He nudges his horse closer. “You are impossible, do you know that?”
“And you’re overprotective, do you know that?”
He studies me and then huffs out a breath before heruns a hand through his dark hair. “There’s a chance the glasseln will never show herself. We shouldn’t argue over it.”
“You say that like it would be a good thing.”
“It would be a good thing.”
I toss my head, refusing to look at him, and nudge my mare forward.
“Difficult,” he says under his breath.
I ignore him and continue to watch the woods for Pika. After a few minutes, I forget I’m irritated. “When will we reach Glendon?”
Our pace is easy, and if he’s not worried about lagging behind the rest of the group, then I’m not either. My eyes shift to him, and as I do, his gaze meets mine. I look away quickly, pretending to be scanning the trees.
“We’ll cross the border by early evening,” he says. “There’s an inn in Briar Ridge. We’ll stay there.”
I peek back. His eyes are still on me.
The others are far enough ahead I don’t hear their chatter anymore. Birds sing in the trees, and a creek bubbles not far from us, following the same path, winding its way down to Glendon. We’ve only been riding for a few hours, but after several steep descents, we’re already in lower terrain, and the air is warmer.
“What did Irving say to upset you earlier?” Galinor asks.
I grimace. “He asked me to marry him.”
Galinor’s eyes go wide, and for a moment, it looks as if he’s choked on something. “How did you answer?”
I think about it. “I didn’t answer,” I say as I realize it’s true. “Not that it matters. I won’t marry Irving.”
“He’s the Crown Prince of Primewood.”
“He also woke up wrapped in daisies,” I point out.
Galinor grins at the memory. “That he did.”
I struggle for something to say, but my mind is oddly blank. It’s easier to forget Galinor is a prince when we are riding together and I don’t have to look at him.
It’s hard to forget now.
Expensive silver threads weave through the dark blue tunic he wears over his lightweight chain mail shirt. His sword is sheathed at his side, and his bow and quiver are on his back. He looks very royal.
And very formidable.
He would be intimidating if it weren’t for his pleasant face. He looks ahead, and I steal glances at him. He’s almost too perfect. He has no scars, no birthmarks. His eyebrows are dark and high, but they aren’t too full or too close together. His cheeks bones are distinguished, and he has just a hint of dimples when he smiles wide.
Not that he smiles like that very often. Maybe he did before the tournament?
He’s tall, too, and strong. Absurdly beautiful.
Galinor notices me staring at him. “You have an odd look on your face, Anwen. What are you thinking?”
His question takes me by surprise, and my cheeks heat.
I rip my gaze forward, focusing on the road ahead of us, and change the subject. “Where do you suppose Dimitri has led his troupe?”
The prince doesn’t look happy with my question. “Tracking this man down—it’s about the changeling stone, isn’t it? It’s not because…”
