Chapter 16

*Two weeks later*

With a squeeze of my knees, I nudge Prim into a gallop. The dappled mare huffs in acknowledgment, just as happy to be out in the open air as I am. The morning is already humid, and hazy with the scents of horse and leather. As my horse picks up the pace, the clop of her hoofs rings out over the riding ground's hard-packed earth. There's not a cloud in the sky, an endless expanse of pristine blue.

A few strands of my hair escape from the tight braid that Petra had wound it into this morning and it whips against my cheek as I grin. I relax into our new place, adjusting my weight to better keep my balance, before letting the reins drop from my hands and outstretching my arms, feeling the crisp ringing rush of grass and flowers as they rush past.

The truth is that riding is one of the only times when my body's limitations-my illness-don't hold me back from doing what others can do. Riding is one of the only things that set me free. Prim snorts, shimmying her neck as if to show her shared revelry in this fleeting moment of freedom.

I ride until we're both winded before nudging Prim back towards the stables. She resists my tug of the reins, huffing her dismay at the prospect of returning to her stall. I pat the strong muscles of her neck, commiserating with her.

"I know girl," I sigh quietly, "Believe me. I don't want to go back any more than you do. But I'll try to convince Petra to let me come out tomorrow as well. I promise."

Prim snorts as if to say, "Fat chance of her allowing that to happen".

I grimace, *Probably so the court doesn't catch wind that the Seelie King's second daughter spends her time conversing with the horses like a crazy person.*

I could only imagine what sort of rumors would circulate if that little piece of information managed to get out. Not only would I be deemed as cursed and contagious by the courtiers, but mentally deranged as well.

Back in the stables, the usual stablehand, Regis, helps me to dismount. He's a gruff older male with lines around his eyes-a rarity for the fae. He isn't one for conversation, but I think I'm slowly wearing him down into tolerating my presence a little more since I started bringing him muffins when I come down for rides. Now instead of outright glaring at my attempts to engage him in conversation, he simply grunts blandly. Progress!

I make an effort to help Regis as he unsaddles Prim and begins the task of rubbing her down after her run. The ride tired me out more than I want to admit, though, and I finally gave up, lowering myself down onto a nearby bale of hay so I could catch my breath.

I stretch my legs out in front of me, the muscles in my lower back complaining from the strain the ride put on them.

"I think that ride may be the most excitement I get today Regis," I admit, picking at the hay that's stabbing into my leg through my plain gray riding dress, "What about you? Any grand plans for the evening?"

He harrumphs a low noise in the back of his throat, not pausing as he works the brush over the whinnying mare-

"I thought I might find you here," Lucia's light voice echoes through the stables and I startle at the sound, "Lily, tell me you're not harassing the servants again. It makes it hard for them to do their jobs."

I turn in time to watch Lucia's boots primly pick her way across the stable floors. She lifts her fashionable, pastel purple dress to keep her hem from dragging along the ground. Her pert nose scrunches up at the smell of the horses and hay.

"I'm not harassing anyone. Right, Regis?" I say, shooting him my most winning smile.

The stablehand doesn't back me up like I'm hoping he will, just coughs dryly and bends at the waist in a respectful bow to Lucia before turning to lead Prim back to her stall. I grimace, as I watch him disappear around the corner. Those muffins must not be working as well as I thought.

Beside me, Lucia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb as if searching for patience she doesn't have. When she turns back to face me, her gaze sweeps over my harried, wind-swept appearance and her eyes visibly soften around the edges.

At this moment, the glaring differences between my older sister and me couldn't be more obvious. This morning her gold hair frames her face in perfect shining ringlets and a warm glow emanates from her sun-kissed skin. The glow is a glimmer of her light-based magic and it subtly haloes her, making her look like sunshine personified.

As for meI can feel sweat misting my face and dirt-streaked strands of my white hair feather out from my braid in every direction. The simple, deep gray riding dress that Petra had dressed me in this morning is the antithesis of my sister's sunshiny one.

I would laugh at the ridiculousness of it all if I wasn't also struck with the stinging pang of feeling like I wasn't living up to some lofty, unseen expectation. My life is shadowed with narrowed, appraising eyes judging me against a series of standards I'm not even privy to. I sometimes feel as though I'm drowning in so many failures that I can't even keep track of them anymore.

My sister must see something in my eyes because she steps toward me and gently squeezes my shoulder, the floral scent of her perfume tickling my nose as the flowing fabric of her skirts bustles around us, "I'm glad you were feeling well enough to come down and get some exercise this morning."

"Yeah, me too," I say, smiling up at her.

Her expression shifts to something grim as she recalls the reason she came searching for me out here in the first place, "Father's asking to meet with you," She says.

The sudden, unexpectedness of her words sent a shock through me as palpable as if she'd used her magic on me."Father wants to see me?" My voice echoes hollowly as I try to make sense of it. Hope and dread war within me in equal measure. I haven't seen father in the two weeks since I returned home. He's refused to see me.

"Let's go." She urges.

Whatever reasons father has for wanting to meet with me, looking at the bleak downturn of Lucia's mouth I can't help but feel a rising sense of foreboding that they're anything but good.