Elgin followed her across the soggy grounds to the practice field. There was still plenty of snow piled up in shady spots in the lee of the castle and beneath trees, but the practice field was a churned up mire, the small rings used for swordplay particularly mucky.

She smiled when she reached the edge of the crowd, for it was Karigan’s swift and lithe form against the strength of a huge fellow. They clashed through a sequence of moves that was far beyond Laren’s own training, and though Karigan’s opponent’s arms and chest bulged with muscles, it did not diminish his own speed or precision.

They were locked in a dance, the clack of wooden swords beating out across the practice field in an almost musical rhythm, their movements fluid but also spare. As much as the big fellow had the advantage in size and strength, Karigan learned to counter that advantage and use it against him.

“She does well,” Elgin murmured.

“Yes,” Laren said, with more than a little pride. “She always has.”

She had known from the very beginning, the way a farmer can sense how a season’s crops will bear out, that Karigan would prove to be one of her more exceptional Riders. It might have had something to do with her grand entrance into the king’s throne room that day some three years ago, borne by the Wild Ride and the spirits of Riders past.

But there was more to it. Despite being touched by the supernatural, Karigan was, in most ways, a very ordinary young woman, at times self-conscious and awkward. She might be good at some things, like her sword technique, but she was not good at everything. Drent still forbade her to handle throwing knives.

No matter what strange adventures came Karigan’s way, her unassuming nature grounded her, allowed her to accomplish what she must. And when she received praise for her accomplishments? It was not false modesty but genuine surprise she expressed that anyone should notice.

And there was that strong will of hers. Laren thought back to the letter she’d received from Stevic G’ladheon and there was no need to guess from where, or rather from whom, Karigan had acquired her strong will. As for her modesty? That must have come from her mother’s side.

Laren smiled thinking of the invitation Stevic had enclosed with his return message. He insisted she come to Corsa to inspect firsthand the materials and goods with which he intended to supply the Riders. He wished, he said, to ensure they were to her satisfaction. She had to admit it was tempting—she hadn’t taken leave in years, but there was so much to oversee here. So much to do.

Drent, she saw, watched the bout unmoving, his beefy arms folded across his chest. He might complain about having to train Karigan, but he certainly wouldn’t bother with her if he didn’t think she had potential.

Then she caught sight of another watching from the far fringes. Few others seemed to notice his presence, for their attention was focused on the bout, and he was cloaked and hooded. But Laren knew him too well to miss him. So Zachary had come to observe as well. Did he know that it would be Karigan specifically training at this time?

Stupid question, she thought. Of course he did.

She returned her gaze to Karigan locked in her dance, her expression one of deep concentration. She’d be unaware of the onlookers. Mud splashed around her feet and sweat sprayed from her face. Her braid whipped across her back.

She might be unaware of those who watched, but with a quick glance to Zachary, Laren knew of one who was far from oblivious. He followed the bout with all the ardor of an expert swordsman, a proud parent, or a fiercely protective guardian.

Or a lover.

She sighed. She’d seen that look before, the change in his demeanor whenever Karigan was near. Felt his intensity. Others might not perceive it, but she and Zachary were very close—she had known him since he was a child and had been like an older sister to him as he grew up. Consequently she was able to recognize his feelings for what they were, and soon figured out the object of his desire was one of her very own Riders.

She’d thought maybe his love for Karigan would fade over time. She’d sent Karigan away on errands to keep them apart, hoping he’d turn his attention to Lady Estora, perhaps even forget Karigan, but from the way he now studied her every move, it appeared Laren’s efforts had fallen short.

It was not malicious intent that caused Laren to thwart any blossoming romantic bond between the two. On the contrary, she wished only for Zachary’s happiness, but as a king, his happiness was secondary to the needs of his realm, and his realm needed him to marry Lady Estora for the stability and continuity it would bring his reign, not to mention how it would reinforce the loyalty of the eastern provinces.

Should Zachary discard Lady Estora in favor of a commoner, the breach of the betrothal contract could wreak untold turmoil, even civil war, the last thing they needed with Second Empire building up its forces. It was vital Sacoridia remain strong and united.

There was the possible threat to Karigan, too, that concerned Laren. So much was riding on the betrothal for some factions that they’d do anything to see it through. Anything. If Karigan was identified as a distraction that kept Zachary from fulfilling his duty to Lady Estora ... ? No, Laren couldn’t allow it.

Elgin touched her sleeve. “Look!”

Laren tore her gaze from Zachary. In the practice ring, Karigan’s opponent moved against the rhythm they’d established. He cut his sword at Karigan’s knees.

Almost faster than Laren’s eyes could perceive, Karigan hopped back and smashed his sword out of his hand.

“Hah!” Laren exclaimed, clapping.