5. Sugar Cubes & Sass #2
The so-called Lady Cypress was a curious thing. Far too polite to be close to the royals and endure their machinations. But, she hadn’t used Cade’s epithet Prince either. She had spoken much more brashly to the King than Torren thought one of her stature would be allowed.
Cypress settled atop the horse gracefully, accepting the reins from Oswald with another murmured ‘thanks’.
“So what pretty pony did they saddle for me?” Torren asked, arms crossed in front of him.
Cypress huffed a laugh. “Would you prefer a pretty pony, Thief?”
“I would prefer getting the fuck out of here when the day is still young, Lass.”
Oswald turned and grabbed a pack from a nearby shelf and thrust it into Torren’s hands. “Here’s your pack. In it you’ll find provisions.”
“Why doesn’t she have a pack to carry?”
“It’s in my saddle bags, dumbass,” Cypress snarked, crossing her wrists on the pommel of the fine, tooled saddle that hugged her hips and muscled thighs in a positively indecent way.
“Let me guess. I don’t have saddlebags?” Torren drolled, turning to give Oswald a flat look.
The man scoffed. “Are you incapable of doing anything yourself?”
Torren lifted his chin, sucking on his teeth.
He was no spoiled brat, like he knew Cade would be now.
As children, Cade and he had gotten along, sometimes.
But Cade had been an infinitesimally snottier, whinier child than Torren, had acted as if he were already king rather than the second Prince.
No, Torren should not have been surprised that Cade had not wished for his return.
“Quite the opposite,” Torren managed to fire back after a moment.
Oswald grunted, then tilted his chin down the breezeway. “There's your mount, boy.”
Torren turned to see what old nag they’d saddled for him.
Instead, a gorgeous dapple gray mare walked calmly down the cobblestone. She still bore some of the dark bluish-gray of her youth, though most of the coat had already turned a creamy white.
Torren sighed. Well, she wasn’t an old nag, but he doubted the horse would be specifically fast.
“Dixie will take care of ya. Be kind to her, yeah?” Oswald said, holding Torren’s sword out, the hilt wrapped in the leather belt that the castle guards had confiscated upon his entry.
Torren accepted it, giving Oswald a nod of agreement.
Before mounting, Torren walked around the horse, giving her a quick examination.
He lifted her legs to ensure there wasn’t anything in her shoes, and felt down her legs for any swelling.
Torren wouldn’t put it past his father to give him a lame horse.
Fortunately, though, Dixie appeared sound and calm.
Torren preferred a slightly less docile creature, but she would do.
Quickly, Torren stashed his provisions in the saddlebags, tied the bedroll and a small recurve bow behind the saddle, then strapped his sword to it as well so the hilt sat right next to the pommel.
“Are you done yet, Thief?” Cypress drawled, leaning forward on her pommel, the thick lengths of her braided hair falling over a shoulder. “I thought you wanted to get the fuck out of here when the day was still young?”
Torren wanted to wring her elegant neck, but instead he double-checked the girth strap, finding it secure, then mounted his horse. “If you’ll stop mooning over me, yes. I am ready,” he fired back, smug smile in place. Cypress’s face turned mottled red, and Torren wanted to roar with laughter.
Without another word, Cypress turned her sooty buckskin mare and walked out of the stable. Torren shook his head and urged his horse on, following the famed Captain into the sunlight.
Castle staff bowed their heads in deference when the Lady Cypress rode past, giving Torren a cursory glance before returning to their task.
Torren couldn’t imagine there were many who still remembered him or his mother remaining within the castle staff. As it was, Torren hadn’t seen a single familiar face other than the King and Cade.
Extravagant banners in the royal colors still hung from practically every surface proclaiming the celebrations for Cade’s upcoming name day, vendors lining the streets of the Keep selling trinkets engraved with Cade’s likeness, some more accurate than others.
Torren hid his distaste with a kind smile to the vendors who hailed him.
For all the kingdom’s wealth, it was squandered on excess. The tent Torren had ransacked contained more wealth than most people in the whole of Grethnah ever saw within the turn of the year.
Once they were at the castle gate and crossroad, Cypress turned her head to the side and asked, “Which way, Thief?”
“South,” Torren replied, allowing her to lead on down the path he indicated.
Once they reached Ruckaway, he would have to lead and convince Cypress to allow him to temporarily blind her to find the path.
The Wylds were a volatile place, old and primordial. They had formed long ago, before the age of man and before the Old Ones had begun sleeping. One could hear their doom among the mists and moss of the Wylds, if they listened close enough.
Torren doubted the Lass had ever ventured beyond the castle gates without the Prince’s entourage. She would be a liability within the trees, Torren could feel it. He just hoped the forest wouldn’t swallow her whole before he got the scepter.