What is happening to me?
My knife never wavers. It wouldn’t take more than a quick thrust to open his windpipe. Mystery man doesn’t seem particularly worried.
“Since I don’t, in fact, know where that path leads, and you seem to have time on your hands, whoever you are—”
“Tovian.”
“Tovian,” I smile. “I’m afraid I must press you into service as my guard.”
He cocks his head. “Do you ordinarily travel with guards, Sunshine?”
Again, I’m flummoxed. Admitting that I haven’t left my own bedroom without some form of protection since I was born would tip my hand. I’m not sure I want him to know I’m royalty. He’s a little too self-assured for me to trust. Guys like him? There’s always a catch. They’re tomcats, like Kenton and Bashir were, or they’re in love with someone else, like Lorcan.
I’m not exactly the kind of woman who captivates men, either. He’s after something, and it’s not me.
“Any woman would be a fool to travel alone with the country overrun by invaders.” I neatly sidestep his question. “If you’ll take me to Oceanside safely, Tovian, I promise I’ll reward you.”
“Oceanside,” he repeats, frowning. It doesn’t suit his features. He’s made for mirth and merriment—although it’s clear he can hold his own in a fight, too. He’s definitely my best chance of making to the port city alive. “Why do you want to go there?”
“I need to.” I don’t elaborate. “Will you take me, or will you make me slit your throat?”
“To die by your hand, Sunshine, would be a heavenly way to die.”
He didnotjust misquote The Smiths to me. Nobody in this country even knows who Morrissey is. The handful of us who’ve been to the outside world don’t listen to oldies, anyway. The only reason I know of it is because of our friend from Scotland, Scarlett. Kenton’s girlfriend.
I squint at him suspiciously. Tovian gives me a “what?” look, then says, “I’ll take you to Oceanside, Sunshine. On one condition.”
Relieved, I sheath my knife. “Name it.”
“Tell me who you are.”
I froze. If I tell him my given name, chances are very high that he’ll recognize who I am. Back when Queen Ilíana, King Rohan, and my parents were first starting to open up the country to outsiders, my parents chose a moniker for their daughter that reflected their interest in modernity. Raina is a name from the outside world that literally means “queen.”
Which I will be, once I’m coronated. In the meantime, my first name is a dead giveaway as to my identity.
“Arianelle.” I offer my middle name as a substitute. “Ari, for short.”
I just hope I remember to answer to it.
“Arianelle,” Tovian tests it out. His velvety brown eyes hold mine. “Pretty.”
Heat crawls over my cheeks. I’m already hot and covered in grime. I become acutely aware of my appearance. Travel-stained white shift with elbow-length sleeves turned gray, worn under a plain brown tunic that’s seen better days. Beige pants covered with grass stains, flecks of mud, and a hole in the knee. High boots to protect my shins. I hate to think what my feet will smell like when I take them off.
I don’t feel remotely pretty. Yet this guy took one look at me and asked me to marry him. Was he joking? Of course. But there’s no denying the fact that he had a boner, even with dead bugs smeared all over my face.
Speaking of which, now that we’re standing still again, the cloud came swarming back. I swatted them as they crawled down my shirt.
The damn things weren’t biting Tovian, though.
“Here.”
He offered me a small stoppered vial.
“What is it?”
“Insect repellant. Distilled locustweed. The gnats hate it. So do humans. It’s vile in concentrated form. Works, though.”
I dabbed it onto my wrists and throat like it was the finest perfume. The effect was immediate, both upon me and the gnats. I wrinkled my nose, but everywhere I put it, the biting bugs left me alone. I proceeded to douse myself with it.
