Page 10 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

The smile never left Garin’s face, and it widened now. “Negotiated with. He drives a hard bargain.”

With his hands behind his back, he bowed to her ever so slightly. The scent of summer hyacinths and woodsmoke wafted off of him, and she resisted the urge to throw her arms around him.

“Tell me,” he breathed. “Who assigned that sorry excuse for your guard, and who is in the business of training them?”

She jumped as Bastion left their side—she’d somehow forgotten he was there—and sauntered toward the carriage. He held the bloody arrow out to the guard and muttered, “You probably lose these a lot,” before swinging open her carriage door and hopping in, shutting it behind him.

Garin eyed Lilac expectantly with his arms crossed.

“My father assigned him,” she said, face heating, “but it was the man who paid me an unexpected visit today to tell me of his wife’s tragic death who was in charge of training them.”

He released her. “I don’t seem to recall.”

“Armand.”

“Ah, the duke.” He nudged a sizable stone with the toe of his boot; it should have bounced, but instead, it launched like a pebble into the brush. “Doesn’t that fellow have a bad leg?”

She ignored his inquiry. “He actively trained them before his carriage accident. Any incoming guards were supposed to be trained by Sinclair.”

Garin’s brows rose at her explanation. He hummed dryly. “My memory serves me differently. I thought his horse stepped into a clever korikaned trap as he and his riding troupe paraded a mutilated korrigan corpse down this very path. His noble steed landed on his leg.”

“I…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say under his expectant stare. “We were only told there was a tragedy.” She bowed her head, remembering th e way the small creatures had so desperately fallen at her feet when she’d first stumbled upon them.

Of course Armand lied about the nature of his injury.

The winds of the forest picked up, ruffling Lilac’s hair, then Garin’s. His nostrils flared.

“No one should be hunted for sport,” she croaked.

“Indeed. So, I don’t know that I would call either of those accidents tragic . What I think,” he said, beginning to circle her, “is that the duke and duchess received their dues.”

The way the dying sunlight filtered through the trees, casting his dark hair in red and softening his features, made it difficult to look away.

Bastion shouted something out the carriage window, and Giles made an onward motion to the guard, then prompted his own horses.

The carriage jolted forward. As they rolled past, Giles waved, and Bastion made an obscene gesture at her and Garin before he leaned back and yanked the curtains shut, safe from the last rays of sun.

Garin’s eyes flashed in anger over her shoulder at him, but when they turned to her they were already softer. Kinder. He offered his hand.

Glad for the space, even if Garin’s brother was perfectly capable of hearing every word if he wanted to, Lilac inhaled the evening air, taking in its damp earth and sweet flora. There were several scathing words on the tip of her tongue, but they all melted away the moment her skin touched his.

He lifted her palm to his mouth, and instead of kissing the back of her hand, flipped it and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist as he dipped into a graceful bow. “Your Majesty. You look every bit as inelegant and delicious as I left you.”

All she wanted was to feel his lips on her, but she returned his bow with a curtsy. “Our castle has been in turmoil without its patriarch. How will it manage without its impossibly young, handsome stand-in archdeacon?”

His lips slowly quirked. “I have a feeling they will manage just fine.”

Garin ignored her withering look and beckoned for her to follow before sauntering toward the now halted carriage and guard a ways down the path, leaving her and the nibbling horse in the middle of the road. She groaned and made to follow them.

“Let’s go then,” she muttered to the animal .

Not to her surprise, it looked up and snorted dismissively, then went back to the grass.

Garin had circled to the other side of the carriage as he plucked flint, steel, and what looked to be a stout beeswax candle from the tin, then tucked it back under his arm.

He shifted, using his shoulders to block the wind; on the third try, the wick burst into a bright green flame that danced violently in the strengthening evening breeze.

Garin lit the lantern dangling from the upper corner of the carriage. The flame in the lantern cage then burst into several shades of green before fading back into orange, causing the guard’s eyes to widen—but he did not make the commotion he would have if not under Garin’s spell.

He extinguished the candle between his fingers and slid it into the tin with the rest of its contents, then handed it back to Giles, who whistled a rather melancholy tune as he tucked it into the storage box beside the driver’s bench.

“You haven’t entranced my entire castle, have you?” she said as she approached.

“If I’d entranced everyone, that fellow there would not have been such a terrible shot. He couldn’t even hit Lo?g.”

“Who’s Lo?g?”

There was then a hot breeze tickling her neck.

A large snout appeared beside her, causing her to jump.

The a horse— Lo?g —sniffed at Garin from over her shoulder.

She shifted out of the way, unable to take her eyes off the creature; its mane fell straight, reflecting the evening in a gloss that seemed to swallow the remnants of sun.

Its tail was the longest Lilac had ever seen on a horse, falling magnificently to its back hoof.

She couldn’t help herself. Lilac reached out—the animal seemed fine with this—to run her fingers along the intricate, unfamiliar patterns carved into the saddle.

The large piece of leather was shaped differently than those from her kingdom, even distinct from the French or English varieties, sitting atop a thick tapestry spun in jewel-toned colors.

Blues, greens, reds, woven between an astonishing gold.

Garin reached out, too, and barely removed his fingers in time to prevent them from being chomped off by its large front teeth. Startled, Lilac stepped back .

“He doesn’t like you.” The Camargue he’d stolen from Renald seemed to fancy him much more.

“No, he doesn’t. I’ve tried to bribe him with sugar and carrots.”

She laughed. “Someone finally not beguiled by your charms.”

“He barely let Bastion mount. I’d say he’s not a fan of the immortal variety. Perhaps it’s the blood drinking.” Garin shifted and set a gentle hand upon the small of her back. “Well?”

She withdrew her hand from the horse at his touch. “Well, what?”

“What do you think?”

Her pulse was already erratic, as it always was when his hands were on her. But this time, it felt different. Tonight, their time together felt different. Unhurried, and not urgent. “He’s beautiful. Just like his owner.”

“I would agree.” He sounded like he was suppressing a smirk, but when she turned he was offering his hand. “Let’s get you seated.”

“Me?” Her gaze flickered between him and the horse. “Are you sure?”

“If you’re too timid, he won’t let you up.”

“I did just see him try to bite you.” But she took his hand.

At first, the layers of her dress wouldn’t comply. She hiked her skirt up to fit her foot into the stirrup, the breeze refreshing on her bare thigh. She used his arm as leverage to hoist and swing herself up and over the saddle. Once she got adjusted, it hugged her bottom perfectly.

She took a moment, catching her breath. Then, she looked down.

As it had appeared from the ground, this horse was much, much taller than the horse she’d briefly ridden with Garin before.

Her vision swam, and she pressed her front against its neck, burying her face in its mane.

It didn’t seem to appreciate her shifting weight and sputtered loudly, so she sat back up and groaned when it began to walk on its own, its legs shifting beneath her.

“Eyes open,” Garin commanded from below, leading them by Lo?g’s reins away from the side of the carriage.

“It’s so tall.”

“Get used to it. Your father’s Camargues are unfit for battle and should only be used for diplomatic business. The stables in Rennes are alarmingly empty.” He spoke matter-of-factly; it wasn’t a question. “Do you know if Henri has ordered more destriers to your capital?”

She was stunned into silence, feeling both attacked and shocked at his knowledge. She thought of the developments over the last few hours, her ears heating. There had been no confirmation of anything. “He hasn’t. I don’t plan on entering a war anytime soon.”

Garin didn’t seem to notice. “And you shouldn’t.

But to be caught unprepared is to write your loss in stone.

No matter, the stables can be addressed.

Lo?g is from the north, primed for travel and battle, and his breed becomes attached easily to the right rider.

At the moment, he is the safest horse in your personal arsenal.

” He turned his head partway, and despite the mild warning in his words, his slate eyes were light, his mouth pulled into an approving smile as he surveyed her.

“You’ll have to learn to ride someday. You’ll start now. Lo?g is your brute.”

She stared at him.

“Happy birthday, Eleanor of Brittany.”

Remembering to breathe, she gripped the small bars in front of the saddle for support. Lo?g was her gift. She’d never learned to ride, and no one had ever gotten her such a… thoughtful, practical, yet unexpected gift. A horse. Her very own. She suddenly felt very far away.

Lo?g. A means of the freedom she chased.

“Garin,” she hissed.

He’d already turned away, guiding them forth. “Your Majesty?”

“Where did you find him?”

Instead of answering, he only steered them off the road to the right, allowing room for the carriage now slightly behind them to lurch forward.

“Right here, sir, in front of me,” Garin called above the grinding wood and clomping horseshoes, holding his arms wide to the trees on the left side of the path. “Between that boulder and thicket right here. The smaller boulder. That’s it now.”

It was a small clearing in the trees he was pointing to, barely the width of a single horse, filled knee-high with half-dead vines, bluebells, and other tall flora.

Lilac made a sound of warning, but Garin shushed and patted the air. “Watch.”

Giles drove the carriage forward, picking up speed before careening right just before them and swinging wide into the clearing, which was much, much too small to even fit the two horses side by side.

The carriage teetered slightly, resulting in a panicked yelp from what must've been a furious Bastion.

Refusing to witness the crash, Lilac turned her head—just in time to shield herself from the warm gust of air that exploded from the tree line, sending soil and grass flying in their direction.

Garin was laughing while Bastion shouted expletives out the window.

The clearing was gone, and so were the thicket and boulder.

In their place was a gaping entryway flanked by two stone pillars, gargoyles atop them.

Beyond, there was a torch-lit cobblestone path, her horses and carriage—and a cheering Giles—rolling right through it.