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Chapter Forty-Three

Guinevere

It was near dawn by the time Oskar and Guinevere returned to the estate—on foot, because Oskar had left the Wensleydale horse he’d borrowed at the docks.

There was a lot of carrying on as Illiard and Betha tried to stop them from packing up Guinevere’s effects, and then from retrieving their own horses from the mews.

“You can’t leave us like this, Guinevere!” Betha screeched as Oskar helped Guinevere up onto Vindicator’s back. “We have no other prospects—”

“I will not stay with family who would have sacrificed me for their own ambitions, and I will not marry a man who considers me beneath him,” Guinevere said firmly, leaning back against Oskar after he’d climbed onto the saddle behind her.

“You may explain that to his lordship once he returns from his swim.”

“You owe us!” Illiard snapped. “You lost the wagon and my oxen and most of our wares, and you bartered away everything else—” He grabbed Vindicator’s reins to stop them from leaving.

“Damn.” Oskar let out a low whistle. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Right on cue, the stallion lowered his great black head and sank his large incisors into Illiard’s shoulder.

As her father staggered back, his screams rending the air, Guinevere took off the ring of lightning and tossed it in her mother’s direction. Betha was too slow to catch it, and it fell to the ground in a flash of gold and emerald.

“There,” said Guinevere. “That’s all that remains of the Duskmaven’s Parure. The other pieces must be at the bottom of the ocean by now. So it should be quite valuable, because it is the last. More than enough repayment, I think.”

Betha was too busy scrabbling through the grass to respond. Illiard soon joined her in her search, blood dripping from his shoulder. Guinevere couldn’t deny that, as far as farewells went, this one hurt. But she had to stop asking people for more than what they were willing to give.

“Ready?” Oskar asked her quietly.

“Whenever you are,” Guinevere replied.

He coaxed Vindicator into a brisk trot, Pudding following happily, and the four of them left it all behind.

They took the meandering route back to the Wuyun Gates, skirting around the edges of civilization. It was a nice day, and they were in no rush.

When they reached a field of wildflowers, Guinevere tugged at Oskar’s sleeve. “We should probably change.”

He was, after all, still in his blood-soaked, soot-stained, salt water–crusted clothes, and her evening gown was faring no better, which had earned them no small number of confounded stares as they’d made their way out of Nicodranas.

Oskar looked around. “Here?”

“Why not?” Guinevere loftily challenged. “I can do whatever I want now.”

“That doesn’t bode well for my future peace of mind,” he grumbled.

But he dismounted and then assisted her down without further question.

He tethered the horses to a couple of nearby stumps, and, when he’d straightened up from the task, another one of those rare grins was fighting for its freedom against the stern line of his mouth.

She was rather looking forward to spending the rest of her days cajoling more smiles out of him.

He grabbed her without warning. The world tilted, and she shrieked as he lifted her with ease despite the heavy gown, one hand tucked under her knees, the other pressed to her spine.

“Oskar!” she cried. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted to change, yes?” He leered at her. “I’m going to help you out of those clothes.”

Guinevere laughed, loud and unladylike and joyous, looping her arms around his neck.

He carried her through the field of wildflowers and laid her down in the long grass and the blooms like jewels.

He stretched out on top of her, covering her with his broad body, kissing his way down her neck.

She hummed, low in her throat, reveling in the feel of him.

Oskar paused as his wandering fingers ventured to the back of her gown and found the first complicated clasp. He lifted his head with a scowl, oakmoss brow knitting. “This might take a while.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Guinevere said. The road was long, yet it would always lead back to him. “We have all the time in the world.”

His topaz eyes softened. She tugged at the collar of his shirt, drawing him down to her. They were both smiling when their lips met, there beneath the blue sky, amidst the rolling, sun-drenched fields. A gentle breeze blew in from the ocean, and it sounded like a song of forever.