Gild (The Plated Prisoner #1)(46)

The tops of his cheeks redden, and he whips his face forward. “What? No, nothing happened. She just needed an extra blanket, that was all.”

“Relax. I’m just teasing.”

Sail glances around, as if worried someone might hear and believe anything other than the innocent truth. I understand the worry though, since the royal saddles are just that—for royalty. They’re not permitted to be with anyone else. And even gossip could destroy both Frilly and Sail both—something I won’t let happen.

“You have any girls pining for you back at home?” I ask, curious about his life outside of the army, when he’s not wearing armor or carrying a sword.

Sail flashes that boyish charm of his again as he leans toward me. “Just a few,” he jokes. “Three or four, but they don’t pine nearly as much as I want them to.”

I snicker. “Is that so? Well, I hope you treat them kindly.”

“I treat them very kindly. This boy from the shanties has got a few tricks up his sleeve.”

Another laugh spills from my mouth. “Care to share these tricks?”

Sail enthusiastically opens his mouth to answer, but Digby appears at my other side again, cutting in with a scowl. “No sharing tricks with the king’s favored,” he snaps in exasperation. “Do you want King Midas to cut off your head and cast it in gold, boy?”

Sail goes pale and shakes his head. “No, sir.”

I sigh and look over at my stoic, ever-grumpy guard. “Don’t be such a killjoy, Dig.”

“Carriage,” he replies gruffly.

“No, thank you,” I reply sweetly.

He sighs at my stubbornness, and I smile at his aggravation. It’s not a drinking game by any means, but it’s still the most fun I’ve had with Digby, and he’s talking to me now more than ever. I count it as a major victory.

While our group carries on, one after the other, Sail entertains me with stories of growing up with four older brothers, distracting me enough that I barely notice the ache in my legs.

The clouds roil over us like a curled surf of a moody sea, tossing arctic mist in the air. The horses in front create the snow breaks for the rest of us to walk, but trudging through thick snow to cut a path is tiring and difficult, even for our hardy horses, so Digby constantly rotates out the leads.

As the night wears on, the temperature seems to plummet, so cold that it even numbs my aching thighs. When the wind picks up, it’s so brutal that Sail doesn’t once brag about being right about the storm.

Soon, everyone is bracing against it, bodies hunched over on their horses and fabric wrapped around faces and heads to keep the ripping chill from tearing through us.

Digby comes galloping back to my side, his heavy cloak billowing around him. “Carriage,” he says, and this time, it’s an order.

I nod, finally relenting, because I’d be an idiot not to take advantage of the fact that I can get out of the frigid and windy cold. The skies are warning us, giving us time to prepare before the clouds unleash whatever they have held in their bellies, and as much as I like to ride out in the open, I’d rather not be out in a blizzard.

With Sail beside me, I quickly maneuver Crisp to head for my carriage. I jump down, giving him a pat on his furry rump as I go.

I shoot Sail a guilty look and gesture toward the carriage. “You sure you can’t…”

But he shakes his head. “I’m alright. Us Sixth soldiers are a hardy lot. The cold doesn’t even touch us,” he lies with a wink, even as breath plumes in front of him like cloying smoke. “Go on in before you catch a chill.”

My driver stops just long enough for me to step into my carriage and close the door with a shiver. It lurches forward, and I sit back, rubbing my legs and shaking out my hands, soothing sore muscles, trying to bring a frictional warmth back into my limbs.

I watch out the window as the weather grows steadily worse, my light limited to the bobbing lanterns and masked moonlight.

Within the hour, the storm is fully upon us. The winds howl, becoming so strong that the windows rattle and the carriage wobbles, like a threat to tip. I move over, making sure to sit on the right side to help brace against the wind.

Then the hail starts to rain down, balls of ice clacking against the roof like a thousand knuckled raps. It’s so loud that it drowns out the horses’ hooves and the scraping of the carriage wheels, until all that exists is just a downpour of frozen pellets that funnel from the sky.

I chew on my nails as I look outside, hating that the guards and horses have to endure this. The hail must be punishing and painful every time it lands.

Luckily, I see us diverting off the path, heading for a copse of trees in the distance. They’re not the giant Pitching Pines, but they’re enough to offer us some cover from the storm, thank Divine.

But if I thought we were slow-moving before, it’s ten times worse now. With the hail and the wind battering us, it takes us nearly an hour to reach the line of trees.

The leaders of our group are just crossing beneath the first of the trees when my carriage is jolted. With a lurch, I’m flung onto the floor, my body hitting the opposite seat and the back of my head slamming against the wall.

“Shit,” I curse, rubbing the back of my head as I struggle to get back into the seat. The carriage gives another violent bounce, nearly sending me right back off the cushion again, but I brace myself against the walls, managing to stay upright.