I suck in a shaky breath, trying my best to--relax.It does me little good. I’m pressed up against aman. No, not a man. Awitch. He’s so close I can smell him. It’s not an offensive smell. I’m reminded of something woodsy akin to cedar. He lifts a hand, and I feel it brush against the back of my head.
“Gods, you have a lot of hair,” he complains. He slows the horse until we come to a full stop. His fingers brush the back of my head again, and I jerk away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to braid your hair so it’s not flying into my face all day.”
“Do you know how to do that?” Seeing as I’ve had handmaidens my entire life,Idon’t even know how to do that.
“Yes.” I don’t lurch away this time as his hands weave through my hair, much more gently than I’m used to by my handmaidens. He doesn’t seem to struggle with it though I know it had been unruly.
“How do you even know how to do this?”
“I have a sister,” he grumbles.
“You learned how to braid your sister’s hair?”
“For this same reason. We used to ride together when we were younger.”
“Oh,” I say, my surprise evident. His explanation is perfectly reasonable. Maybe even kind ofnice. He nears the end of my hair and I pluck the tie off my wrist and hold it out for him. It’s secured around my hair and the collar of my dress is pulled as he tucks the braid inside of it.
He adjusts himself on the saddle before pulling me back against him once more. I’m unprepared for our speed to increase so swiftly and my vision spins. The trees whiz by faster than I can track and with nerves already winding me tight, dizziness overcomes me.
I tuck my hands against my face with a groan and my mouth fills with saliva. I’m going to…I jerk over the side of the horse in the nick of time. He draws his boot out of the path and silently wraps an arm around me to keep me from being hurtled off the side of the saddle. It’s only bile with the lack of food in my system. I wipe at my mouth as I pull myself upright. “Sorry,” I gasp out.
He coaxes me back with a hand against my forehead. This witch has no sense of personal space. He’s quiet as he leans over the saddle and draws something from the saddlebag. A canteen is placed in front of me and I take it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and washing away the bitter taste. “How far do we have to go?”
“We’ll be in my kingdom by nightfall.”
My shoulders slump. We’ll be on this horse all goddamn day. As I was yesterday except it’s worse this time because I’m not alone and I can’t even look at my surroundings without feeling the urge to hurl. Not to mention I have no idea what will happen to me when we do get to his kingdom. It’s not something I can really straight out ask either.
Rummaging in the saddle bag, he draws out a small parcel and offers it out to me. “You should probably eat something.”
“Can’t.”
“You didn’t eat last night.”
“Maybe later,” I say, stomach still roiling. He places the parcel back and our speed increases even more. My body is slowly melded back more firmly against him. I don’t fight it this time. Fiddling with the pommel, I manage to ignore the blur of green surrounding us. I study the vines stamped around my middle finger, the same marked around his finger as well as the strange symbols embellishing the backs of his hands. His fingers are long and slender and now I notice several slashes, old scars across his hands and wrists.What are those from?
“Are you going to tell me what I was threatening your father for?”
I shift on the saddle. I can’t very well tell him that I’m not the bride he’s meant to have. “It’s kind of complicated.”
He grunts out a discontented noise.
It takes me a few minutes to work up the nerve to ask him a question. “I don’t even know the name of your kingdom.”
“You don’t?”
I didn’t even know witches had kingdoms, their depictions more closely resembling cannibalistic clans in the woods, but I’m hardly going to tell him that.
“It’s Samore.”
“Samore,” I repeat, testing the sound of it on my tongue. “How many kingdoms are there?”
“Seven.”
Seven Kingdoms.So many questions tickle the back of my throat. I know I need to choose them scrupulously.
“Eight, I guess if you include yours.”
