to keep her locked up, when all she wanted was to run and be free. I’d spent years sneaking her out of the stables, and training with her, until she’d become better than any race or show horse.
Regarding Reynard now, I wondered what Amabel would think of him. Unicorns were said to detect the pure of heart. She’d certainly judged everyone around me correctly. Her approval and friendship were a big part of why I believed myself essentially good, no matter how rotten everyone in Cahraman had thought me. One reason I wanted to survive was that she wouldn’t lose her closest companion.
I finally sighed. “Could I be a unicorn instead?”
“A literal horned-horse, or a girl who shifts into one?”
“A womanimal!” I said with a dry laugh.
He echoed my laugh more freely, stretching out his arms, as if encompassing the whole city below us. “I can imagine the reviews in the gazettes now. Come see the greatest tale of transformation ever put to the stage! Womanimal: the Operetta! An epic as short as Prince Jonquil’s regency.”
“But Prince Jonquil was regent throughout the five-year war.”
“That’s the joke—that the time he enjoyed public approval was shorter than the two hours’ span of your horsey operetta.”
That, of all things, was what finally cracked the dam of my polite reserve, and brought out a wave of nearly hysterical laughter.
He pumped the air triumphantly. “I knew I could do it!”
And for the next several minutes, we laughed until tears wet my cheeks, stitches beset my sides, and I could no longer draw breath.
When I finally quieted down, we stood staring at each other, breathing hard, snickers still escaping every few seconds.
“I knew you could do it,” Reynard said, his deep, muffled voice sounding so pleased.
I tightened the cloak he’d “borrowed” for me, starting to shake again with too many emotions to decipher. “I don’t expect I would do it again. I don’t even know what I found so funny.”
“It must have been hearing Prince Jonquil and public approval in the same sentence. But you probably never heard of his transgressions, living in the castle.”
“I did hear of his mismanagement, which was to be expected. He wasn’t qualified to rule, as he was never meant to. The regent was meant to be the crown prince.”
His response was a derisive sound.
Though I wasn’t fond of Uncle Jonquil, he was still family, and I found myself defending him. “His ability to rule must have also been hindered by the wave of crime that swept the kingdom during the war. Bandits kept stealing the gold he collected, and I even heard that the one time he tried to speak to the people, his carriage was riddled by arrows, his party stripped, and left to return to the castle naked and on foot!”
Reynard snorted, as if he’d never heard anything so funny.
“Being targeted by criminals must have made conducting his duties impossible,” I persisted. “With the likes of that menace that keeps eluding capture—that robbing hoodlum—on the loose!”
He tilted his head at me. “Robin Hood, you mean?”
“Yes, that man! If he even is a man. I’ve heard so many strange and conflicting stories.”
Reynard nodded. “My favorite is the one about him being a hobgoblin.”
That was a story I hadn’t heard. So how did the Grand Duke of Opona know all this about Arbore’s wartime state, especially if he’d just arrived?
“You sure know a lot about our local problems.”
He shrugged. “Of course. I make sure to be informed about everything, wherever I go. Helps me make judgments of what issues are worth my attention.”
That was to be expected of a crown prince. Leander was very involved in our kingdom’s affairs, and the rest of the Folkshore’s general goings-on, as they ultimately impacted us.
“Where did you hear of what they call that robbing hoodlum?”
“Just traveling through a kingdom you hear a lot. I heard quite a variety of stories and some ballads about them.”
“‘Them’ meaning the hoodlum’s companions, or the theory that the actions ascribed to him are actually those of several different men?”
“Either or.” He sounded like he was smiling broadly, and I couldn’t help smiling, too, despite our small disagreement. His moods were strangely infectious. “Pick your favorite version, and add it to your list of stories to adapt for the stage.”
“Maybe I will. Any specific stories you’ve heard worth including in my masterpiece?”
“Plenty.”
“You should tell me all about them tomorrow, over tea perhaps?” I said, heartbeats tripping in anticipation.
His shoulders slumped, then he pushed off the bannister. “I’m afraid