33. Manners, Lass
Manners, Lass
How was it possible that the lass did not know of her heritage before now? How had no one put it together, much less him?
Cypress’s skin gleamed like Pixies in the light. Her eyes mirrored the moss, loam, and leaf litter of the forest floor. She bathed in Fire Vine blooms. The Wylds embraced Cypress in a way Torren had never seen—an unmistakable sign.
Not to fucking mention the Winged Hound trailing them. The enormous beast moved like a phantom, the forest shifting, branches bowing to help conceal it in shadows.
Torren shook his head and continued on. He was once again at the head of their voyage through the Wylds and back to the Keep of Grethnah.
Before the day was over, Westshade would be in their sights. Torren could only hope the Hound would not follow them into civilization. Whether or not the beast would listen to Cypress remained to be seen.
Torren tried to focus only on the bed—a warm bath instead of a river rinse.
“So, what are we going to try to pass ourselves off as at the Ball?” Cypress asked and brought her sooty buckskin mare level with his.
Immediately, Raindrop's pale ears flattened against her skull.
“What do you mean, Lass?”
Cypress sighed, and Torren forced his thoughts elsewhere, away from the breathy sounds he could draw from her lips.
“I mean, what are we going to use for fake names? We can’t very well waltz in there as Lady Cypress and Prince Torren.”
“Does it really matter?” Torren asked and leaned back in the saddle under the guise of a stretch.
Torren needed relief from the mounting pressure in his trousers. Whenever she was near, it felt like Pixie wine coursed through his veins.
“Yes,” Cypress hissed.
It made the corner of Torren’s mouth curl.
“Well, you are a Duchess. They can introduce you as that, and I as your guard?” Torren suggested, glancing at Cypress for her reaction.
“What’s your next suggestion?”
“Lass, you’ll have to get used to the title someday. It’s what you are.”
She shook her head. “It has nothing to do with that. Cade is very familiar with all the Duchesses of Grethnah. Announcing one he doesn’t know is bound to draw his attention more than we want.”
“If not a Duchess, then what?”
“You’ll be a merchant or something. Cade won’t care enough, and Caelith never speaks with them directly.”
Torren huffed a laugh void of amusement. “Like father, like son.”
Cypress murmured her agreement.
“So, merchants then. What kind of merchant?” Torren asked.
The tree cover above them broke, revealing a pale blue sky, with lazily drifting fluffy white clouds. Intimately, he knew they were once more in the boundary between Faerie and Grethnah. Torren exhaled. Whenever he left Faerie, he felt hollow. The forest beyond the Wylds was too quiet. Tame.
Fortunately, even in the tamer forests of the human lands, Faerie circles freckled the terrain. Once, every forest on the continent had been Wyld. The circles lingered as remnants of that age.
“Depends on how fine the costumes are that have been prepared for us,” Cypress said, giving him a knowing smirk.
“Alright, so we’re textile merchants then. Here from Brionneque.” The neighboring continent exported the finest silks and linens that human hands could create.
Cypress nodded. “Merchant siblings then. From Brionneque. Where in Grethnah are we now?”
Torren’s gut lurched. Siblings. Mother help him.
“Westshade will be within our sights, I would say…” Torren trailed off and tried to calculate the remaining distance. “Afternoon? Not too late in the day.”
“Do we have time to stop before we leave the boundary?”
“We could, yes. What do you want to stop for?”
Cypress shook her head with a smile, then aimed the grin at Torren. “Want to retry that race?”
Torren chuckled, then leaned forward in the saddle. “What are ye wagering, Lass?”
“What are you proposing?”
Torren waggled his eyebrows. “How about that demonstration?”
Cypress rolled her eyes, but Torren did not miss the flush that spread across her cheeks and down her chest. “Incorrigible.”
Torren laughed with his head turned toward the sky. “I’m joking, Lass. Loser cools down the horses?”
“You’re on, Thief,” Cypress drawled, then her horse surged forward.
Torren spurred his own mount to follow, eyes fixed on the wild cascade of Cypress’s hair and the sound of her laughter filling his senses.
Torren could hardly think straight.
They were racing toward an unnamed destination, but somehow, Cypress had aimed herself straight toward the circle Torren had intended to go to for a brief rest before entering Grethnah.
His horse ran faster and faster, but no matter how Torren urged Raindrop on, she couldn’t catch up to Cypress’s mount. Torren’s mare came within touching distance of Cypress’s– but only just before they breached the Faerie ring.
“Ha-ha!” Cypress whooped and directed the horse around the circle in a victory lap.
Torren chuckled and directed his horse to do the same rather than bringing the mare to an immediate halt.
“Seems you won, Lass.”
She scoffed. A smile burned bright across her face when she said, “As if you ever had a chance at beating me.”
“Oof, easy now. Don’t get too cocky.”
Cypress laughed and swung smoothly from the saddle, her foot finding the ground with practiced ease.
Torren tracked the graceful arc of her leg all the way down.
“Oh, be quiet and cool the horses down, yeah?” she said with a smile and threw him her reins.
Torren wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t think straight.
“And what will her majesty be doing in the meantime?” Torren asked while he dismounted.
How had he gotten into this mess?
The Hound appeared with a great whoosh of her wings and landed in one smooth motion. She slammed into the ground, using her large claws as anchors.
Again, Cypress smiled. “I’ll be talking to the house-sized Hound that’s way more intelligent than you’ve ever given it credit for.”
Torren blinked. “And what will you be discussing?” He asked while he rubbed the back of his head.
“Asking her nicely to stay hidden while we’re in the human lands,” Cypress said, and bounced off toward where Deja had sprawled.
Torren could distinctly remember this circle being much smaller, once.
He shook his head and went about removing saddles from the horses. Then, he meticulously checked them over for injuries and their hooves for stones.
When finished brushing them down, Torren removed the horses' harnesses and let them graze in the tall, verdant grass inside the circle.
Thanks to the race, they reached the other edge of the boundary early. Their short planned rest could now be much longer.
They had time to eat, maybe even take a nap.
Torren’s gaze drifted to Cypress—the cascade of her hair across her shoulders. The rich mahogany color shimmered in the light, while her skin absorbed and reflected the dappled sunlight streaming through the leaves.
No, he wouldn’t have time for that… not nearly enough time.
Torren shook himself free of that line of thought once more and adjusted himself for good measure.
Then, he shouted across the circle. “Do ye want something to eat, Lass? We’ll need to set the glamours afterward.”
“Glamours?”
“Ah, did I neglect to mention that part of our disguises?”
Cypress sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, do go on.”
“We can slightly alter our appearances. Enough to slip into Grethnah and not be immediately recognized,” he said and held a matching set of bracelets in the air.
They were golden and reflected the light in the many facets of jewels littering the bands. Tiny little sunbursts were etched on the interior edge.
“You think the wanted posters will be everywhere?”
Torren shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past either of them.”
Cypress sighed again, then said, “Yeah, fine. Give me a minute.”
“Manners, Lass,” Torren chided just to see her eyes go dark, the flash of her teeth as she bared them.