“Might I suggest the dungeons, Your Royal Highnesses?” the man says.
“Absolutely not,” I snap.
The man tips his head in apology. “She would be very happy, I assure you. There is an abundance of rats, and we would take her out several times a day.”
There’s nowhere for Pika to roam free near the castle. The seaport town is too large, and there are people in abundance.
“Can we have the caravan cart taken down for her?” I ask. “I would like her to have somewhere soft to sleep.”
Bran grins. “We’ll have a room made up for her. She’ll have the finest quarters the dungeons have ever seen.”
I nod, though I’m not sure I like this arrangement. I pass the groom and enter the cart. With the lead clipped to the new leather collar Dristan fashioned for her, I coax Pika into the sunshine. She stretches low, her shoulders down and her haunches in the air, and extends her wings.
Gasps sound from all around the courtyard, but I ignore them and stroke her soft fur. She purrs, happy to be out of the confined space of the caravan cart.
I hand the lead to the groom. “She needs a good, long walk before she’s taken to her quarters.”
He stares at the strip of leather, and his hand trembles as he takes it from me. “Of course.”
I watch the man amble off, half-leading, half-pulled by Pika. Only once they pass under an arch and out of sight do I follow Bran and Dristan inside the castle.
“You don’t think she’ll eat him, do you?” Irving asks.
I frown. “I don’t think so.”
I stroke the dark,wooden bedpost, lifting aside the canopy of fine netting. I had assumed Rosie, Marigold, and I would share a room, but Bran and Dristan’s parents are as generous as their sons and gave us each our own.
Rosie, uncomfortable with the finery of the castle, offered to sleep in the caravan cart. The king and queen wouldn’t hear of it.
A maid has left the doors to my balcony wide open. A soft, warm breeze blows through, bringing with it the smells of the sea. Ships float to and from the port. Many are large, multi-sailed vessels with carved prows, but there are small fishing boats on the water as well.
A knock sounds on my door, and when I open it, I find Galinor. Surprised, I look around to see if any of the others are with him. My stomach flutters when I realize he’s alone.
He gives me an easy smile. “Bran and Dristan are attending family business. The last I saw of Irving and Rosie, they were bickering, and Marigold has disappeared into the library. I assume we will see her again in a few days.”
I washed away the dust from the road as soon as I stepped into my room, and Galinor must have done the same. His hair is wet and dark, and his jaw is smooth from a recent shave. My fingers itch to run across his skin, but I keep my hands to myself—where they belong.
After the last two weeks, I’m beginning to wonder if I imagined our moment in the cart. Maybe it was a vivid hallucination brought on by Rosie’s sleeping draught.
Galinor crosses his arms over his chest, and he watches me like he’s waiting for something.
“Oh.” I step away from the doorway. “Come in?”
“It looks like we’re the only ones without plans,” he says. “I thought you might like to do a little sightseeing with me.”
I’m so shocked, I don’t answer right away. Just to clarify, I ask, “You want to go with me?”
His eyes brighten with amusement. “Yes, that is the idea.”
Having abandoned his Bandolian garb now that we’re no longer amongst the troupes, Galinor once again looks like a prince of Glendon. His tunic is gray and fitted, and the fabric looks soft. He wears his sword belted at his hip—he keeps it on him always—and his tall leather boots are clean and gleaming.
He waits for my answer, his eyebrows raised expectantly. The subtropical air seems a little too heavy and warm to breathe.
I glance at my gown. It’s the same rose velvet Leonora gave me before we left Lauramore. It looks a little drab amongst Triblue’s bright colors. “I need to change before we leave.”
“You look lovely.”
I smile at the compliment but shoo him out the door anyway.
