Renard drew another pouch of gold from his belt and tossed it at the girl before she could say more so publicly. She’d ripped the rug out from under his repeated assumption of the stableboy’s misdeeds but she’d also hinted at what they really needed: actual direction. It was time to leave.
“You two come.” He gestured warmly, regally, to the rest of the caravan. “Four men of strength and talent, join us and your own gold awaits. We must not squander these leads.”
CHAPTER
27
AMARANDE and Luca ran until the sun was strong. Thirst gripped them with the dryness and the heat that had found them in their rush away from the kidnappers—due west, with the forest close enough that they could duck in for cover if needed.
Soon enough, the light tinkling of a thin stream was too much to resist. The water trickled out from under a thick stand of low brush and continued a short way. It was impossible to tell where it had started from, but the water was moving along, not stagnant, and therefore as safe for consumption as they were likely going to get.
Amarande pulled Mira to a trot, and she and Luca both took a long look behind them. No one. Not yet.
Wordlessly, they slid off the filly’s slick back and tied Mira to a strong bloom of bush downstream for her own fulfillment. Then they sat and drank and then drank some more, filling over and over the two waterskins they’d found in their stolen saddlebags. They’d found other things, too—food, clothing, a dagger, and, to the princess’s interest, a small drawstring pouch perfect for her diamonds.
And when their bellies were full with cool water and the sweat was beginning to dry to their skin rather than continue flowing, Amarande grabbed Luca’s hand and pulled him under a rock shelf that shielded them partly from the sun.
They’d run so far and so fast, they’d yet to say much at all.
“Let me have a look at you,” the princess said, her tongue curling in an almost embarrassed way as she met his eyes. She usually could be so unguarded with him, but at that moment, with the weight of what she’d done to get him back hanging between them, she found herself suddenly sheepish under his gaze.
He’d ridden at her back for the last two hours, his chest pressed to her spine as Mira navigated through the shifting sand and brush. But feeling his heart slow from frantic to relieved as it thumped against her backbone was completely different from seeing for herself that he hadn’t been harmed.
Luca’s cheeks were flushed with heat. Sweat shimmered in the usual places—his brow, the dip below his lower eyelashes, the ridges of his cheekbones. There was evidence of what he’d been through—a large knot at his temple, obviously red and angry even beneath the curling ends of his hair. His wrists were bruised and raw where his hands had been bound.
There wasn’t more that she could see, though he held himself carefully, as if his back ached, or maybe it was his ribs. Amarande’s attention again settled on his temple.
“Does your head hurt?”
“Not anymore.” He shook his head for emphasis, but then he thought better of it, a wince sharpening his handsome features. Even if he hadn’t given himself away with that reaction or the obvious bump, she wouldn’t have believed him.
Luca was honest and earnest, yes, but he never wanted her to worry either. She’d find out about the other injuries only if she asked, though the way he fought the Myrcellian and the Eritrian gave her confidence that nothing was broken, only bruised.
The threat of a fight still coursed through Amarande’s hands, her fingers still tense, blunt. She used every inch of her concentration to cast them gently toward his face, pressing her palms softly into his cheeks, fingers trailing into his hair. That feeling in her heart was back, as if it were made of wax, melting into nothing within her chest.
Her Luca.
Amarande kissed him then—forehead first, then the bridge of his nose, the tops of his cheeks.
She’d never kissed him before.
And yet her lips found dust and sweat and fear and him.
The princess immediately wanted more, and took. The kisses were slow and spread out, like raindrops in the Torrent desert. Luca sat still, oh so still, as though if he so much as breathed, it would stop.
As long as he consented, she wouldn’t.
In time, Amarande’s mouth landed on his and it was a relief when he finally moved—to kiss her in return.
The princess was as gentle as she could force herself to be, though she wanted to squeeze him between her body and the rock, until her skin matched his and there would be no way they could ever be torn apart again.
Amarande held back from flattening herself into him, being as tender as her feelings would allow, and after a time pulled herself away so they could both breathe. When the princess opened her heavy eyes, Luca was smiling, dimples flashing.
“I told them you’d save me.”
And then Amarande kissed him again. Harder this time—she couldn’t help it. He laughed low against her lips and put his hands in her hair, smoothing it off her face.
When they parted, she watched his eyes like she always did in their meadow.
“Did they believe you?”
“They laughed.”
“They aren’t laughing now.”
Luca conceded that but didn’t shake his head this time. “They aren’t, but we should go—they’ll be coming.”
He was right. Those bandits had kidnapped him with the promise of payment, and though they’d completed his acquisition, that was likely not all they had to do to be paid. Still, Amarande was slow to move, navigating the idea that she’d lost him and then managed to recover him. That her training was a success—she’d set out to save him and she had.
And more: He had known she would.
Luca stood first and untethered Mira, who was more than happy to finally have his attention, greeting him with an enthused snort. Amarande dawdled, eyes pinned to the muscled curve of his back. The kisses hadn’t been a relief so much as they’d increased the want within her.
But he was hers now, and there would be no more kisses if they were captured again. And so she stood and readjusted the sword at her back, the knife in her boot, the pouch of diamonds hidden in the folds of her dress. Luca took the dagger they’d found in the saddlebag and dropped it in one boot.
“Where were they taking you?”
“They’re pirates—they claimed to have a ship. They didn’t say where, though we were headed in the general direction of the Port of Torrent. If that’s true, we were crossing the length of this place to get to it. From there, I’m not sure where they intended to go. Their plan didn’t make much sense.”
Amarande chewed on the possibility that those three could’ve survived the trek across the Torrent to steal away Luca in a way that fit the timeline of the past week. Or maybe they’d actually left the ship at the Port of Pyrenee in the Divide, or even at Ardenia’s harbor, and weren’t actually headed to the ship with him, after all. Or they might not actually have a ship to begin with and everything they told him was a lie. She was puzzling out those threads when the sound of Luca’s laughter hit the princess’s ears, a strange surprise.
“You’re wearing a ball gown.” He said it like he’d just now noticed it. And maybe it hadn’t registered until they were at a distance in the full light.