For half a day they idled away the time, talking about anything except serious matters like Xander, or which side of the bed they would get.
When silence had fallen for a while, he glanced at her.
Somehow Ruth had come up with yet another piece of fashion for the princess—a tunic of embroidery and sequins over the top of plum-colored leggings. Dresses weren’t practical but even this gave him problems because all of her was so appealing… He wrenched his gaze off her and studied the flat grassy plain, the horizon, and the glints off the wagon ahead where the waning sun reflected and played.
He could remember though, how she looked.
Beneath the tunic was a cleavage-plunging top.
His hand recalled the give of her butt when he held it.
John’s throat tightened.
Luckily, the driver’s seat had a small roof so she wouldn’t get burned by the sun. Or Ruff, assuming the sun could get through the ball of fur. The floof had decided to perch on the other side of Po on a timber shelf. The spot would give it a wide view of what was coming… which only made him wonder at this creature’s intelligence.
“Either we sleep in shifts,” Po suddenly proposed. “Or we put a divider down the middle.”
“What?”
“I know what you were thinking.”
Was that a sly curiosity in her appraisal? Technically, she was still a virgin, and he was almost sure that had been flirting. He raised an eyebrow.
“No one knows what I’m thinking.”
“No?” She pushed her mouth into a rosebud shape then made tsk tsk noises. “You’re thinking what is for supper, and… can I get her highness to have sex with me. The answer is no.”
He was about to deny it when trumpets blared, spooking several horses so the drivers had to calm them. To the left, a foreign caravan appeared to be heading for them, merging perhaps. Above it swayed a field of long flickering banners with forked ends and symbols. Multicolored tongues against the faded blue sky.
“What is that?” Po asked loudly, raising her voice because the trumpets had sounded again.
There were streamers and flags as well as the banners and trumpets. There were troops of cavalry in bright tunics and chain mail with scimitars and spears. This new caravan held many larger wagons. He squinted. Was that a white-and-gold banner of a camel rampant on a field of lilies?
“Oh no.” Face taut, Po clasped her fist to her chest, the other hand to her neck. “That’s Kostanian royalty.
“Is that going to be a problem?” he drawled, trying to figure out why she was dismayed. “Do you think they will know you?”
“I doubt it. I hope not. My last portrait was done two years ago. I was younger.”
He imagined this beautiful woman at twenty-two instead of four, as she was now. The difference would be minor.
“Then we should think of disguises and ways to avoid being noticed.”
Minutes later, once the two caravans had truly merged and were rearranging, a rider galloped up from behind and pulled to a halt in a swirl of grass clumps, dust, and clinking harness and weapons.
His chain mail shone with the look of frequent daily polishing. His blond warrior locks were in plaits and everything about him looked neat, if dusty.
“You are hereby summoned to a banquet tonight in the royal marquee to be erected at sunset. Do not be late.” He leered toothily then continued in his spiel. “You will be gifted with food and largesse and whatever Prince Drake chooses to give you!”
Then he sped off and did not stop at any other of the wagons. This marquee must be a huge tent if the prince was able to hold a banquet within.
“Peculiar. Why us?” She watched the disappearing rider intently.
Someone must have noticed the allure of his companion. Or he hoped that was it. Either they had used a scope to observe the people of this caravan before approaching, or there was a more sinister motive.
“Don’t worry. We can draw a moustache on you, or something,” he mused.
“Never!” Her eyes flashed with ire.
So, he’d found a weakness in the princess. She liked prettifying herself. “A beard?”
John grinned. The glare she bathed him with was worth preserving. It was cute and malevolent, and those were somehow what made her Princess Pollianna, a woman he wanted to do far more to than sit beside on a seat.
Patience. He could manage that?
When night fell, the merged caravan, once a trader caravan and a prince’s retinue, settled beside a river which would be crossed the next day via a bridge. Having washed and preened and pruned, John had been attempting some last-minute shaving of his stubble but had given up—the blade was too blunt, and the light of the campfires too dull. Ruth came up to him, where he leaned against the wagon wheel observing Po pick and sort a small low-growing purple flower into bunches. At the same time Ruff was eating the bunches she laid aside and she wasn’t noticing the disappearances. Her in-depth discussion with Shades, involved much hand gesturing and intense comments.
He leaned forward, cocking his ear. Battle strategy of the cyclans? “Figures.” He scoffed.
A courtier had just delivered a package. John turned over the soft bundle to undo a red bow.
“I have some gossip I heard from soldiers I passed by.” Ruth nodded toward the threesome. “It’s good to see them talking.”
“Oh? Important?”
The package fell open and it contained… He shook it and found he held a white dress. A note fluttered downward. A garment meant for Po—a beautiful silk gown with a cut-out area over the rear and laced back above that. Unless that was the front? No. He swished it round and back again. No, that was the back.
