Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(30)

Chapter Eleven

A misty dawn peeked through the parted drapes as Grier hurriedly dressed in her riding habit, a fashionable burgundy velvet ensemble trimmed in violet fur. She paused long enough to roll her eyes at her reflection.

The sight of her attired thusly was ridiculous when she thought about herself a month ago in her small, thatched-roof cottage. A pang of longing for that simple abode and simple life consumed her. She quickly squashed the sentiment, reminding herself she had left because that life had suddenly ceased to be so simple.

No use longing for her trousers. She’d left them behind . . . along with everything else she used to be.

Lifting her chin at a determined angle, she coiled her plaited hair atop her head and hastily pinned the unruly mass in place, not caring if the wind made short work of her efforts. From the way it howled against the mullioned panes of glass, likely nothing she did would keep her hair tidy. She wouldn’t let a little thing like that stop her. The prospect of a solitary ride through the countryside was too great. Her efforts would have to suffice. She certainly wasn’t going to call a maid to attend to her hair at this early hour.

Even as she hurried to slip from the house before anyone else woke, her lips twisted in a smile at the unlikelihood. She’d learned that the aristocracy didn’t rouse before noon.

The prince flashed across her mind, an image of him wrapped in luxurious bedding, sheets tangled around his legs. Legs she had noticed appeared strikingly muscular in his trousers. Not what she would have imagined for a dandified prince.

She cringed and banished the too frequent image of him from her head. He would not cloud her thoughts this morning, casting a pall over her much-anticipated ride. He’d done that enough last night.

Rising from her dressing stool, she slipped quietly from the room.

Sev rode hard across the countryside. He lost track of time as the wind churned around him, tugging through his hair and chafing his cheeks. A soft predawn gray tinged the air, so he knew it was still early. The world breathed its quiet breath around him, and he reveled in it.

He felt alive, which was something unique considering that a little over a year ago he was on a battlefield soaked in his brother’s blood, certain that he, too, would be the next one cut down.

He shook off the bleak memory of that day when his world spun forever off course, when he no longer became the “spare” but the heir to a kingdom.

He was here for Gregor, so that his death was not in vain. Even more than that, he was here for every single one of his countrymen who died on a battlefield. He owed it to them to stick it out and bring home a bride who would help inject life back into Maldania. His own personal preferences mattered not at all.

For some reason, the image of Miss Hadley floated before him. Scowling, he bent low and kicked the horse faster, until both he and the stallion were winded and panting hard. When his mount became lathered, he pulled back on the reins.

At the crest of a hill, he pulled the beast to a halt, rubbing his neck. “Good lad,” he murmured. “Got you sweating even in this cold.”

Sitting back, he stared down at the picturesque landscape. Snow draped the forest-thick valley. Winter-withered greens and browns peeked out at him from the veil of white.

After sleeping in tents for several past winters now, he was quite immune to the cold. This time of year, one could see nothing save a blinding white blanket surrounding the palace. Even the bark of the trees was difficult to detect.

His thoughts drifted to his grandfather. At his age, he was not so unaffected by the elements, even snug in his bed within the palace. The winters were always the hardest. Gave him aches and pains that only worsened with every passing year. The old man had hung on this long, lasting through the war, but Sev could not expect him to last much longer.

Leaving Maldania, he’d determined to give his grandfather peace. To reassure him that not only was the war over and the country on the mend, but that the Maksimi line was secure upon the throne for a generation more.

That being the case, he needed to get the matter of finding an acceptable bride over and done. He’d hoped to return home before spring with a wife already increasing with his future heir.

And yet he had not approached the matter of finding a bride with the haste needed for that to happen. He released a pent-up breath as he faced the bitter truth. He was dragging his feet. It was time to tackle matrimony with all due speed. With fresh resolve, he turned his mount around, hesitating when he caught a flash of movement in the distance. Pausing, he squinted into the distance. A horse and rider streaked across a snow-dappled rise.

For a moment he marveled that anyone else should be up this early, but then his breath seized in his chest.

The rider was female. Even from his vantage he recognized the wild mane of auburn hair flowing loose in the wind. As he stared down at the distant figure riding hell-bent across the landscape, he knew no other female would take it upon herself to ride so early for a solitary ride.

It took him a moment to realize she rode too fast. He sucked in a breath. Evidently she’d lost control of the beast she rode, a stallion she had no business riding in the first place. Senseless female!

He pushed aside his questions of her intelligence. Now wasn’t the time to consider the ill-bred female’s reckless ways.

With a deep cry, he dug in his heels and sent his mount soaring down the hillside, snow and mud kicking up around him in great wet clods.