Page 74 of Nocturn

Lady Drusilla’s voice lashed out like a whip. I whirled. She barreled toward me, the clicking of her heels beating in tandem with my pulse. I straightened my spine, forcing myself to remain still instead of staggering away from her.

She stopped an inch from my face.

This close to her, I could see the darker flecks of blue in her irises.

“I do not know what has gotten into him, but take care with what you do next.” She came even closer to my face. I stiffened my mouth into a thin line. “Remember, I have your wraithling.”

I clenched my teeth, and the audible click echoed, fighting the urge to claw my nails into her eyes. Piper would bring me back here anyway, she had not needed to threaten her.

She lifted her chin, straightening her shoulders, and reached to open the cracked door to wave me through.

“Lady Drusilla,” I said, keeping my voice even. I wouldn’t let her know she had rattled me.

Bright dawnlight speared into my irises, and I walked forward blindly as they focused. A huge equine figure came into view first. The monstrous animal from the stables.

Abrax.

The only horse I had seen in my existence large enough to match the Warlord. A leather satchel hung from the back end of the saddle, and I ignored the tug to look. He had brought the Creation Scripture.

Is he bringing it because he wants me to translate?

Said Warlord stood beside the beast wearing battle leathers. A black tunic showed under the spaulder, and a strap crossed his chest, fastened to the sheath whose pommel rose above his shoulder.

I battled with the urge to press myself against him until he wrapped me in his arms. With a single look at me, he mounted fluidly, settling on the leather of the saddle, and took the reins in one hand.

The thud of approaching hooves neared, and the stable hand navigated the dappled gray horse beside Abrax.

He dismounted, saying, “Here she is, Your Highness.”

Lord Draven looked directly at me.

“Mount.”

“Pardon?” I stuttered. His eyebrows lowered. “I have never ridden, my lord.” My voice trembled.

A thundercloud flashed across his face.

The stable boy gasped in dismay. What had gotten into me? I stood here arguing with the king. Sucking in a lung-expanding breath, I moved to the side, next to the stable hand.

“Hold on to the horn,” he directed, reaching to grip what he was talking about, “and push off the ground with your other foot in the stirrup.”

With that, he stepped back, keeping the reins as I mounted. Or tried to. Very poorly. The dappled gray neighed and pawed at the ground.

I peeked at the stable boy.

“Do not hesitate when mounting,” he directed.

Pushing onto my toes, I gripped the horn and slid my slipper into the stirrup. I could do it. It was only a horse. In truth, I much preferred a carriage . . . I pushed with my other foot and swung my leg.

I screamed, the jostling of the beast sending me sideways. The ground swelled up to meet me, and all I could do was brace for landing.

The front of my dress tightened, and the grip on the sashes of the gown banded into my ribs. Another spinning movement, then my bottom landed on a hard surface. My vision swam, and I struggled to catch my breath within the safety of Lord Draven’s arms.

The gray horse whinnied and shook its head. A palm pressed into my belly, my legs stretched to the side across his thigh. I lifted my eyes to Lord Draven.

“Spread,” he ordered.

I yanked the gown and settled in front of him on the saddle. Unlike the other, this one had no horn, so it allowed me to straddle with ease. I arranged my gown around me to cover my legs, grateful that the layers of fabric stretched enough so only my ankles showed.