“We’d best get back before Sebastian tells your father what you’ve been up to.”

“We,” I corrected, trading him weapons so that I didn’t have to drag his through the silt, and wishing, once more, that I were stronger. “What we’ve been up to, you mean.”

Zafir glared down at me. “I wanted no part of this. I’m a reluctant participant.”

“But a participant nonetheless,” I maintained, lifting a brow. “And maybe if you were a better instructor . . .” I trailed off, trying not to let my disappointment come through in my voice.

“It’s not my instruction that’s lacking.” His pointed gaze found me. “Your Majesty.” He added my title as if it were an afterthought, even though we both knew it wasn’t.

“Whatever. I might as well be spending all my time in riding lessons considering how little my fighting’s improved. At least then the horse might do what I want her to.”

“I believe those were my exact words. You need riding lessons, not fighting lessons. You’re a queen, not a soldier.” And then he added it again, this time his lip twitching ever so slightly. “Your Majesty.”

We reached the stand of spark willows, beneath the largest of which we’d tethered our horses. During the day, the drooping branches’ tips, which nearly brushed the ground, were extinguished and the trees served as the perfect shelter for the enormous animals we’d ridden, shielding them from view. At night, however, the nibbed ends of each branch would burn bright in shades of blues or reds or white, depending on the blossoms. A million tiny buds of light would flicker and flash, casting this entire sector of the forest in an ethereal glow in which nothing—and no one—could hide.

Something I understood all too well, I thought as I glanced down at my hands, where light flickered just beneath my skin.

Zafir slipped through the curtain of wilting boughs and, after a moment, returned holding the reins of two magnificent mares. Magnificent, that was, to those who appreciated horses.

Unlike me.

It was unnatural for humans to be riding animals. Or at least that was what my aching body insisted, even before I readied to take the saddle once more.

I wasn’t like Brooklynn. I seemed incapable of learning that natural rhythm required to master horseback riding, that same rhythm she possessed when sitting astride her stallion. The easy way her body moved and rocked, not just in sync with the horse, but almost as if she’d become an extension of it. Like part of a single fluid wave in which they seemed to become one.

I, however, remained separate from my animal, remaining stiff, and bouncing and lurching uncomfortably. My body fought the motions of the beast beneath me, resistant to its gait.

In truth, they terrified me, the horses. All of them. They were large and unpredictable and far too powerful.

Yet another reason I could never truly be warrior. What kind of soldier couldn’t manage her own steed?

Stretching my back and preparing for the ride home, I reached up to the saddle’s horn and balanced one foot in

the stirrup as I hauled myself up, throwing my other leg over the smooth leather seat. Once I was settled, Zafir handed

me the reins, and as he did, my stomach tightened. I hated this part. I hated that it was in my hands to command this beast.

A country, sure. An animal larger than my royal guard, no thank you.

When we returned, Sebastian was already waiting for us in front of the stables. He rushed out to take the reins from me, and held the mare steady while I dismounted.

I glanced around, searching for Brooklynn. “Is she here yet? She promised she’d be here when I got back.” I hated the edge I heard in my own voice. “She’s late, isn’t she?”

Zafir took great care to stifle a yawn.

Sebastian frowned and bowed low, clutching the leather reins in his hands. I stared down at the top of his head, envious that any man could be blessed with such lustrous curls. They were the color of polished mahogany, matching his eyes to perfection. It was unfair, considering that I’d been born with hair and skin so fair they were nearly transparent, not a single curl in sight. “Your Majesty. I’m sure she’s just running . . .”—he lifted his head and scowled upward at the sky, noting the sun’s location, completely unable to mask his worry about the time—“. . . behind schedule.” His last two words sounded less than convinced, and I fought the urge to giggle at his attempt to assuage me.

Zafir was less composed, and his laughter boomed like a thunderclap across the meadows, making the poor stable master jump. “Knowing Brooklynn, she’s probably off causing trouble. Probably getting you into a war, if I had to wager.”

I cast a warning glare in Zafir’s direction; Sebastian didn’t deserve to be laughed at. “Don’t worry, Sebastian, I don’t blame you for Brook’s absence.” I sighed heavily, not wanting to do this alone, and unwilling to admit why. “I suppose we can start without her,” I muttered.

Sebastian perked up at the idea, and I was reminded that this was his true passion. This was why he’d been made stable master after barely reaching the age of legal consent. At eighteen, he was the youngest stable master the palace had ever had. No one knew his way around a horse the way Sebastian did.

Plus, he was patient—assuring me I would grow more comfortable, that my skills would improve. That time would give me the confidence I so desperately needed.

But Sebastian was serious about his instruction, and training with him was as physically exhausting as my fighting lessons with Zafir. It wasn’t simply about sitting in a saddle—anyone could do that, he’d repeated time and time again. He wanted me to learn the finer points of horsemanship: riding bareback, emergency dismounts, jumping, and groundwork. He worked both the horse and me until we were unable to work a moment longer.