his window view—but he did not. She kept her eyes on his until he calmed and lifted his arm for her. And she took it. They sat together at dinner, talking little throughout the meal—which consisted of more courses than Reine cared for. Afterward, Freädherich grew agitated and nervous again.
“Take me on a tour of the castle,” she said.
Without a word, he got up, gripping her chair to slide it out. Reine quickly covered for him, making their excuses. Neither the king nor the queen questioned this and were more than obliging. Uncle Jac appeared pleased, and Reine shot him a cold glare before she took Freädherich’s arm and they left. As they wandered through the maze of the castle, coming upon a gallery of family portraits, she had to finally ask.
“Freädherich . . . is something wrong?”
“You should call me Frey,” he said, ignoring the question. “That’s what thel and Lee call me.”
Such nicknames were a little amusing compared to how formal the reskynna were with outsiders, but she wouldn’t be put off so easily.
“I meant, you seem somewhat beside yourself . . . elsewhere,” she insisted.
Again, her quiet directness startled him. This time he recovered more quickly.
“The ride,” he whispered. “Father insists that I go.”
That wasn’t what was really on his mind, though it obviously bothered him as well. At another evasion, Reine chose not to press him into whatever more uncomfortable thoughts he wouldn’t share.
“You don’t wish to go?” she asked.
Freädherich—Frey—looked at the floor.
“I don’t like horses,” he said flatly. “I prefer to sail.”
Reine was a bit stunned. Coming from a nation of horse people, she’d never met anyone who feared those proud animals. Then again, perhaps he’d never met anyone afraid of the sea . . . the endless ocean. Why was she so drawn to protect this strange young man?
On the edge of the next dawn, Reine secretly slipped out to meet him at the stables.
Frey was waiting outside and wouldn’t enter until she pulled him in. She showed him the tall mounts her uncle brought in their entourage, but he wouldn’t step near even one. When she came to her own three—Cinnamon, Nettle, and Peony—she made him stay put as she led out the latter gentle and dappled mare.
By the time Felisien came searching for her, Reine had already gotten Frey to mount. To her surprise, he learned quickly. And she later learned that he’d been forced onto a soldier’s stallion by his elder brother at too early an age. But he’d never been taught in proper fashion to work with a horse. Peony took to him well.
By afternoon, the Weardas and a contingent of cavalry prepared to escort all the royals out for their tour. Reine was mounted atop Cinnamon, her muscular stallion. Frey, still atop Peony, remained at ease so long as he had Reine in his sight.
He worked easily with the calm mare, or rather she with him, even cantering past his father twice, much to everyone’s shock. But Frey seldom left Reine’s side. If he did, she kept watch on him. When Felisien tried to goad her into a round of tag-arrows on horseback, wheeling his mount in her way, she booted him in the rump. She wasn’t about to panic Frey with the sight of such a wild game.
By the time the tour ended, and they’d returned to the castle, Reine decided that she would put off leaving when her family headed home. Something inside her didn’t wish to abandon Frey—or that was how she viewed it. Three days later, she went to see off her cousins . . . her uncle. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night of the first banquet.
Uncle Jac, mounted on his plains-bred stallion, looked sternly down at Reine.
“This was only for hope of your happiness,” he said, and then added with emphasis, “nothing more. The rest is up to you . . . and him.”
Was all of this truly only seven years ago?
Metal grating upon stone wrenched Reine into the present. She turned about as the iron doors split down their center seam. They slowly parted, sliding into the walls. A second pair began to separate as well, and then a third.
There was Cinder-Shard, on the doors’ other side, standing dead center in the widening portal. Reine hadn’t even seen him enter.
At his brief wave, the remaining Stonewalkers passed by, bearing Hammer-Stag’s body into the chamber. Cinder-Shard turned away out of sight to the portal’s left.
“Time to go,” Chuillyon said from behind