Page 39 of The Princess Tied

It would be even better to make it so in truth, but she was marrying Xander, who they had yet to find. Always this Storyteller was ahead of them. They needed to catch up.

The pay for drivers was a pittance, but the destination was right. Ruth and Shades would mostly be walking to spare the horses drawing the wagons, but he and Princess Po had their own wagon to drive.

Did that make it a royal wagon? The idea amused him.

The rush to leave meant that, within two hours of signing, they left the city by a gate opposite to the one by which they’d entered. Driving was easy as floating in a stream to John. He held the reins and watched everything. The caravan wagons travelled in two parallel lines. Riders trotted by, swords and spears glinting, looking for raiders and strays.

The journey to the port city would take six to seven days, and his ragtag band was already behind by several days.

They needed a shortcut.

“If we have to, will you cross the sea to find him?” He inclined his head to ask Po, who sat at the other end of the driver’s bench. She was as far from him as was possible.

“Xander?”

“Yes.” John flicked the reins, though really the two pairs of horses were going at a good pace following the jiggling rear of the wagon ahead.

Behind this driver’s seat was the cloth opening leading into the covered wagon, where a bed remained rolled out. Behind that was storage space for the trading goods, whatever those were. Carpets and clothing perhaps? What they were carrying didn’t concern him. What did concern him was travelling with Princess Po with only one bed to share. The dilemma was killing him.

He had made promises to himself not to touch her.

For half a day they idled away the time, talking about anything except serious matters like Xander, or which side of the bed they would get.

When silence had fallen for a while, he glanced at her.

Somehow Ruth had come up with yet another piece of fashion for the princess—a tunic of embroidery and sequins over the top of plum-colored leggings. Dresses weren’t practical but even this gave him problems because all of her was so appealing… He wrenched his gaze off her and studied the flat grassy plain, the horizon, and the glints off the wagon ahead where the waning sun reflected and played.

He could remember though, how she looked.

Beneath the tunic was a cleavage-plunging top.

His hand recalled the give of her butt when he held it.

John’s throat tightened.

Luckily, the driver’s seat had a small roof so she wouldn’t get burned by the sun. Or Ruff, assuming the sun could get through the ball of fur. The floof had decided to perch on the other side of Po on a timber shelf. The spot would give it a wide view of what was coming… which only made him wonder at this creature’s intelligence.

“Either we sleep in shifts,” Po suddenly proposed. “Or we put a divider down the middle.”

“What?”

“I know what you were thinking.”

Was that a sly curiosity in her appraisal? Technically, she was still a virgin, and he was almost sure that had been flirting. He raised an eyebrow.

“No one knows what I’m thinking.”

“No?” She pushed her mouth into a rosebud shape then made tsk tsk noises. “You’re thinking what is for supper, and… can I get her highness to have sex with me. The answer is no.”

He was about to deny it when trumpets blared, spooking several horses so the drivers had to calm them. To the left, a foreign caravan appeared to be heading for them, merging perhaps. Above it swayed a field of long flickering banners with forked ends and symbols. Multicolored tongues against the faded blue sky.

“What is that?” Po asked loudly, raising her voice because the trumpets had sounded again.

There were streamers and flags as well as the banners and trumpets. There were troops of cavalry in bright tunics and chain mail with scimitars and spears. This new caravan held many larger wagons. He squinted. Was that a white-and-gold banner of a camel rampant on a field of lilies?

“Oh no.” Face taut, Po clasped her fist to her chest, the other hand to her neck. “That’s Kostanian royalty.

“Is that going to be a problem?” he drawled, trying to figure out why she was dismayed. “Do you think they will know you?”