Chapter Twenty: Riding His Horse

SIGRUN

We'd been riding since midmorning, and by late afternoon I was beginning to suspect that horse-riding had been invented by people who secretly hated the human body.

In the past, whenever I'd imagined riding through a fantasy kingdom, I had pictured something cinematic. Wind in my hair. Dramatic scenery. Perhaps an inspiring soundtrack.

What I had not pictured was the fact that every single muscle below my waist would eventually declare war on me.

My thighs hurt.

My back hurt.

My shoulders hurt.

There were muscles hurting in places I hadn't known muscles existed.

The fuck?

The mare beneath me seemed perfectly content with the arrangement. I, meanwhile, was discovering that six straight hours in a saddle was a deeply offensive concept.

I refused to complain, partly because I was stubborn. And mostly because I was surrounded by werewolves.

Between yesterday's journey and today, I observed that the pack rode in a certain formation:

Varul was always at the front, heading the pack. Darren rode slightly behind him and to the left, close enough to speak without raising his voice.

The rest of the wolves spread outward from them in a loose diamond formation. At first glance, it looked casual. It wasn't.

The more I watched, the more obvious it became that every rider occupied a deliberate position.

Two scouts rode ahead, while several remained near the rear.

I was neither stupid nor blind. I could tell what the majority of my husband's pack thought of me. While some of them treated me with indifference, the others gave me suspicious glances that told me enough about what they thought about my marriage to their Alpha.

After her uncomfortable and uncanny observation about the way I'd been staring at Varul, through indirect gossip about a female pack member that she and Rita found overbearing, Conny had given me a brief rundown about the strained relationship between the North and the South (read: the werewolves and the humans).

The last thing I needed was to become the delicate Southern princess who couldn't survive another day's ride on horseback.

So I sat straighter and ignored the ache in my lower back. And I immediately regretted it when I felt, rather than heard, something pop.

Lord, please let that not be my spine.

*

I shifted in the saddle for what was probably the hundredth time, trying hard to keep myself awake. Damn, I was tired.

The mare flicked an ear.

"Don't judge me," I muttered.

The mare continued forward in dignified silence. I chose to interpret that as judgment.

A shadow appeared beside me. I glanced sideways.

Varul had fallen back from the front of the column without me noticing. His assessing eyes swept over me once, even as his horse moved closer.

Before I could process what was happening, his hands gripped my waist. For one terrifying second, the world tilted. I was airborne.

A completely undignified squeak escaped me. "What—!"

The protest died halfway out of my mouth because one second I was on my horse, and the next I was sitting in front of Varul on his with his chest at my back and his arms coming around me to take both sets of reins.

He'd tossed the reins of my own horse to a pack member who'd materialised beside it. His own horse barely broke stride.

Wait. How had he done all that in the blink of an eye?

More importantly, how the hell had he known that I'd needed saving?

"There," he announced cryptically like he'd just solved a pressing matter. "It would not do well for me to have a bride who fell off her horse and died because she had been dozing off at the reins."

I raised my chin haughtily. I needed to save face. "I wasn't dozing.'

"But you were about to, Princess," he said drily.

"No, I was...resting my eyes."

I heard a sound that might have been a snort. I swiveled my neck at an awkward angle to stare at his face, but he looked straight ahead, ignoring me. I pouted, disappointed.

The realization that he had come to my aid without me even saying a word settled somewhere soft inside my chest. Dangerously soft.

"How did—?"

"I could sense it," he said with a note of finality that told me that he'd had his fill of this particular conversation.

Right.

We rode in silence for several minutes. Every now and then, when the horse stepped over uneven ground, I could feel the hard line of his body shift behind me.

Objectively speaking, this was a ridiculous situation.

Subjectively speaking, I was trying very hard not to enjoy it.

Unfortunately, my body was proving uncooperative.

The heat of him seeped through the layers of our clothes. The ache in my back was already easing now that I wasn't forcing myself to maintain perfect posture on my own horse.

Soon, the weather grew hotter, and the thick dress I was wearing was starting to feel like a bad decision.

Irritated, I tugged uncomfortably at the high collar and long sleeves.

"Is there a problem, Princess?" Varul asked, sounding amused.

"I'm hot," I clipped.

"Mm. Pity," came his dry reply. My left eye twitched in annoyance.

Was that all he had to say? Where was chivalry?

After a few more minutes, I couldn't take it anymore.

I blurted, "You know, it's your fault that I'm in this dress."

"Really. How so?" He drawled. He sounded almost bored. His tone proved that he knew exactly what I was talking about, but he was going to play dumb.

I let out an angry breath through my nose and crossed my arms."Everyone here knows that we're married." I lowered my voice, remembering that I was in the company of people with unnatural hearing. This was a private discussion.

"You didn't have to mark me last night," I bit out with irritation.

Then I heard a low rumble as his chest shook behind me. The bastard was laughing at me.

Heat climbed into my face. "I fail to see what is amusing. I have marks all over me, and anyone who sees them can guess what they are." I huffed. "It's annoying."

"And yet," he murmured, "you have been thinking about them all day."

I stiffened. "I have not."

"You have," he said, sounding like an adult indulging a toddler.

He was right, but I would sooner jump off this moving horse than admit it. He knew the effect he had on me; it was seriously annoying.

"I absolutely have not."

Another one of those infuriating low laughs rumbled through his chest.

"Princess."

My face grew warmer. I hated the way I lit up whenever he called me that. "I was merely annoyed that I had to wear a dress this hot to cover them up."

"Of course." The skepticism in those two words was unbearable.

I scowled at the road ahead. "You are very pleased with yourself."

"I am." Then his voice dipped intimately, sounding heated. His cool breath brushed the shell of my ear. "Tell me, Princess, what parts of you carry my marks?"

I bit my tongue to steel myself against the warmth coursing through mea. A warmth that had nothing whatsoever to do with the weather.

"I'm not telling you that. You should know where they are since you made them," was my haughty reply.

"True. And I remember you seemed to enjoy them well enough at the time."

I nearly choked. I stared straight ahead, refusing to dignify that statement with a response.

Behind me, his laughter finally escaped properly. Several of the other riders threw curious glances our way, and a few had small smiles on their lips when their eyes met mine.

I refused to analyze what that meant.

Shortly after, the shadows beneath the trees had begun to lengthen, turning the woods darker and cooler.

I leaned back before realizing what I was doing. My eyelids began to feel heavy. I fought it.

The last thing I heard was another low chuckle behind me.

"Rest your eyes, Princess."

I would have argued.

But unfortunately, I was already asleep.