Temmin set out on his early morning ride the next day with thoughts of Allis. He saw the multitudes of green in her eyes everywhere: pale, tender new leaves; ferns lacy and bright; the deep moss blanketing the tree trunks. Nothing held him back now but his father, who could only disapprove, not stop him. He said the nobility would be angry. Why would that matter? Who could stand against the royal family? And why should he care about what his father feared? The King didn't care about anything other than molding his son into a copy of himself.
He rode through the King's Woods, already knowing it by rote and absorbed in his thoughts, when he noticed a movement up ahead, not far from where he'd found Arta crying. Had she returned, or was it a deer hiding in the underbrush? As he drew nearer, the figure moved toward him, not away from him; it was no deer, but a man.Read the rest of this post