Heavens.
A fluffy white-ish creature bounded from the darkness of the shrubbery. At the sight of her it suddenly, and a little alarmingly, plumped out into a wider ball of fluff, a foot wider at least.
“Ruff, meet the princess. Princess meet Ruff. How did you find us?”
She went to one knee and held out the back of her hand for the ball of fluff. After applying what must be its nose to John’s pants knee and audibly inhaling, it sniffed her then licked its warm and small tongue over her skin. She smiled. This adventure was becoming even more interesting.
“What is it?”
“It’s maybe a dog? You want to turn it upside down and check when next we stop, be my guest. I think it has teeth.”
Still smiling, she straightened. “Maybe. I’ll find it some treats.”
John grunted. “We aren’t stopping to shop for treats. Come.”
He tugged on the rope, pulling at her wrist, and she followed him into the gloom with Ruff moving along between them. He slipped through shadows, sometimes sniffing at the heels of John’s boots, and possibly munching on grass stalks.
That was no dog.
Even she knew dogs weren’t much into grass. They ate caviar and roast lamb, and pâté on toast, and occasionally frogs’ legs. She didn’t recommend the frogs. Minister Davies’ Pekingese had thrown up the small frog bones all over its cushion.
CHAPTER THREE
horses awaited them on the fringes of the woods, where the trees thinned and grass whispered at their feet. A full moon loomed in the night sky, throwing a light backdrop behind the mountains. A few clouds drifted above, tickling the moon. Though they’d found a trail through the woods, Po had come close to twisting an ankle, had fallen into several dips in the ground, and had suffered scratches.
She was sure her knuckles were bleeding and was beginning to wonder about what she’d volunteered for—and she had volunteered, no matter what John might think.
This wasn’t sensible or safe, and sensible was what her life had always revolved around.
“You’ll ride in front of me. Up.” He gestured at the black stallion, which she judged to be about sixteen hands high. “Meet Rocky.”
“Not the mare?”
“I don’t trust you while we’re in your realm.”
“Hmph.”
He removed the rope on her wrist and assisted her into the saddle. Po waited as he mounted behind her then… then he wrapped an arm about her.
“I won’t fall off,” she asserted grumpily. Her chest felt weirdly twisted and skittish.
“I know.” He clicked his tongue and the stallion ambled off then quickened into a canter as they reached a solid road surface.
The absence of stirrups was disconcerting, but she adapted to the roll of the muscles of the horse under her and, eventually, to the muscles of the arm about her waist.
The feel of John’s fingers when they jarred into new positions along her side was a whole other matter. She couldn’t stop her reactions to him, and that made her grumpy. Po was used to controlling a kingdom and all those who circled her like stars and planets awaiting her command, but she could not control this. Or him.
Xander would find this amusing.
She pinched her lips, knowing she should have protested more. Going to look for him in the company of his brother was the right thing for any ordinary mortal to do, but not for her. A princess had to rise above the common world. She had responsibilities far beyond what the average person could comprehend.
Xander’s words echoed in her memory…
“I have made many enemies, Po. Promise me that if ever they come for me, you will not risk yourself.”
She’d frowned at him and added a codicil: Only until we are wed.
He’d agreed to that after she explained that being her consort made him extra important to the kingdom, though he already was important to her.
So she’d vowed to him because he was in one of his serious moods. And then he’d managed to get himself kidnapped, before the wedding.
Men.
As if he had more enemies than her anyway, she had loads of them.
They clattered along the road and a wind found them, making pieces of her hair whip loose from the tie she’d placed around it and flick backward. It must be annoying the man behind her, yet he said nothing.
Kept on a lead rope, the mare followed at a neat trot. She was a chestnut with a blaze on her forehead and of nondescript appearance, but the stallion was a remarkable horse. They were not going to pass for peasants.
Then they reached the first fork in the road, where it split to north and south, and John reined in until they clopped to a halt.
“Which way?” he murmured, reminding her with the scent of his warm breath of how close he was—as if the press of his thighs and body was not enough.
“You don’t know?” she ventured, after some time had passed.
That spurred him into doing something. He leaned down and spoke to what seemed the ground.
“That way?”
She realized the white blob below was Ruff, and it was agitated and had been moving forward then circling back, and quite definitely trending toward the northern branch of the road.
“Good.” Firmly he urged the stallion into motion.
“You’re taken on a random animal as your advisor now?”
“I think he knows. He sniffed my pants leg a lot. The Storyteller may have left a trace.”
The Who? Po shook her head and said nothing more. This adventure was feeling less organized by the hour.
She liked her facts in rows and columns.
She liked them organized in folders. With notes.
When they broke into a canter again, she decided that perhaps it would be best to broach the idea of her returning
