Princess of Thorns

“Does that mean you’ll listen the next time I tell you not to do something?”

He glances up at the limbs swaying high above us. “I will take it under serious consideration.”

“That doesn’t sound like a promise.”

Ror’s grin has a hint of mischief in it. “You noticed.”

“I’m not as dumb as I look,” I say, “And I’d like a promise. I need you to stay alive long enough to lead me to your sister, little man.”

“How old are you, exactly?” he asks with a sigh.

“I’ll be eighteen in three weeks,” I say, and immediately wish I hadn’t. Ror doesn’t seem to have heard the rumors about my family—not many people outside Eno City have; my father tends to kill those who share his secrets—but it’s best to be careful. I don’t want Ror or his sister realizing how much hinges on my making marriage to Aurora a reality before my eighteenth birthday.

Desperation isn’t attractive, and pity isn’t the emotion I want to inspire in my future wife.

“Eighteen.” Ror rolls his eyes. “You’re barely four years older than I am.”

I shrug as I lead Alama across the water to where the trail picks up on the other side. He’s right, but I feel eons older than this naive boy who assumes the world will be on his side. “Life has left me feeling older.”

“And why’s that?” Ror asks. “Have you had a hard life?”

“Hard enough.”

“My life with the Fey hasn’t been hard, but I’ve lived through horrible things, and lately I’ve done … horrible things,” he says, something in his voice killing the mocking remark on the tip of my tongue. “Most mornings, I wake up feeling a thousand years old and terrified that my sister or I will be captured and used to usher in an age of ogre rule.”

“The ogres rule most of Mataquin already,” I say, my jaded view of the current politics creeping into my tone. “The world won’t be so different if the prophecy is fulfilled.”

“The Fey know better.” Ror leans his cheek against Button’s glossy shoulder as he walks. “The world as we know it will cease to be. There will be no sun. Plants and animals and the Fey will die, and humans will live in terror. Once their reign begins, the ogres’ sole purpose will be to consume the spirit of every human in Mataquin. They believe it’s the only way to open the gates to the Underworld where their Lost Mother waits for them.”

I’m silent for a moment, my drink-soured stomach clenching. The Fey are flighty, emotional, prone to dramatic gestures, and a dozen other things I’ve been raised to disdain, but they are also masters of foresight. If they say the ogre prophecy is something to fear, they are no doubt right. And Ror has awoken with this knowledge, and the fate of the world, weighing on him every morning since he was not much more than a babe.

I stop Alama and reach out to squeeze Ror’s narrow shoulder. “All right then. You’re not a child. I’ll do my best to remember.”

Ror’s gray eyes go wide and his brows lift toward the warrior’s knot atop his head, his shock so apparent I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m not really a dumb oaf,” I say, swinging up into my saddle. “I admit it when I’m wrong. On the rare occasions when I am, of course.”

“Of course.” Ror shakes his head before jogging forward, using his staff to boost him level with Button’s back. The horse sidesteps when Ror’s feet leave the ground, but the prince is quick to slide his leg over Button’s back and take his seat before the startled animal moves out of reach.

“There, there,” he mutters, stroking Button’s throat before glancing back to me. “Thank you, by the way. For rescuing me.”

“Thank you for the whipping you gave the man creeping up behind me. But then, I wouldn’t have had a man creeping up behind me if it weren’t for you.” I nudge Alama with my heels and she moves off down the path. “Practice being less foolish in the future, will you?”

“Only if you practice being less insufferable,” Ror calls after me.

“Can’t.” I sniff. “Have to keep myself in prime condition for your sister. Girls like insufferable boys. It’s the nice ones they can’t be bothered with. Store that pearl away for your future, Ror, if you hope to fare well with women.”

Ror grumbles something foul beneath his breath that makes me grin, and a weight lifts from my shoulders.

It isn’t healthy for two men to talk soft to each other for too long. Better to leave the feelings to women and fairies and others who have the time for them. A man’s energy is better spent getting his work done, and at the moment my work is to get Ror across Norvere as quickly as possible, leaving me ample time to woo his lovely sister.

Chapter Five

Aurora

My insufferable guide and I reach the ridge above the forest proper—where the trees are thi

We ride hard through the middle of the day, stopping only to water the horses and take a quick meal in the shade, sharing dried meat and crackers from Niklaas’s pack, accompanied by hard, sour apples I gathered as we traveled.

Mercifully the ridge road is narrower and less trafficked than the road below. We see signs that someone has camped off the trail a few days’ past but meet not a soul the entire day. The scarcity of travelers isn’t surprising. The Boughtswords rule these woods, a state of being Niklaas says is encouraged by both Ekeeta and his father. The woods serve as a buffer between two kingdoms that have never entirely trusted each other, though they have been allies since before my grandfather’s time.

“You’ve met Ekeeta, then?” Niklaas asks.

“When we were little, my father would take Aurora and me to court on festival days. Ekeeta would give us toys and sweets, but I remember being afraid of her. Even then. Why my grandfather chose an ogre for his third wife is something that was never explained to my satisfaction.” I shift my weight forward on Button’s back, doing my best not to wince in pain.

I don’t want Niklaas to know how raw I’m feeling after so many hours of riding without a saddle. The fact that my britches were damp for the first several hours of the ride hasn’t helped matters, but I would be feeling a lot less chafed if I’d taken the time to saddle Button before fleeing the mercenary camp.

“Well, Ekeeta is a beautiful woman,” Niklaas says, pressing on, though the sun is sinking into the trees behind us, painting the forest in dreamy pink light. “All long legs and creamy skin and tits as pert as a girl’s a tenth her age.”

I wrinkle my nose at his crass description as I shift my weight again, still unable to find a comfortable position. “Maybe. But she has disturbing fingers.”

“Disturbing fingers?” he asks with a laugh.

“Long and spindly like spider legs. Not to mention that she’s a monster who feeds on mortal souls. She may look human, but she isn’t.”

Niklaas chuckles again. “At least the ogres stopped eating our flesh. That’s something, right?” He reins Alama in, giving Button and me the chance to pull even with them on the trail. “And a beautiful woman is a beautiful woman, disturbing fingers, questionable eating habits, or no.”

I blink up at him. “You aren’t serious.”

“Why not?” He grins as he leans forward to stroke Alama’s long white throat. “Men are fools when it comes to a pretty face.”

“I’m sure there were prettier faces in the capital at the time,” I say. “Prettier and human. Grandfather could have had his pick of any woman in Mercar.”