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ZULA

T he horse cantered in time with Zula’s heartbeat, a frantic hope, a pulsing need to hurry, to arrive before anything terrible happened.

It was night. Dark. But the road was open enough, moonlight displaying their path.

Zula sat astride the horse with Neo—notably behind, not in front of him—wondering how much of her story he believed. Telling him had proven difficult. More than once, she swallowed down tears, blaming the emotional upheaval on the last week and her injury. She’d expected to hear pity in his tone, but he’d asked questions calmly, then offered to help .

However, she noticed that he didn’t give her a horse—which meant he didn’t trust her yet —nor did he tell her where they were going, leaving Zula to speculate. Were they seeking the six relics, returning to troll territory, or going in search of the witch, hidden in the jungle?

If it were the witch, it was unlikely anyone could find her. But Neo had taken action. That was enough. Zula was free of the palace, her ukulele was somewhere in one of the saddlebags—or at least he’d promised it was—and soon enough, his vigilance would fade and she’d escape. Ignoring the twinge of regret in her heart, she centered her thoughts on her father. As long as he was safe from harm and proud of her, it didn’t matter what happened. Or at least that was the lie she tried to tell herself, all the while denying her softening heart for Prince Neo.

Others rode behind them, mostly guards from the palace, but Zula thought she spotted the princess, a woman who was privy to almost every secret. Hope rose thick in her throat. Was it possible that the royal family could defeat a witch who practiced dark magic? She pushed the hope away, because even if they did, three days was far too short of a time to enact anything. She only hoped they were galloping in the direction of troll territory and not away.

“We rest here,” Neo announced, words flung over his shoulder.

Zula released him as the horse slowed to a walk, realizing just how much she’d pressed her body up against him. She slid off first, jarring her foot. A curse rose to her lips, and then Neo was beside her, a steady hand on her hip. His face close, studying hers.

“Zula?”

The way he said her name sent a ripple through her. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she wondered if he would kiss her again, then reprimanded herself for the thought. They were on a mission. There was no time for stolen kisses that would send her fleeing into the night again.

“We rest for one hour while we wait for fresh horses,” Neo explained. “Then we’re off again.”

His arm closed around her waist, drawing her against his chest .

Zula searching his face, trying not to be distracted by her own growing lust. “Where are we going? You haven’t said.”

“To fix all of this in three days is almost impossible. We need more time, so we’re going to find your father.”

Zula’s grip on him tightened. “No, you can’t. Promise you won’t.”

Neo’s brow furrowed and his eyes darted across the dusky land. “Why not?” he whispered. “Without your father, her threats are meaningless.”

“You can’t,” she begged. “The witch will kill him. She has magic. She’ll know.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Neo’s lips. “Only if you go. I believe she has a kind of grip on you, the curse. She’ll find out if you relocate your father, but she won’t expect me. If I go, being immune to her magic, I can bring your father under the protection of the crown.”

Zula’s eyes went wet, and all her ideas of sneaking off, stealing a horse, and taking back her ukulele fled. Her voice felt small, so tiny in her throat. “Why would you do that?”

His voice dropped lower. “Do I really have to tell you? Haven’t you guessed by now, how I feel about you? What kind of man would I be if I didn’t?”

“But . . . but it’s not your job. You don’t have to.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No, but it’s too much.”

“Nothing is too much for those I care about.” His lips grazed hers ever so slightly. “Nothing,” he repeated.

And Zula was lost.

A slow, sweet kiss hovered on her lips, light as the petals of a flower, sweet as nectar before it hardened into honey. He held the kiss, and she tasted his uncertainty, felt the gentle tug of his arm around her waist, the splay of his long fingers against her hip. A small sound of encouragement escaped her throat, but he held her at the edge, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth before tasting her lips again.

He was testing her, teasing her, and the hint of the kiss that bloomed across her mouth made her desire him all the more. Neo was a distraction from anxiety, a balm to her wound, the edge of impossible hope and a future she dared not allow herself to dream about. It was his actions that gave her surety, there in the hush of darkness among the white beams of moonlight. Anyone might see them standing to the side of the path, two shadows entwined, perhaps hidden by the bulk of the horse.

Her mind urged her to flee, a natural response to her predicament, but the way his long fingers splayed against her, the way he kissed her, gave her an enchanting glimpse of what life might be like by Neo’s side. She could be a royal prisoner, his royal prisoner, if this was how he treated her, with moonlight rides and stolen kisses.

The tight circle of fear around her heart loosened, and even though her time with Neo had only been a brief moment in her many years, deep in her soul she felt a shift, a yearning, a desire to belong, to stop going out on her own with the entire world resting on her shoulders.

Each heist, each theft ripped her apart, just a little bit, and left her to play music, to hop through life with gaiety ringing in her ears. She moved too fast to let the truth catch up with her, kept company with those who smoked and drank and counted their treasures. Was she unhappy? She didn’t think she was, but she was always striving for more. It was never enough, and not because of the witch’s curse. No, it was the fact that treasure was fleeting, gold slipped through her fingers like water, nothing in her life was steady, secure, or trustworthy. Thieves were as backstabbing as they came. Perhaps Neo would be too, but he was also a prince.

One of his broad hands cupped her cheek, fingers twisting into her hair. “Are you going to run?” he asked.

“Not this time,” Zula said.

He studied her, his expression unreadable, and Zula’s heart squeezed. At that moment, she knew that despite his feelings for her, he didn’t entirely trust her, nor had she given him reason to. She had to remedy that, but she didn’t know how. When it came to matters of the heart, of love and trust, actions spoke much louder than hollow words.