A Throne of Ruin (Deliciously Dark Fairytales 2)

Hadriel and Gyril waited with four horses, two that looked older and a little rough around the edges, a small one that was likely a pony (that one was hopefully for me; I was no horse master), and a great big black stallion with crazy eyes that was obviously Nyfain’s.

“Nyfain isn’t coming,” I said as I neared. “Why the fourth?”

Hadriel tilted his head at me, a look of alarm on his face. “What do you mean he’s not coming? Then why is he marching across the grounds like he plans on killing someone! It’s not me, is it? You wouldn’t save me from demons last night just so the master can kill me today? That’s not the sort of joke friends play on each other, Finley!”

Nyfain eyed the girl when he neared, glancing at her clothes and finally her shoes, worn through in patches.

“What village, girl?” he asked.

“Great bedside manner, dickface,” I muttered.

“Orchard Blossom,” she responded, her voice subdued and her face tilted downward.

“Don’t let him scare you. He’s actually warm and gushy inside,” I said, eyeing the horses. “No saddles?”

“We don’t use them. Don’t need them,” Nyfain said, looking at me closely. “Can you ride bareback?” He ran his palm along his stallion’s neck, then down to its shoulder.

“I guess we’ll see…”

“She’ll go with me.” Nyfain jumped up gracefully and threw a leg over the back of his horse. He reached down for me.

“Right, but…” I eyed the options again. “Your horse isn’t going to want to handle two of us.”

“He’s more than capable. He’s had to carry me with a wounded dragon double your weight.”

Apparently the horses here didn’t age any more than the humans did.

Hadriel hopped up onto the next largest horse like he’d been doing it all his life.

“I have never ridden,” Dabnye said quietly.

“No problem, little darling. You can ride with Uncle Hadriel, the best horse whisperer in the kingdom.” He walked his horse forward a bit and put out his hand.

She took it shyly, and he swung her up behind him.

“Hold on tight and don’t fall off the back,” he told her, walking the horse forward a bit more. “We’re not quite sure just how good of a healer Finley really is.”

“She made that look really easy,” I muttered, taking Nyfain’s hand.

“It is.” He pulled me around, and I swung my leg over.

My weight was going too fast, though, and I slid off the other side. I hit the ground on my side and rolled away quickly, lest the stallion decide he wanted to step on me.

“Maybe it isn’t,” he added.

I hopped up and dusted myself off before trying again. This time I managed to stop myself while still on the horse’s back, clutching Nyfain’s robust body and hugging him tight. He put his hand over mine for a moment, apparently to make sure I was on, before kicking the horse’s sides and clucking his tongue. We quickly sped up to a trot, heading toward the Forbidden Wood.

“What made you decide to come with us?” I asked as I twisted to look at the others behind us. Hadriel held the bridle with two hands and sat with a straight back, looking like he’d been born to ride. Being a butler was a waste of his efforts. Dabnye held her skinny little arms around his waist, tighter than they probably needed to be. I knew how she felt. Riding bareback and behind someone was a little daunting.

“A few reasons. I didn’t want you to barrel into the village, knocking heads, and cause problems until you got your way. I also didn’t want you to accidentally kill anyone. I definitely didn’t want you to reveal that you have the power to unsuppress their animals. It’s been happening a lot lately. Last night when you were in Hadriel’s room, I could feel your power pumping out into the hall. Everyone there stood around in wonder, gripping their chests, reconnecting with their animals. I’m not the only one who’s noticed you.” He sighed. “But I’m tired, and sticking my nose in the villages’ business will be incredibly unpleasant, so I might’ve made excuses for why I didn’t need to bother. In the end…I followed my dick.”

“You want to fuck on a horse.”

“Yes. I certainly won’t need to rescue you from a pit. You’ve shown that you are more than capable of getting out of a pickle. Unless you have a sword, obviously.”

“Damn sword. It’s really pretty, too. It would look good hanging down my side.”

“It was my mother’s.”

We ducked as the horse trotted under low-hanging branches.

I didn’t know what to say. In the end, all I could get out was “Why?”

“Because I knew it would look good hanging down your side.”

I leaned my cheek against his back. “I don’t know what to say. I mean, there is the obvious: I’m not worthy. That just rolls off the tip of my tongue. And then there is the fact that I’m not trustworthy with it. I’ve dropped my pocketknife, I’ve dropped my dagger—I might lose it! And then, you know, we barely get along. I’m not the right sort…”