Chapter 23

At the command of their captain, the remaining group of shifter soldiers hoists themselves back into their saddles, readying to continue on their patrols. I eye them warily as Damion leads me over to a deep black stallion waiting in wait on the edge of the road. I catch a few of the soldiers studying me with an interest that mirrors my own, but they avert their eyes quickly, giving us a wide berth as we walk.

I can't help but gape up at the stunning warhorse that Damion stops us in front of. The horse tilts his head down at me just as curious about me as I am about him. Very carefully, I reach out to lightly run my fingers over his shining black fur. The horse nickers happily under my touch, eagerly stamping his feet.

"He's gorgeous," I don't mean to say it out loud, but the words slip out before I realize it. The awe in my voice is evident enough that a blush rises to my cheeks.

To my immense surprise, Damion snorts behind me, "Don't let him hear you say that. He's arrogant enough as it is."

The horse in question sends what can only be described as a disdainful glance down at Damion and huffs out a displeased nickering sound. I can't help but smile at the exchange, "What's his name?"

"Brutus." I don't think I'm imagining the way his voice sounds like he's fighting a smile.

Living up to Damion's earlier representation, upon hearing his name, Brutus swishes his shining black mane as cockily as a peacock, preening. The Commander huffs out a quiet laugh and says, "Alright, you can continue admiring my horse later. Up you go, Princess."

I blink warily up at the large horse, bracing myself for the sheer amount of effort and energy it's going to take to simply lift myself into the saddle. But before I have the chance to work myself up to it, Damion's hands grasp lightly onto my hips. My breath catches in surprise, heart stuttering, as he lifts me easily over the saddle in a single movement. One second I'm on the ground, and the next I'm straddling the massive horse.

I grip the leather seat tightly just as he swings up into the saddle behind me. His heat and weight settle against my back, and I swallow hard as his muscled arms circle around my waist to grip onto the reins.

"I know how to ride a horse," I feel the need to inform him, "I can ride on my own."

"I'm confident that you could," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice, the lightness there, "even burning up with fever the way you are. Humor me, though. I'd prefer not having to worry that you're going to disappear on me the entire ride. Don't forget that I discovered you, not twenty minutes ago, while giving the Unseelie soldiers the slip." His words aren't condescending or indulgent. They ring with a sincerity that I can't ignore. His blatant confidence in my abilities warms me from the inside out more thoroughly than the fever ever could.

*I'd prefer not worrying you're going to disappear on me*. My lips curve in the hint of an unwitting smile but I quickly fight it back down.

I huffed under my breath, settling further into the saddle. With words drawn out and teasing, I say, "Well, I suppose if you *insist*, then I can't very well say no."

Behind me, his chest rumbles with a low chuckle, "Good girl."

Those two words send a bolt of lightning through my center and I pray to the Mother that he can't feel the shiver zinging its way up my spine.

I don't think I could be more grateful that the captain from earlier chooses that moment to maneuver his horse up beside Damion's black warhorse, Brutus. He serves as a welcome distraction as he asks Damion, "Are you certain you don't require an escort back to the palace, your majesty?"

"An escort won't be necessary."

The other man nods as if he expected as much, "We'll take our leave then, sir."

Each member of the patrol unit salutes to their Commander with that now familiar salute-a strike of their fists across their chest-before following the captain's lead-up as he begins advancing up the road.

As they go, Damion gives the horse a tap of his booted feet. The heat of his arms shifts around me as he tugs at the reins, leading us in the opposite direction of where the patrol is headed. As our horse, Brutus, picks up speed, my weight drifts back into the Commander's sturdy chest until I'm inadvertently leaning fully against him. I can't remember the last time I've ridden with someone like this-not since I was a child, maybe?

His arms cage me on both sides, but it doesn't feel constricting as I would have expected. The sure lines of his steady arms make me feel secure in a way that I can't quite understand. I'm not sure I even *want* to understand or look too closely at that fact.

Having the solid length of his body blocking me in like this drags back bits and pieces of memories of the earthstorm. Those long drawn-out moments that he'd blocked out the world and any danger with his body. Like that day, his leather-encased chest at my back is hard and unyielding. Like a formidable protective wall, he supports my weight easily as my body slants into his with our continually increasing pace.

My unbound hair flurries around us, blowing the loose strands around my head and tickling my face as it whips around in the wind. I'm positive that it's blowing in his face just as much as it is in mine--if not more so--but Damion doesn't brush it off or voice any complaints. Propped up against him the way I am, I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back, as he breathes deeply.

I should ask him where we're going-where he's taking me-but as the earth blurs beneath us, I can't find it in me to worry about that right now. I *should* be worried-maybe even terrified. But I'm not. I don't know whether to blame that horrible lack of self-preservation on the fever or just an unforgivable lapse in judgment. Probably a little of both.

The evening air carries a chill on it, but with the heat of his body pressed into my back and his massive form blocking out the majority of the wind cutting around us, I'm fully settled in a bubble of warmth that seeps its way through my thin traveling dress and into my skin.

As much as I try to fight it, the minutes tick by, and my eyes grow heavy. The small amount of restless sleep I'd managed to steal in the carriage earlier today was only enough to cut the edge off the wall of exhaustion settling over me. When the fever starts getting bad like this, after medicine, the best thing I can do is sleep. But I've never slept on a horse before, and the unsettling prospect has me forcing my eyes wide open.

Damion's voice is a low command near my ear, and I jolt a little at the unexpected sound, when he says, "Sleep. I won't let you fall." He promises.

Some instinctual part of myself must believe him because that simple assurance from him pushes my exhausted body over the precipice. And with my cheek pressed against his shoulder, tucked beneath his strong jaw, I manage to drift off into a deep, comfortable sleep.