Page 121 of Crown of the Courtesan

Fifty-Two

Dwarfed by vast and unnaturally large trees, we trot under the cover of their green leaves from the hot overhead sun. The air is thick with a sheet of humidity. I can’t believe the temperature difference a few weeks’ ride can make, but the sweat rolling down my neck and thighs is all too real.

Every so often, the sunbeams shine through patches in the canopy, creating towers of light that give the Border Forest an ethereal energy. Birds I’ve never heard of before sing their tunes from nests, and insects bigger than my hand buzz around our heads no matter how many times we swat them away. Even the horses’ tails twitch with irritation. It would be nice for a breeze to cool our bodies and help disperse the flies, but nothing comes. The air is tepid and still.

There’s something odd about this forest; it’s both mystical and friendly, yet a dangerous vibration strums through the floor.

We travel all day, following the path along a babbling stream until we encounter a massive spring of cold water surrounded by boulders on one side and soft, mossy soil on the other. Rett jumps down from his stallion. “We’ll stop here for tonight. The horses are exhausted, and we need to rest.”

“Sounds good to me.” I dismount, ever so glad for the break. My back is pinched, and my thighs have been chafed raw for days.

Rett leads our horses to the water’s edge, giving them reassuring pats as they drink heartily before grazing in a flat, grassy area nearby. He unfastens our cargo strapped to their backs before tossing my things to me.

I unroll my bedroll onto a mossy spot under a towering aspen, but as I’m doing so, my head snaps up. Through the band of trees, two shadow hounds stalk and slink through the forest’s dark underbelly.

With a regretful gasp, I realize that I never learned their names. I don’t know how to call out to them.

I blink rapidly—I’m wrong.

My stomach sinks.

It’s a mother deer and her young crossing into view. I shake my head with irritation and lie down. Sprawled on my bedroll, I try to breathe through the thick air and rest for a bit, but even that is labor-intensive. I sit up to search for something to fan myself with, but instead my eyes are drawn to Rett. He removes his weapons and armor, dropping them in a pile. Leaving on only his chausses, he pulls his white cotton shirt off, revealing a stomach of lean muscles in shades of shimmering emerald as he gathers fallen wood and constructs a small fire.

I try not to remember the iridescent blaze.

My nails dig into my palms—how could I let him sour my thoughts when I’ve been so good about blocking those memories out lately?

After several weeks on the road with Rett, I’ve come to the conclusion that the prince before me is kind, handsome, and willing to help those who need it. Perhaps a stable, long-lasting relationship doesn’t require love. Perhaps other foundations are stronger. Rett’s my friend—and maybe something more if I choose to be strategic.

Rett wipes his brow again before he gathers the remaining wood and piles it near our camp. His voice, low with exertion, murmurs, “This should be enough for tonight.”

“Why do you even bother with it?” I complain, fanning myself with my hand. “It’s so humid. I don’t think we’ll need a fire.” I can’t imagine it any hotter than it already is.

“Do you like to eat raw animals?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

I unpeel my sticky petticoat layers from my legs, fluffing out the fabric. “Did we run out of dried meat?”

A smirk hooks across his face, exaggerating his tusks under his bottom lip as his burgundy hair flops into his sweaty eyes. “If I don’t get a fresh meal, I’m going to go insane, and this forest is teeming with game.” He pulls an elegant bow from his pack.

Falling back on my bedroll, I whine, “How do you have the energy?”

“Aw—poor widdle human can’t handle the heat?” A rumbling chuckle escapes his chest as he beats on it with his fist. “The weather here invigorates me. Reminds me that I’m home⁠—”

“It feels like a millstone is tied to my lungs.”

“You just enjoy a rest while I hunt, or better yet, take a dip in the spring.” Rett winks mischievously. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Don’t worry, I won’t go far—if you need me, yell out.” He strides into the wall of trees until the brush and overgrowth hide him from sight. My stomach tightens into a knot as he disappears.

I flop around on my bedroll, the air surrounding me like an unwanted hug. It presses in from every angle until I sit back up and peer at the enticing water. A dip does sound nice… but it also makes me remember the night of the hot springs with Ashland—and—and I shouldn’t be thinking of him.

Lazily, I wander over to the perfectly still pool and gaze into it. It reflects my image.

I jump back, not expecting that.

Ever since I stopped taking the Rite, my hair has been wild and curly, but now it has taken on a new life in the forest’s humidity. I dig out my hairbrush from inside the supplies, but trying to smooth the frizz only worsens its condition. It puffs out from the pressure of my circlet no matter what I do. I braid the top half around the circular ring, securing it into place, but I give up on the rest, throwing the brush into my bag.

With a huff, I lower my feet into the cooling water, sit, and try to calm my anxious beating heart until Rett returns.

In under thirty minutes, he comes strolling into view, just as promised. A fat, dead rabbit swings from his hand while his bow and arrows rest over his shoulder. My shoulders lighten at the sight of him.