Many thanks to my advance readers and to user LaRascasse for their assistance with editing!
Content warning
: death of a family member, references to sexual assault
***
Amali awoke early, feeling less sore and more rested than the day before. She called for the serving-women to attend her and was quickly readied for the day. Instead of the usual skirts she was used to, she was dressed in two shifts, one with a high split seam down the front and back, another down the sides, and over this she was laced into a heavy gown with splits in all four places.
"What is this called?" she asked the serving-woman who spoke Taurian.
"It is a
koslom
, for riding," she replied, and Amali memorized the word.
Her boots and cloak were the same as before, but her hair was braided in double plaits close to her head, like the mane of a horse, before being gathered together and tied off. After this she ate a hearty breakfast, feeling better knowing that the prince wouldn't touch her for the time being.
She had thought she'd risen early, but he was waiting for her when the serving-woman led her outside. The screens had been taken down and all around them the tents were being dismantled and packed up. She spared a moment to look about, awed at how quickly the camp was returning to barren moorland.
"Princess," he said, turning her attention back to him. He was holding the bridle of a dappled gray mare, taller than she was used to but still dwarfed in size compared to his stallion, who stood nearby. "This is Pranitsa. I brought her from the imperial stables at Domogr for you."
"For me?" she echoed. She had never heard of Domogr, but it must be in the Serutusian heartland, where their strong, bold Kian horses had first been bred.
"Yes, princess. She is yours."
She glanced at him and looked away from his smile. Slowly she advanced and greeted the horse, who huffed in reply.
"Hello, Pranitsa," she murmured, stroking the mount's velvety nose. The mare whickered, recognizing her name. "You're beautiful."
"I'm glad you like her," the prince said. "Truthfully I was unsure if you even knew how to ride."
He must have chosen this horse for her before he left Serutus; a gentle-mannered ride that could still keep up with the prince's larger warhorse.
"Thank you, your highness," she said quietly.
"It is only proper for an imperial princess to have a horse of her own," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice.
Amali ignored it and took the reins from him, mounting up easily in her split skirts. After settling in her saddle, she looked down to see the prince watching her and blushed. He only chuckled and mounted his own great stallion -- Tuma, he had called him -- conversing easily with Morden as they waited. Then the man left, presumably to find his own horse, and she was left alone with the prince.
"The color suits you perfectly," he commented abruptly.
She glanced over and saw him gazing at her blue
koslom
beneath her cloak. She blushed again and looked away, clutching the reins more tightly, which made Pranitsa shift with worry. Amali focused on soothing her new horse, murmuring soft words and petting her. In all truthfulness, she was the one who needed calming, for her heart was beating hard already at the prospect of returning to the place her father had been killed.
Amali was grateful when they finally rode out, up the large hill. She looked back as they crested the top, seeing fully two-thirds of the camp still remained.
"They will be following in the next few days," the prince said next to her. "It takes time to move such a large encampment."
He didn't add, but Amali understood, that having her in hand was worth more than half his forces. She gritted her teeth, hating being thought of as a pawn in this game of conquest.
"Yes, princess," he continued as they rode on. "You are the key that will open the doors of Berenul for me. Surely as the heir-daughter you understand your duty towards your people now?"
"Why wouldn't I?" she hissed softly, looking away.
"For some, their pride is more important than their life. Is that not why you considered taking your own life, in my tent yesterday?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," she replied, more harshly than she should have dared.
"I understand perfectly," he countered. "A princess' virtue is her honor. To lose that is worse than death.
That
is why you denied my proposal outright."
"I didn't think you wanted me as a wife," she said quietly, not wanting to rouse his anger, but this only seemed to irritate him all the more.
"Your people must hold a terribly low opinion of me," he retorted, nostrils flaring.
It was true, so she made no reply. They continued in uneasy silence, not stopping even when the sun reached its zenith. Bored, Amali scrounged her saddlebags, pleased to find a wedge of cheese, some apples, and a flask of water. She ate these as the afternoon wore on, every now and then turning behind her to take in the view of the imperial forces stretched out in a long ribbon behind them.
The sun was shining in their faces when Lirean Castle came into view. Amali tensed, and Pranitsa came to a halt. She tried to make her walk on, but the mare wouldn't budge, and Amali flushed with embarrassment, aware that she was holding up the entire convoy.
Suddenly the prince's gloved hand covered hers, loosening the reins that she'd been clutching too tightly. "Pranitsa is sensitive," he said calmly. "She will not want to go somewhere you fear to send her."
Amali swallowed, her throat dry. Glancing behind them, the prince took her reins and led her to the side, nodding for his entourage to continue forward without him. She sat back and lowered her gaze to Pranitsa's withers, not wanting to see what his men must think of her.
"You are right to be afraid," he said quietly. "But you will be safe so long as you stay by my side."
"My father died there," she said. "They dragged me from my bed to see. And Horan laughed at my screams."
The prince made no reply, and she continued speaking, unable to stop.
"They didn't use me. I know you don't believe me, but it doesn't matter, because it feels as though they did. And if they had, at least then I wouldn't feel guilty for wanting to follow after Father and join my mother. I wouldn't feel so terrible for not wanting to be here any longer."
She was crying freely now, not bothering to staunch her tears. The prince stayed silent, bringing forth a handkerchief and wiping her face gently, but this only made her cry more. He handed her the cloth and took her reins once more, leading her further out from the convoy.
Amali continued crying until she ran out of tears, her eyes aching. The handkerchief was soiled and wet now, and he mutely took it from her, bringing out his flask and putting it in her unsteady hands.
"Drink," he said, and she did.
When she was done she handed it back to him, and he recorked it without comment. Amali felt foolish in front of his stoic frame, and she looked away, north towards Juna. How she longed to be home.
"Do you remember the word for 'husband'?" he asked her.
She sniffled. "
Garadin
."
"
Garad
means to look after, to protect, to care for. That is what a husband and wife should do for each other. That is what I will do for you." He took off his glove and slowly reached out, taking her hand. "I am glad to know that you were unharmed. But even if you were, I would still have you. Even if you conceived a child because of it, I would still make you my wife. And I would burn alive any man who had dared to touch you."
Amali hiccupped, unsure of how she was meant to respond to this declaration.
"When my mother died," he continued, "I, too, longed to follow after her. But we are not such people as can do whatever we please. Our every action is worth a thousand of those below us." He sighed. "But more than that, princess, I promise you the pain will fade. It will never go away, but it will become bearable, and there will be space in your heart again."
"Space in my heart?" she murmured, glancing shyly at him.
He smiled crookedly. "A poor translation of a beautiful word, princess."
"What word is that?"
"
Sparik
," he replied. "It means... room for the heart to breathe freely."
"
Sparik
," she repeated.
"Yes, princess." He squeezed her hand and let go, regarding her carefully.
Amali bit her lip. "I'm not always so weepy," she said defensively.
"I didn't think you were, princess."
His gentleness was becoming uncomfortable, and she looked away, back toward the sun and Lirean Castle. He followed her gaze, then looked back at her, frowning.
"Stay by my side," he said, in the gruff tone she was more accustomed to, and she nodded. "Then let us go."
He kneed his stallion into a trot and Amali followed. Pranitsa's gait was smooth over the grassy hills, and Amali wondered if the moors reminded her of the grasslands of Serutus. They approached the line quickly, slowing as they reached the front. Morden eyed them as they returned to their place at the head of the convoy, perhaps unhappy to have lost sight of his prince for so long. But he made no comment, and presently they were within signaling distance of Lirean Castle.
Amali forced her face to smooth over her disgust and hatred as they rode through the gate, followed by the prince's guard and a small detachment of armsmen. She avoided the eyes of Horan's men, keeping her gaze meekly downward. She accepted the prince's help dismounting, allowing his hand to stay at her waist even as Horan came forward and bowed deeply.
"I hope you have been enjoying your gift, your imperial highness," he said, smiling widely.
"I have," the prince replied lightly. "I thank you once again for bringing her safely to me."
Horan caught the prince's meaning and grinned. "I could do no less for your imperial highness. Come, I have prepared the highest seat for you at my table."
Amali clung to the prince as they swept through the corridors into the great hall, where the prince took Horan's chair after setting her squarely at his side. Her gaze darted about the room, trying to catch sight of any familiar faces. But if her servants were present, she could not find them.
All through the meal she endured Horan's harsh laughter and crude jokes, which the prince did nothing to dissuade. She wondered vaguely at Horan's sister's absence -- the girl was his only remaining kin, and Amali had sat beside her for several nights of feasting, before Horan's betrayal. She supposed Horan had locked her away for her own safety, or the precious alliance her eventual marriage would make, if nothing else. At length Amali began to droop, exhausted from a day of riding and an evening spent trying to still her nerves. The prince seemed to notice, for he whispered in her ear to hold on a little longer.
"Your hospitality impresses, Lord Riotaz," he said after a little while. "But my gift grows weary, and I should like to retire."
"Take my chamber, your imperial highness," Horan said.
Amali's eyes widened and she clutched the prince's arm. That was where her father had died.
