Chapter 4 #3
bitterness and toward Aleksandr’s earthy warmth.
“Princess?” Aleksandr said. “Is there
something I can do for you?”
“No, I…” Sahar shook her head and clamped her
jaw tight. He was laughing at her, the cocky bastard.
“What is it?” he continued. “Have you figured
out that your prince is a whiney worm not worthy of you?”
“How dare you,” she hissed.
“How dare I what?” Aleksandr said in a low
whisper. “How dare I tell a princess the truth?”
“Why you—”
“Princess Sahar?”
She glanced up at the maid servant holding a
platter of cheeses and fruits, the first of what was likely to be a
long seven courses.
“Thank you, Ursula,” she said. “You may start
serving.” She rounded back on Aleksandr. “You,” she growled, “can
go to your ancestors in a shroud of dung.”
He laughed before leaning in close, too
close. “There’s my tigress,” he said in a low, intimate tone that
brought the heat of his too-familiar gesture to her cheeks and made
her itch to claw his.
“Do not speak to me again,” she said.
“For the remainder of the meal or for all
eternity?”
“Whichever lasts longer.”
The next day, two of the riders dropped out
of the remaining races due to their horses’ injuries, which left
ten and nine men and one woman following Brawn, the captain of the
king’s guard. A swarthy desert man, he wore two blades on his belt
and two short swords strapped to his back. Brawn, who looked
familiar, led them over the three-league course for the next race
three days hence. As victor and placers in the first race, Sahar,
Aleksi, and Yago rode alongside the captain, with the rest of the
field spread out behind them in no particular order.
The course started at the palace gate and
followed the trade road along the river’s southern banks, crossing
the river at its widest, shallowest point a league east of the
city. All Aleksi had to do was turn Zolotoy’s head toward the river
and the stallion splashed into the water while other riders had to
circle several times before their horses jumped in. Lasair
hesitated at the shoreline and Brawn drew his roan gelding up
beside her, talking quietly to Sahar until she urged Lasair into
the water. He kept his horse shoulder to shoulder on the downriver
side of Lasair, who didn’t act at all skittish as they waded across
the swift moving waters while Sahar kept her gaze steadfastly on
the approaching shore.
Once across and back on dry land, she exhaled
slowly and gave Brawn a shaky grin before he circled around,
waiting for the last of the riders to cross. Curious, Aleksi nudged
Zolotoy closer to Lasair and cocked his head at the fine sheen of
sweat across Sahar’s cheeks and the whiteness of her knuckles.
“What?” she snapped at him.
Aleksi shook his head and said nothing, and
then chuckled low as she chuffed at him. “You told me not to speak
to you again,” he said. “I am obeying your command.”
“You are insufferable,” she hissed, and urged
Lasair into a trot.
Aleksi held Zolotoy back, admiring the view
of Sahar’s well-formed seat as the mare trotted ahead. Yago, his
swollen left cheek a satisfying shade of purple, cantered Tor to
catch up with Sahar, who took Lasair firmly in rein as the mare
tossed her head and gave the black stallion a wary eye and sidled
away. The mare had enough sense to keep the Wolf and his stallion
at a distance even if the princess didn’t.
The group rode south and east across the lush
river delta at a slow gallop for another league and then turned
north to a wooded foothill. They climbed the narrow path two horses
abreast and then the path widened as they rode across the hill’s
flat top for a good league, affording them a scenic view of the
verdant valley and seaside city below.
“So, Brawn,” the man called Jibalde the
Jackal called out, so named after his grandfather, the king who,
legend had it, had gifted Sahar’s mother to Asad’s father. “How
many times has the princess ridden this same course?”
“None,” Brawn said over his shoulder. “This
course was set yesterday.”
“But the princess must know this area well,”
the Jackal said. “I am sure she has ridden over it many times.” He
smirked at Sahar as Brawn pulled his horse up with a scowl. “It
stands to reason,” he continued, “since no one knew she would enter
the races, no one would suspect her of preparing for such.”
“Are you accusing the princess of cheating
even before the race is run?” Brawn asked, fingering the hilt of
one of his waist blades. Aleksi remembered where he had seen the
man before. It was the first time he and Sahar had met, when he had
thought her and Halah unaccompanied. He had noticed Brawn’s scarred
face and multiple blades as the man gave him the once-over after
Sahar had walked away.
“No, no, of course not,” the Jackal
backtracked. He glanced at Taweel the Tall, his cousin and a prince
in his own right, who nodded his encouragement. “I am suggesting
that she has an advantage over the rest of us, living here, knowing
the area.”
“I live here too,” Munir said. “As do Feroz
and Darius.” He pointed to the merchant’s son and another of the
king’s guard. “Why are you not questioning our advantage as
well?”