“Today, we shall venture a little farther afield.”
Priscilla had grown accustomed to Wilhelm’s terse way of stating his intentions, always delivered with a curt bow.
“Very well,” she replied.
Marie, who had been silently observing with a knowing smile, wasted no time in ordering a maid to prepare provisions. Priscilla mounted her horse and followed Wilhelm out.
“The day is quite warm,” she remarked.
The thick scent of roses heralded the approaching summer in Swane. In ten days, she would leave for the Duchy of Carter. Once she boarded the ship, she had no way of knowing when—or if ever—she would return. If relations between Swanton and the Duchy soured, she would be caught in the most perilous position. But that was the nature of her fate—a princess sent to foreign lands, bound by duty, be it as a political pawn or a hostage. She had long since resigned herself to that truth.
“It looks like it will rain. Perhaps we should abandon our outing for today?”
