The silence stretched like a bowstring ready to snap. Soldiers shifted uneasily in their saddles, boots scuffing against stirrups. Horses stamped and snorted, tails swishing against the pressing weight of tension.
Alistair's jaw was tight, his knuckles white against the reins. One could almost believe he meant to strangle the leather straps rather than guide his horse.
Lucian, at last, broke the quiet with an airy suggestion that sounded as though it had occurred to him only just now. "It seems simplest," he said, light as a breeze, "that I ride with you, Prince Alistair. After all, it was your brilliant idea to tether me to this expedition in the first place. Surely it is your duty to see me safely home."
Heads turned. The forest path seemed to lean inward, listening.
Alistair's head snapped toward him, his expression feral. "Over my dead body."
