Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,57

kind and straightforward as he is. Another life, perhaps. Another body.

“Colder tonight,” Sail muses, his observation pulling me from my thoughts as I take in the landscape.

“It is,” I agree, feeling the chill just as he says it.

Traveling at night has taken some getting used to. At first, every shadow in the distance seemed eerie and haunting, but I’ve learned to just focus on the trail of the guards in front of me, the carriage lanterns bobbing left and right as we go.

The scenery hasn’t changed too much since leaving Highbell. As far as the eye can see, there are snowy hills and jutting rocks. We left behind the last of the outlying villagers days ago, and for the most part, the weather really has held for us, only sputtering out a light snow or occasional sleet.

Below, Crisp jolts me slightly to the side as he goes around a rock, and when I clamp my thighs down to keep from sliding over, I suck in a painful breath. Sore. My thighs are so damned sore.

“Carriage.”

I look over at the gruff voice, finding that Digby has come up to ride beside me. He moves around throughout the night, heading to the front, the back, and all throughout the middle. He’s attentive, constantly mobile within our procession, checking on everyone and everything, making sure our pace is good, our direction correct, that everyone is riding well and keeping alert.

“Not yet,” I say, offering a smile to cover my grimace.

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.

“Storm’s rolling in,” Sail says, drawing my attention back to him.

“You think?” I ask, looking up at the sky. All I can see are clouds moving across a darkly illuminated sky, as if the moon wants to come out, but she can’t break through. It looks no different than all the other nights, to be honest.

Sail taps his nose. “I can smell a good storm. It’s a gift.”

I hum. “And what does a good storm smell like?”

“Like frozen hell.”

I snort. “That sounds a bit ominous, don’t you think? And besides, the clouds always look like that.”

But Sail shakes his head. “Just you wait. I think it’s going to be a bad one.”

“Should we make a bet?”

Sail nods enthusiastically, but Digby cuts in. “No.”

I swing my head to look over at him. “What? Why not?”

“No betting with the king’s favored,” Digby says, looking over my head to Sail.

I frown. “That’s no fun.”

Digby shrugs. “No having fun with the king’s favored, either.”

My eyes narrow. “Well, now you’re just being mean.”

He shoots me a long-suffering look before he clicks his tongue, making his horse pick up the pace to move past us.

“Don’t worry, my lady,” Sail cuts in. “In this instance, he did you favor, because you would’ve lost the bet.”

I laugh, tipping my head back at the brooding sky. “Now you’re just baiting me.”

He wags his light brows. “Shall we make the wager, then?”

I open my mouth to answer when another woman’s voice cuts in. “A bit juvenile, don’t you think?”

My back straightens at the sound of Polly’s voice. The saddles’ carriage rolls slightly in front of us, Polly’s arm is currently hanging out of the window, her blonde head resting on the crook of her elbow as she watches me with disdain.

I thought that traveling with the other royal saddles might warm them up toward me, might soften the edges of the gulf between us, but it hasn’t. For the most part, we stay separated. I haven’t had more than a passing glance at the others. They stay in their carriages or shared tents, and I stay in mine, and none of them make any attempt to talk to me.

Except Polly.

But it’s not so much talking as it is showing off her clear dislike for me.

“I’m fairly sure that making bets is the second-favorite pastime of men in this kingdom, and they wouldn’t call it juvenile,” I reply.

“Second favorite?” Sail repeats. “Then what’s the first?”

I shoot him a smirk. “Buying time with a saddle.”

Sail laughs shyly, but Polly ruins it by snorting. “And what would you know about it? The king never rides you when he calls for us. You aren’t even a proper royal saddle. He only lets you watch. It’s quite sad, really. You’re just a trophy. Hot-blooded males don’t want a cold metallic bitch in their beds.”

Embarrassment flares into me, all traces of my earlier amusement burned and shriveled away with an ugly flare of degradation. It’s one thing to have to endure watching