Page 15 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

A s if the weather were part of the scheme to make the day worse, it begins to rain. It’s not a soft, light drizzle, either. Water pours from the sky, and the drops sting as they hit us.

My cloak is thoroughly drenched.

“Are you warm enough?” Galinor asks.

Rainwater drips from my eyelashes and runs down my face. I don’t even bother to wipe it away anymore. “I'm all right.”

The others don’t look any happier. The only bright side to the rain is that Bran and Dristan stopped bickering about an hour after riding in it.

“It could be worse,” Galinor says. “It could be snowing.”

At least snow is soft.

The horses plod along at an unhurried pace. No matter how we urge, they stay at the same speed. Slow.

I cover my eyes with my hand and look up at the sky. It’s cold, but it doesn’t feel like snow is looming. Danver stirs under my cloak. He, too, is wet, but somehow, he manages to sleep.

“We’re close now,” Galinor says. “It’s another half-hour at the most.”

The terrain evens out. Instead of steep cliffs and rocky inclines, we cover rolling forested hills spotted with large wildflower-covered meadows.

We ride through one now. I’m sure deer often graze here, but today they have found shelter from the storm.

A mist-covered lake edges the meadow, and I’m fascinated by the way the clouds move over its surface.

“Where is the castle?” I ask.

“Over the next hill.”

Rain drowns out the sounds around us, but there is a distinct mew from the trees. I turn around, sure of what I heard but not ready to believe Pika followed us all this way. “Did you hear that?” I glance at Galinor. “Or am I imagining things?”

Galinor turns as well, studying the brush. “I heard it.”

“Do glasselns live in Glendon?”

Could there be another one stalking us?

“No.” Galinor turns back. “I’ve never heard of a glasseln in Glendon.”

We ride up the next hill and into a copse of trees. When we emerge from the winding path, I get my first glimpse of Castle Glendon and Glendare, the small village that surrounds the gates.

I’ve never been here. When in Glendon, Father conducts most of his business in Evershorne, a large southern town near Vernow’s border.

Strong stone walls surround a massive, old castle with tall, stately turrets.

Galinor’s family colors of red and yellow fly from banners atop those turrets, and a huge family crest hangs over the gates leading to the courtyard.

Glendon is ancient, and its age shows in the structures.

Not only does the castle appear to be several centuries old, but it looks as if it could weather a great many more.

Now that we’re in the valley, we pass several farms. Most of them have cozy smoke pouring from their chimneys. Flowers bloom brightly from vegetable gardens, and many of the cottages have benches that I’m sure welcome visitors on sunny days.

Cows, horses, and a few donkeys stand under lean-tos, looking bored.

They seem to care little about the weather.

The streets are dirt, but they are tidy.

Even here in the town, homes have cozy little gardens.

Many have window boxes with flowers pouring out of them, and even a few have room for vegetables.

There are few people on the streets—which have turned to mud in the rain—and our party travels to the castle gates unnoticed.

The drawbridge is down, but guardsmen are posted on either side of the entrance.

Archers stand along the wall, their eyes on the comings and goings in the little village below.

“Why so many guards?” I ask Galinor.

“We’ve had trouble with Errintonians coming into the village and causing havoc,” he says, speaking of the citizens of the kingdom directly above Glendon.

Years ago, they were known for crafting prized dragon steel. Now that the Dragon Wars are over, and they have signed the Dragon Treaty along with the other kingdoms, many have ceased their smithing arts and are filtering into lower Elden, robbing and ambushing as they travel.

“What of the people outside the gates?”

“We have constant patrols. It has helped, but the problem persists.”

Galinor calls a greeting to the guards on duty, and they let us pass. We must look a sight, six of us on three horses, but they ask their prince no questions. Inside the castle gates, the courtyard floor is lined with the same gray stone the castle is built from.

Several large buildings, including a chapel and a stable, stand in front of the castle. A few more people linger here despite the rain, but most are guards.

We stop in front of the stable, and a groom rushes out to collect the horses. Curiosity shines in his eyes as we dismount.

I glance at Bran and Dristan. Not surprisingly, they look relieved to be off their horse.

“This way.” Galinor leads us past huge, double doors and into a warm entry.

A fire crackles merrily from a massive hearth, welcoming us. I untie my drenched wool cape and hang it over my arm as we walk. My boots click on the stone floor, echoing despite the woven tapestries hanging from the halls.

Galinor takes us up a wide staircase and into the throne room. At the moment, the four thrones sit empty. We do not go to them, but instead turn inside wooden doors on the left.

“We are in my family’s private quarters,” Galinor says.

A large sitting room sits empty, but another fire crackles in the corner, inviting in anyone who may wish to rest. Marigold pauses, and she sighs as she looks at the wall of bookshelves.

Galinor smiles when he sees the longing in her eyes. “You may come back.”

She hesitates but then follows us down the next hall. We come to another set of doors, these ones intricately carved. Like everything in Castle Glendon, they look as if they could withstand an attack. Galinor knocks, and we wait.

The doors open, and a lovely woman with dark hair and startlingly blue eyes stands on the other side. “Galinor!” Pleasure brightens her face. She swings the door open, and her eyes widen in surprise when she takes in our wet, dripping party. “We have guests.”

The woman who must be Galinor’s mother ushers us in. As she does, she worries aloud over how cold and wet we are, and how famished we must be.

I don’t know that I am famished, but now that she mentions it, I could certainly eat.

A man who resembles Galinor in height and build looks up from a game of strategy, a smile on his face. “Welcome back, son. The news we’ve had of the tournament has not been encouraging.”

Galinor cringes, perhaps hoping to postpone this part of the reunion for a few moments longer. “It did not go as I had planned.”

The man across from King Howell stands in greeting. “An Errintonian won?”

“Yes, Lord Archer of Errinton was the winner. ”

“A shame for the princess.” King Howell shakes his head. “Nothing good comes from Errinton.”

Galinor looks uncomfortable. “Archer is a good man.”

I think he means his words, but he still looks ill.

Galinor’s brother comes to me, offering his hand and bowing low. “I’m Teagan.”

“Lady Anwen Millner of Primewood,” I reply, noting that Teagan looks nothing like his brother.

Where Galinor is dark, Teagan is fair. Galinor is muscular, and Teagan is lean. He is handsome, I suppose, but not like Galinor.

“Are you the daughter of Baron Thomas Millner?” Teagan asks.

My mouth opens, surprised. “That’s right.”

“Your father procured a collection of rare maps for me last month. He’s very competent.”

“Thank you,” I say before he moves to Marigold.

Shyly, she offers him her hand and blushes when he takes it. She drops her eyes and then looks back up, her eyelashes fluttering. “What kind of maps?”

Teagan answers enthusiastically, perhaps unused to women showing interest in his collection.

I grin at the pair but try to hide it before anyone notices. Soon the rest of the introductions are made.

“We will have rooms prepared for you all,” Queen Penelope says as she pulls on a long, tasseled rope by the door. “After you have had a chance to change into dry clothes and are rested, we will all get to know each other a little better.”

I glance at Galinor as I turn to leave. He’s settled into a large padded chair by the fire, and the melancholy look has returned to his face. I had hoped he would be better once he was home, but it seems he is worse.

Everything is wet—the dress I have on, the extra dress in my satchel, and all my underthings.

Wet, wet, wet.

I toss myself on the lovely bed, lie back, and let my hair soak the beautifully embroidered blanket. But I can’t linger here—I must lay the dresses out to dry.

All right, get up.

I drum my fingers on my stomach. I can’t seem to will myself to move, so instead, I roll over, wrapping the blanket around me, and cuddle deeper into the bed.

I must fall asleep, because I am startled awake when the queen calls, “Lady Anwen?”

Oh, no.

I jerk up, try to smooth my hair down, and unwrap from my lovely cocoon. Since I have nothing dry to wear, I only peek my head out the door.

“I’m afraid I fell asleep,” I apologize.

The queen smiles at me from the hall. “Of course you did. You must be exhausted from riding all day in this weather.” She raises an eyebrow, looking at the door. “May I come in?”

The tips of my ears burn. “Everything I have is wet from the ride. I have nothing to wear.”

Her face softens with pity. “You should have called for someone. I will have something brought to you right away. ”

I feel ridiculous, but how can I object when I am speaking with the Queen of Glendon in damp underthings?

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

As she leaves, she waves her hand as if it’s a trivial thing. “I’ll have a lady’s maid with you shortly.”

True to her word, a maid arrives in no time at all. In her arms, she holds a breathtaking gown in dark amethyst. The bodice is fitted, and the skirt is full. Gold threads meander in a spiral design over the entire bodice.

Will Galinor like it?

I bite the inside of my cheek. What a ridiculous thought. What difference does it make if he likes it?