Page 113 of Court of Claws

Nightclaw said nothing. I assumed he was being stoic. He’d certainly had a lot of practice.

“Well, you’re up,” Hawl said, not sounding particularly impressed. The Bearkin crossed their arms over their dark furry chest. “How does it feel?”

“Good,” I said, to my own surprise. “Right. Secure.”

“Excellent. Now where will you ride him?”

“Uh...” I thought for a moment. “Where does the prince ride the female?”

“Now that’s the right question,” Hawl said approvingly. “There are areas, outside of the palace, within the shield. Open plains where an exmoor might run about. Or if you happen to know a stitcher, you might request that they bring you both to the surface. There are royal hunting grounds just outside of the city.”

“That sounds preferable,” I said immediately. Nightclaw’s ears twitched. “I think Nightclaw would prefer that, too.”

“Good. Then you’ll speak with Crescent about it later. For now, these gardens are room enough for you to at least practice riding at a trot.” Hawl began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” I asked nervously.

“You don’t need me for this part. Make sure you take care of that saddle. There’s not another one like it.” Hawl paused and looked back at me. “Tabar would never have been able to ride this creature. Bonding an exmoor takes trust and respect. If I’m right, Nightclaw’s already had one rider. It’s up to him to decide if he wants another. If he finds you worthy, you’ll know. If he doesn’t...”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I called sardonically as Hawl strode out of the gardens. The Bearkin waved a paw without turning around.

I gripped the reins, feeling all too aware of my precarious place perched atop such a large creature. It was like riding a house.

Nightclaw stepped forward, taking cautious steps as if as worried he would displace me as I was of being displaced. Yet with each paw forward, his movements became more fluid.

As we slowly trod along one of the wild garden paths, I could feel the subtle vibrations of the exmoor's purrs resonating through his body.

A purr had to be a good sign, I thought. Cats purred when they were happy, didn't they?

We hadn't had many cats in the Rose Court. Arthur wasn't fond of them. But Kaye was. And I remembered him sneaking a kitten into his room once when he was younger. He had managed to keep it there for months until it finally got out when a servant left the door open. We hadn't found it again. Kaye had been devastated. We had searched everywhere. Eventually I had promised my younger brother that the kitten must have snuck out into the woods and found a new family.

But the truth was, I hadn't put it past Arthur or Florian to have done something far nastier to Kaye's pet.

I recalled lying on Kaye's bed, stroking his kitten's sleek little stomach one day. She had been purring up a storm. Suddenly she had leaped to her feet, tail up, hissing at the door. She was still purring. If anything, her purr had become louder.

When Kaye peeked out into the hall, he had seen Florian striding past.

Cats could purr for all sorts of reasons. When they were happy, yes, but also when they were anxious or afraid.

I wondered which it was with Nightclaw. I certainly hoped he knew he had nothing to fear from me.

Taking a deep breath, I reached a hand out tentatively and lay it along the exmoor's shoulder, feeling the rumbling vibrations pass through me.

Our connection felt even more real like this, skin to fur. A lump formed in my throat.

“I will never let anyone hurt you again,” I promised. “And if you would rather be free, I swear I will have you released.”

The problem was, I had no idea if thatwaswhat Nightclaw would prefer. It wasn't as if I could read the cat's mind.

But as if in response, Nightclaw suddenly leaped forward. I let out a shriek holding onto the pommel, as the exmoor burst into an loping trot, taking us through a shadowy path full of vibrant foliage where the scent of blossoming greenery filled the air, intermingling with the earthy aroma of the garden.

As we trotted along the rough winding path, Nightclaw's eyes seemed to gleam with a vitality that had not been there that day in the menagerie. His tufted tail swayed gently behind me.

“Eager for a run, are you?” I murmured. “Shall we go a little faster? Or will we risk running into a tree?” Gently, I nudged my legs and gave the lightest of touches to the reins.

Nightclaw responded instantly, shifting into a rhythmic canter. His sleek golden-brown fur shimmered in the dappled light that filtered down through the canopy of vines and trees above us. He sped down a path, entering a grove, never breaking into anything as fast as a gallop but still going fast enough to send my pulse racing.

I had no need to worry about my riding skills, I realized tardily. Nightclaw was skilled enough for us both. He easily darted between tree trunks and hanging vines, avoiding tall bushes and never losing his footing even when the path was a mess of brush and loose pebbles.

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