malicious purpose, but poking around in his records revealed that his voice had been destroyed when he was young, and the device was how he created the vibrations required to speak.
I dug a little deeper after that, though I was certain the palace had done their research before letting a man attain the highest point in the records office. As if his alabaster skin and shockingly blond hair weren’t proof enough of his origins, the angry black mark—seven numbers carved just under his jaw—identified him as a Seterianslave.
