Rosamund
He was trying to kill me.
That was the only explanation for the pace he was setting. Nevan rode as though the road owed him something, his dark horse eating up the ground in long, effortless strides while I bounced behind them on the golden mare like a sack of flour.
I gripped the reins so tightly my knuckles ached. My thighs burned from clamping around the horse's sides, my hair had come completely undone within the first ten minutes, and twice I'd fallen so far behind that he had to circle back and wait for me, sitting perfectly still in his saddle like someone who had endless patience and no sympathy whatsoever.
The second time I almost fell, I cursed at him for bringing me on this trip, wondering if this was punishment for falling asleep in Julian's bed. He turned his face away, but I could have sworn his shoulders shook. He was clearly enjoying the show I was putting on for him.
