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Thea’s chest grew tight and nerves squirmed in her gut. She became increasingly aware of her worn and dirty travelling clothes amidst all the finery. The fresh shirt she’d changed into earlier that morning was dusty and smelt of horse. She knew that she would be afforded no opportunity to clean up before she was presented to the king, and the injustice of that fact nagged at her mind.

Towards the palace, the shops became more and more specialised: a gallery, a fine jeweller, a silk merchant and —

A plump man in a red velvet tunic waved so enthusiastically at Hawthorne, Thea thought his arm might pop out of its socket. He stood amidst a collection of massive oak barrels outside what appeared to be a wine shop.

‘Hawthorne, my old friend!’ he called, still waving, a wide grin splitting his face.

‘Like you have any friends,’ she muttered.

But to Thea’s surprise, the Warsword slowed and when he turned to the man, she was even more shocked to find a genuine smile on his lips. It made him look younger.

‘Hello Marise.’

‘You must stop by today,’ Marise gushed. ‘I’ve received several new vintages. There is one I know you will love especially!’

It was all Thea could do not to stare with her mouth agape.Hawthorne likes fancy aged liquor…?The Warsword and the wine merchant… It was an odd friendship pairing, to be sure. Also, it proved that Hawthorne was capable of manners and camaraderie, just not with her.

Brash bastard,Thea thought.

‘Perhaps another time,’ Hawthorne replied. ‘I have business at the palace.’

‘Business is thirsty work…’

‘You’re not wrong.’

Marise craned his neck, seeming to notice Thea at last. He made no effort to hide his blatant curiosity.

‘And who is this intense creature? A new friend of yours?’ he asked.

Hawthorne actuallylaughed. ‘No.’

But Marise paid his rudeness no heed and waved to Thea. ‘You must be the business, then. Pleasure to meet you, good lady.’

Thea nearly fell off her saddle. Never in her life had she been called a lady. But then, he was a wine merchant, wasn’t he? He was likely drunk. He had also called her anintense creature…whatever that meant.

‘You too, sir,’ she managed.

‘Sir?’ He tipped his head back and chuckled deeply. ‘You must call me Marise, like your friend here.’ He gestured to Hawthorne.

Both Thea and Hawthorne ignored this.

Baffled by the man’s enthusiasm, Thea nodded. ‘I’m Thea.’

Marise beamed. ‘You must come by for a tasting, my dear Thea!’

‘I…’

People had paused in the street to watch the exchange and she felt their stares boring into her.

Marise seemed to notice the unwanted attention and, with sudden seriousness, approached the Warsword’s stallion. In a hurried whisper, he said: ‘There is to be a dead red event soon. I shall send further details to the fortress.’

Thea blinked.Dead red event? That sounds ominous.

The Warsword bowed his head. ‘Much obliged.’

They rode on, Thea’s nerves well and truly kicking in as they moved through the residence quarter of Hailford, each townhouse more stately than the previous. It appeared that proximity to wealth created wealth.

At long last, the palace walls loomed before them and they came to a halt at the golden gates.