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Following him to the cottage, I watched from the open doorway as he gathered a leaflet of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill. Flattening the paper on a table, Aire leaned over and wrote something down.

He folded and sealed the note, then met me at the threshold, nudging the entrance closed. He didn’t want Nicu hearing a thing until we’d settled this.

He raised the parchment in the air, the sheet trapped between two fingers. Keeping his eyes on me, he instructed Punk, “Take this to the Royal family.”

A shriek leapt from my mouth. “What?”

I hopped, my arm lashing out to snatch the missive, while the knight held it out of my reach. His warm palm clamped onto my shoulder, trying to quell my panic as he steered me—gently, gentlemanly—back into the pumpkin wood, so as not to wake the Royal Son.

The second we stopped, I swore under my breath, “What did you write?”

Because he was too damn honest, the stickler had decided to inform the Crown of the situation. The note gave a cryptic report, not disclosing where Nicu could be found, but assuring his family of his safety. Aire’s handwriting, plus a symbol that he’d drawn beside his signature, would confirm this, offering them a smidgen of comfort.

It might do the trick. It might not.

I argued that the family could send watch hawks to follow Punk back to us. To which Aire’s lips flattened, knowing that I’d made a tactical point about his own troops, one he hadn’t foreseen.

Punk would need to fly in secret, placing the message someplace where the princess and jester would find it.

Aire contemplated and described the location of Nicu’s chamber. He said to Punk, “Leave it there, on his bed.”

A splash of fear. What if someone saw her? What if someone caught her? What about those hawks?

They patrolled the citadel, but they rotated duties with the guards on a frequent basis. This had been another reason why I’d chosen a specific hour to break into the castle, when the raptors hadn’t been circling. The week leading up to my break-in, I’d memorized their schedule from a distance.

But what if the rotation had changed since then?

The knight didn’t fret. But neither did he love Punk.

My sidekick hedged, her beak swinging between him and me, her terror of watch hawks overriding her sense of duty. I could have told Aire this, but I was too busy wanting to strangle him for putting her in this position, too busy wanting to smack myself for bringing her with me.

The knight’s voice mellowed as he skimmed her feathers. “You are a dweller of this kingdom, thusly its subject.” He stroked the woodpecker’s head, relaxing her further. “His family deserves to know he is well. I did not mention your friend; she is absolved for now. Wait until this afternoon, when the watch hawks have retired, then pass over the citadel walls, keeping to the southwest of the stronghold...” The more directions he gave, the more Punk’s chest inflated.

Our plan was to venture forth without her. Fluent in the landscape, the mechanics of his own troops, and the protocol for search parties, Aire plotted an off-road path to our destination, the most secure one possible.

He outlined it for Punk, so she could meet us during the trek. Or if delayed, at theplace.

We could be separated for days.

Annoying, hot pools nudged the rims of my eyes. Sucking it up, I tugged on a plume. “Don’t take too long,” I joked, my voice cracking.

Punk nuzzled beneath my jaw. Accepting the note in her beak, she sped off, her teeny frame slingshotting through the forest, slipping between the hickories.

I stared at the place she’d just been flapping until a tingle ran down the right side of my body. I turned to find Aire studying me.

“What?” I groused, swiping my arm across my cheek.

“You shed tears,” he murmured in wonder.

My glare reached new levels of snark. Yes, I could cry. I just didn’t like to.

As it stood, the water-based moisture wasn’t beneficial to my woodskin—unless I was consuming it.

Anyway, the discovery must have done something to him. On our return to the cottage, he cast me cursory glances, thinking me too daft to notice. I sensed him trying to figure me out, why I looked as I did, how it was possible.

My boots crunched the earth, while his stealth hardly made noise. I took advantage of the view, watching him glide. He moved like a bird of prey, deftly but sensitive to the forest, his mantle sweeping around the trees.

His broad shoulders trimmed down into a lean body, toned but without the bulk of a warrior. Instead, he was made of flying muscles. Under that cloak and those leather pants, the sculpt of his ass had to be as magical as the rest of him.