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“Fussy girl,” I remarked.

He extended his arms on either side of me to secure the reigns. My breasts made this a challenge, forcing him to lean forward if he wanted to avoid a graphic encounter. This drew my back up against the plane of his chest, his hips aligned with mine, his body caging me in. With little space, my wood curves pressed into his form.

The position also caused me to jerk whenever he did. I thought of strings attached to my wrists and knees, the pull and resistance.

The scent of clouds and mist encircled me. “This wasn’t what I’d had in mind.”

It took a second before he answered. “Nor I.”

He prompted the horse forward.

***

Leaving the pumpkin wood, we sped down a trade route. Not an ideal or inconspicuous path, but we covered ground much more quickly. Hickories turned into maples, broad leaves and barns whisking by on either side of us, the horse panting great puffs of air. I gripped whatever I could for dear life, usually the horse’s mane.

The one admirable thing about a Mista mule? It’s long limbs and ability to keep up. It didn’t reach a horse’s height, but it was taller than a donkey and had more endurance than average mules, able to sprint along with its superiors. Not as fast as Aire’s mount, but he made sure not to vault into a full-on gallop.

Although tethered to us, I kept glancing over my shoulder to check on Nicu. The young man rode the creature while keeping his eyes pinned to the horse’s tail, like one of his ribbons. And though Mista mules adapted well to their leaders, the length of rope steered the animal, saving Nicu from having to do it himself.

Still, I puzzled over the Royal’s riding skills.

After covering a significant distance, we veered off the road and slowed, and I called back at him, “Who taught you?”

He grinned. “Mama.”

The princess had trained him?

The scenery distracted Nicu, his attention spirited away by the snaps of twigs and flash of speckled fawns leaping in the distance, their spindly legs kicking, their puffy tails perked. The young man lost himself to it, humming a melody and leaving me to deal with the knight.

“Horses are aware of their riders’ moods,” Aire explained quietly to me. “They sense how you feel, and they can tell where you want to go; they know from your body language and mood, not just from the reins. That should present an additional difficulty for Nicu, yet it does not. It’s as if the animals understand him in a clandestine way.

“It’s not a perfect synchronization, but it oftentimes works. We discovered this when he was a child, and from then on, the princess could not get Nicu on a horse fast enough. I had not been sure about the mule, but it appears the bond applies to other mounts as well.”

“That’s lovely,” I said.

“It is,” he agreed.

After a while, I felt Aire inhaling the forest, peering into its depths. “The hour strays and grows weary. We’ve achieved a fine distance and should seek a place to rest. None shall disturb us tonight.”

“Are you a visionary?” I asked.

He grunted. “Seers do not walk this earth.”

“Neither do witches or puppets.”

“I’ve always felt a kinship with the earth and an intuition about the souls roaming it, but there is a distinction between that and clairvoyance.”

I figured he wasn’t done.

“As for witches and puppets, I regret my assumptions. Though my astonishment toward you is scarcely invalid, as I’ve never encountered a person with your traits before.”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately, falcon-boy?”

“I am no shifter.”

“I know. It’s depressing, isn’t it?”

“Another fantastical being that does not exist—would that I believed in dishonest tales, to begin with. Give me stories of authenticity.”