Page 87 of Wickedly Ever After
“Okay. Hurry back.”
She flushed. “Okay. Early start, I get it.”
“Yes. Exactly.” Maybe he should have gotten rid of his tongue along with his heart. He doubted he’d ever sounded so ridiculous in his entire life, but despite it, he bounced back to the pony’s stall, whistling.
The pony didn’t seem unhappy to see Hector back, only alittle miffed. It cheered up immediately when he refilled the hay bag and gave it a handful of grain. Then Hector dug through the bags Hari and Tinbit had stacked in the tack room and found Ida’s wool coat and a bright green scarf to match her pants. A pair of thin white gloves sat on top. She’d worn them to the game. How long ago it seemed now. Hector set them aside. They weren’t suitable for shaking hands with a dragon. He found a pair of his dark leather gauntlets and stuffed them in his pack for her, complete with the warming spell he’d promised.
When Ida returned from the inn, she was carrying two pairs of boots.
“You didn’t summon seven-league boots, I hope? If you take a bad jump, you could end up in the air over a ravine.”
“No, they’re ordinary boots. I pilfered them from Sebastian’s cloak room. Mine were full of cactus spines. I imagine yours were too.”
He took them gratefully. “How thoughtful. Thank you.” He dusted the hay from his robe front. “Personally, for myself, I think I should’ve taken more socks. I ripped all mine up on the cactus.”
“Tinbit will patch them, I’m sure.”
“I’ll patch them myself. I knit a lot in the winter—sweaters, hats, oven mitts—it’s too cold to do much else.” It would be something for him to do every day in his retirement if he didn’t fix this. But he was going to fix it. No. They were.
“Shall we go?” He offered Ida his arm.
She took it. “I’m ready when you are.”
***
Two hours into the hike, Hector’s stomach growled to him aboutbreakfast, but although the mountain path boasted large stands of wild blackberries, none were ripe. He passed the green and red fruits, wishing he’d taken a few slices of bread from the pack, but Tinbit and Hari would be hungry, and Sebastian wouldn’t serve anything edible for breakfast.
Ida walked behind him, the path not being wide enough to take more than one person at a time. She must have been as hungry and weary as he, but she never slowed down, never paused, never complained, but limped after him leaning on the staff she’d asked from a gnarled mountain oak at the head of the pass. Her feet must have been as blistered as his.
“It’s a lot farther from the city to the mountains than I thought,” Ida said. “I’m trying not to think how airsick the princess must have been, flying all this way.”
“It’s not so bad, flying by dragon. A bit hard on the tailbone, considering the spikes, but not much worse than a broom.”
“And how were you after your first flight on a broom?”
He frowned. “Decidedly queasy.”
“So was I,” Ida said. “I hope—” She went quiet.
“What?” He turned around, staff up, in case of a manticore, but there were no fantastic beasts there, only Ida, standing on one leg, dumping a rock out of her boot.
“I hope she wasn’t too afraid,” Ida finished. “I would’ve been, going with a man I’d never met, with no idea what he’s like, or what to expect. Of course, I always consider that when I compose the love spells, but…”
She trailed off, and Hector thought uncomfortably of what he’d said to her about abdicating responsibility and incompetence and felt rather worse than queasy. How could he have been so cruel?
“What kind of man is Alistair?” she asked.
“He’s not a man. He’s a dragon—”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. What kind of person is he?”
“A young one,” he said after a moment. “Impulsive, artistic, hotheaded, but kind and thoughtful. He would never hurt a princess. Do you need to rest?”
“Perhaps for a moment.” She chose a rock beside a small stream and sat, stretching out her legs. Hector knelt and drank, and seeing him drink seemed to make her feel more comfortable. After a minute, she knelt and drank too. “If Amber wanted to leave him, would he let her go?”
“I suppose it depends on the strength of his need to retain his prize,” Hector said. “But I think he would. He didn’t wish to participate in the Happily-Ever-After, but he did come. And when I asked him to remember his role, he did—albeit a bit belatedly, and he didn’t do it the way I expected. He’s always been more difficult to read than his father. He’s so locked inside himself all the time.”
“He’s introspective.”
