After the executions, she’d spent the next three days in bed, only getting up to nibble on a meal. On the fourth day, Gerard had plotted to bring Lycus into her rooms to torment her. He was considering telling her that he was thinking of making her his mistress.

But before he finished plotting this latest taunt, an errand boy popped in to announce that Miss Goshawk had left her room to ask for an audience with Lord Aylmer. He refused, and Gerard then shifted his focus to finding out why and making certain that Kestrel’s requests were continuously denied.

He only succeeded in the first. After hedging a little, Gerard’s lordly father admitted that he was putting off speaking with the traitor’s daughter because he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. However, Gerard’s encouragements for Aylmer to keep the girl on the bottom of his priority list and let her stew in her rooms failed, as His Lordship must have come up with something, for only seven days later, he sent a page to deliver a note summoning her to his solar.

When Kestrel arrived for the audience, Lord Aylmer barred his son from the room, though he agreed to allow Lycus to stand guard.

She looked astoundingly well for a woman who’d watched her father and trusted members of her household be killed in front of her. The frothy violet day dress was more suitable for spring than the early winter weather, reminding him that she’d only packed for a short visit five months ago.

“What are your plans for me, my lord?” Kestrel’s tone was courteous, but her eyes were steely and assertive. “If you haven’t noticed, in light of my father’s crimes, I’m not very welcome here, so I’d like to go home.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible yet, Miss Goshawk.” Lord Aylmer shook his head as if the matter wasn’t fully in his hands. “Not until I decide upon a suitable husband for you, who will be given Raptor’s Roost as your dowry. Unless, of course you would prefer to join Mothers and Sisters. You’d be able to regain respectability and your blue robes sooner.”

And you would keep the Goshawk estate and all its income, Lycus thought silently, and have the ability to wash your hands of her and have her never seen in court again.

From the knowing glint in Kestrel’s eyes, she knew exactly what Lord Aylmer was trying for.

However, the little raptor was well-taught in cloaking her true feelings with courtesies and shook her head with a polite smile as she answered in a gracious voice that not even the most vituperative comportment tutor could find fault with. “Although I do so look forward to having my rank and respectability returned to me, and it is so kind of you to think of such an expedient solution, I’m afraid that I am unsuited to a monastic lifestyle.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” Lord Aylmer looked genuinely sorrowful at the quick and profitable solution to his problem being rejected. “Then marriage it shall be. Though you are fair of face and your dowry is ample, recent events will present a challenge in finding a suitable husband. Let’s start with reintroducing you to court. Come to supper tonight, and I’ll see that you also receive an invitation to Lady Moira’s tea tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Kestrel gave him a formal curtsy. “With your leave, I shall depart and go for a ride on my horse.”

“That sounds nice, dear,” Aylmer said absently. “Your cheeks could use a little color. Just be sure to take a guard.” Suddenly, his gaze shifted to Lycus. “Wolf, would you see that my ward has a safe ride?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lycus bowed and saw that Kestrel had already left. When he exited the Lord’s solar, he saw that she’d gotten further than expected. At the sight of fluttering violet skirts at the end of the north corridor, he realized she wasn’t going to her room to change into a proper riding habit, or even a cloak to keep herself warm in the winter cold.

“Fates damn it,” he grumbled and quickened his pace to a long stride. There was no way in Qua’ al-fán that he’d be seen chasing a woman through the palace.

He caught up with her when she reached the stables.

After one of the stableboys looked to him for permission, Lycus nodded, and saddled Reaper, his black Carthusian gelding. Kestrel’s horse was an Appaloosa mare bred from one of the Tolonquan tribes. Her name was Zephyr, and her white coat covered in black spots like a leopard made for a striking sight.

Taking no care for her delicate—and likely costly—gown, Kestrel hiked up her skirts, giving everyone a tantalizing glimpse of her shapely thighs as she leapt up to mount her horse. With a soft command and flick of the reins, the mare took off like a bolt of lightning before Lycus had finished saddling Reaper.

“Damn it,” he repeated and set off after her.

Watching the little raptor and her Appaloosa race through the usually sedate park area at breakneck speed, Lycus couldn’t help but be astonished at how good of a rider Kestrel was. But when she started having the horse leap over hedges and bench seats, he cursed with a mixture of worry and vexation.

Lycus pressed his knees into Zephyr’s flank, urging the gelding to speed up their pursuit. “She better not go into the woods.”

After clearing another hedge, Kestrel leaned in her saddle guiding her horse to turn sharply towards the path into the Lord’s Forest.

“Fuck!” he growled.

Although his size and the weight of his armor slowed him down, somewhat, Reaper was fast and powerful enough to catch up with Kestrel’s mare.

By the time he reached the woods, his worry had escalated to fear and his vexation to ire. The little raptor was riding like a bandit escaping the law. Frosty branches with dead leaves snagged her hair and tore at her dress.

Lycus urged his horse on, cursing the overgrown forest path, for with his height, the tree branches posed an even greater obstruction. Every time one sliced his face, he was transported back in time to the large monster who loomed over him when he was a child, digging the tip of a dagger into his cheeks and dragging the blade until blood flowed, bringing with it burning pain. With every scream there’d be another cut.

“Kestrel!” he shouted. “Stop.”

The woman ignored him, easily weaving around frosty boulders, ducking branches, and jumping over raised roots and fallen logs. If she hit a patch of ice….

When at last, they reached a snowy clearing, Zephyr slowed enough for Reaper to overtake her. Lycus guided the gelding to intercept the mare’s path, forcing Kestrel to pull back on the reins and bring them to a halt.

Burning with rage, he reached over and snatched the reins from her red ungloved hands. The mare’s eyes rolled back and she started to rear before Lycus whispered a magical command he’d learned from the tribes that calmed horses.

“What in the fuck were doing, riding like that?” he roared, releasing the Zephyr’s reins and seizing Kestrel’s shoulders. “Were you trying to get yourself or your horse killed?”

“Nothing of the sort!” She glared up at him, visibly struggling between the urge to escape his touch while keeping her seat in the saddle. “I know how to ride and Zephyr was born and bred for such runs!”

“Were you trying to escape then?”

“And go where?” Kestrel spread her arms wide in a futile gesture. “My mother’s line is dead and now so is my father’s. And no one would take in a traitor’s daughter.”

“Then why were you in such a hurry that you ruined such a lovely dress? Not to mention the fact that it’s colder than a eunuch’s bed out here.”

She heaved a sigh that echoed an eternity of pent-up frustration. Her cheeks, nose, and ears were crimson from the winter wind. “Because I needed to get out of the castle and I needed to go far, and to go fast.”

Lycus had felt the same need to escape, especially in his youth. But his fury with her reckless riding kept him from offering sympathy. “That still doesn’t mean you needed to race pell-mell through the forest, where a mere tree limb or patch of ice could result in you breaking your pretty neck. Or an encounter with a beast that would make you into its meal.”

“Maybe death would be better than to be handed over to someone like chattel to someone I could never love.” Kestrel replied hollowly.

“Love has never been a factor in marriages between people of your class.” Lycus reminded her, unable to conceal his disgust at the word, “love.” Such a debilitating, foolish emotion. “And it’s damn well not worth dying over. You need to stop reading those silly novels and listening to those pretty songs if they’re going to fill your pretty head with lies and inspire you to court death.”

“I’m very well aware those are fiction. Sir Gerard gave me that lesson.” Kestrel snapped. “But I refuse to let him take away the joy stories and music give me.”

Lycus thought of the part he’d been forced to play in ripping away her innocence and idealism and felt an uncomfortable, unfamiliar pang in his gut. The feeling intensified at her vehement refusal to give up on those whimsical, happy fictions when his own loss of innocence made him throw burn all of his books and stop watching troubadours sing.

“No matter, it would still be a waste for a pretty thing like you to end your life in an avoidable horse-riding accident.”

Kestrel’s blue eyes narrowed. “Thing I may be, but I wasn’t trying to end myself. I was merely overwhelmed with His Lordship’s decision about my future.”

Lycus winced inwardly at her retort. He’d meant to express that he didn’t want her to die, but the words had come out more crudely than intended. “If you don’t want to be married off, why did you turn down the opportunity to join the Mothers and Sisters?”

“Because I want to go home. I’d do almost anything to return to Raptor’s Roost.” Kestrel’s voice quavered with longing, her eyes distant as if imagining herself back at that home. “And if marriage to some lord or knight gives me the opportunity to be able to do so, and perhaps even own my own property, so be it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a measure of trepidation for whoever Lord Aylmer chooses to be my groom. Especially knowing that the better Lords and knights won’t want a traitor’s daughter.”

Well, the little raptor was smarter than he’d assumed when she’d first come to the capitol. Lycus didn’t know if that boded ill or well for her future. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, he found himself grasping for words of comfort. “With your charm and beauty, you should be able to have any man wrapped around your little finger in no time.”

Kestrel’s eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in suspicion. “Thank you for your chivalrous words, Sir. I’m now ready to ride back.”

“I’m not a knight and I’m not chivalrous,” Lycus grumbled, wondering why he’d even bothered to try to make the woman feel better. “And you have leaves in your hair.”

He reached out to pull a dead brown leaf from her fiery tresses. At first, she flinched, but then she remained still and allowed him to remove one leaf, then another. The little raptor’s hair was soft and beautiful shining embers in the dappled winter sunlight, but he knew she wouldn’t welcome praise from the likes of him.

Once her hair was free of leaves, they rode in silence back to the castle. Even though they returned through the servants’ entrance, there was no way to avoid everyone. Especially this afternoon. The castle was even more crowded than usual, with courtiers milling about the corridors and whispering excitedly about something. A hush fell over them all when Kestrel and Lycus walked by. The sight of Kestrel’s torn dress, red face, and scratched cheeks sent them into a flurry of speculating looks and whispers.

From the fearful glances Lycus received, he could only imagine what they assumed he’d done to her.

He glared back at them. Let them think the worst. After being a glorified chaperone far too often, he could use the reminder of his cruel reputation. It would keep people afraid.

“Bring wine to Lady Goshawk’s chambers,” he barked at the first servant to make eye contact with him. The fates knew she could use a drink after her wild ride. They both could. On second thought…he frowned at her reddened ears and nose from the cold. “Bring hippocras. Hot.”

“B-but, the hippocras is for the nobles.”

With a snarl, Lycus seized the servant by the collar of his shirt and bent down until they were face to face. “She is Lord Aylmer’s ward, proclaimed so before the entire noble court. Are you saying a noble-born woman under the protection of the Lord Paramount of Wurrakia and who attained the rank of a blue-robed healer isn’t noble enough for the vat of spiced wine the kitchen keeps brewing all winter?”

“N-no, s-Sir Wolf.”

Lycus almost corrected the man, but then realized that pointing out the fact that he wasn’t a knight wouldn’t help his argument.

He released the man, who made a shaky bow before scurrying off, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll have the hippocras brought to Miss Goshawk’s chambers at once.”

When at last they reached Kestrel’s rooms, her maid rushed to her, trembling with excitement, at first not even noticing her mistress’s disheveled state. “Miss! The Queen Mother was just here!”

Kestrel gasped. “Kerainne Leonine?”

Millicent nodded.

“By the fates!” Kestrel cried out before the maid could say more. “I must speak with her. Fetch my blue damask gown.”

“She already left, Miss.” The maid spoke in a rush. “But I heard everything. The King—”

Before she could say anything else, there was a knock at the door. Lycus opened it to admit a shaky-eyed chambermaid with a flagon of steaming hippocras and two glasses. He took the tray and nodded in both thanks and dismissal.

Millicent and Kestrel both eyed him in curious surprise, as if they’d forgotten he was still in the room.

The maid recovered first. “Thank you for accompanying Miss Goshawk on her ride, Master Dane. I can look after her from here.”

“I’m sure you can.” Lycus matched her artificial tone as he lifted the flagon to fill the cups. “However, I’d like to hear more about this visit from the Queen Mother. And as the ride was cold, I had hippocras brought up for the lady.”

As Kestrel accepted the warm cup he offered, she regarded him with a suspicious frown. “No doubt you want to report everything to your master, Gerard.”

Though the second cup was doubtless meant for Millicent, Lycus filled it for himself and took a deep drink. “For one thing, Lord Aylmer is my master. For another, I have no need to report anything to him, as his father keeps him apprised of more than he needs to know. And he has Lord Vargus to fill in the rest. Now, let’s hear what Kerainne Leonine had to say.”

Millicent scowled at him, but as they both knew she had no ability to remove him. With a sigh, she marched to the small sideboard and fetched her own mug, taking her sweet time in filling it before continuing.

“From what I heard, the King is vexed that your father was arrested and executed without being informed, as his conspiring with Mephistopheles was treason against the world, not merely Wurrakia.”

Lycus held his breath, expecting Kestrel to be distraught at the reminder of her father’s terrible crime. Thankfully, she seemed to have processed it, for she merely gaped at Millicent in shock.

“Lord Aylmer didn’t inform the King?” Her eyes were wide with disbelief. “But he’d paid three visits to Raijin since Mephistopheles attacked. And attended one Conclave meeting!”

“Apparently His Lordship cited the write of sovereignty as reason to have not informed him. The Queen Mother wasn’t at all satisfied with that excuse, as treason is one of the excluded crimes from that document.” Millicent took a deep drink. “She’s said to have been quite angry when she learned the full details of Lord Cregan’s crime. One can only wonder about our lord’s reasoning behind neglecting to report it to the crown.”

Lycus was fairly certain he knew why. This would be the second time someone in Wurrakia had allied with the King’s enemy. Lord Aylmer was probably afraid of being blamed for Cregan’s treason. But he kept his theory to himself, knowing that if he joined the conversation, the women would be too nervous to speak openly.

“Kerainne then asked about you,” Millicent continued.

“Me?” Kestrel tilted her head to the side in a manner as birdlike as her namesake. “Why would she care about me?”

“She didn’t want to see an innocent punished. And though she didn’t protest his plans to betroth you to a knight of his choosing, she still wanted to speak with you directly to make sure you’re all right. When she learned you were off on a ride—” she paused to level a glare at Lycus as if the ride were his decision, “—she decided to take her leave, but warned Lord Aylmer that the King may want to speak with you directly about your father’s crime, so he’d best leave you alive, healthy, and accessible.”

Lycus agreed with the Queen Mother’s concern. It wasn’t unheard of for a lord’s new bride to perish of a mysterious accident. Especially if said bride came with an estate like Kestrel’s. Though Kerainne Leonine’s warning held some weight, it didn’t count as a direct command.

“She should have ordered him to postpone a betrothal,” he said aloud without thinking.

“Only the King can command our lord,” Millicent countered, giving him an odd look. “But that may well be what happens. Either way, Miss Goshawk will be wed eventually, so I must prepare her in finding a good match. That will require some woman-to-woman talk, so you may take your leave.”

For a moment, Lycus was tempted to stay to further vex the maid, but truly, he had no reason to remain. Besides, supper time was nearing and he didn’t want to miss out on the better cuts of meat. It was bad enough that the lords and ladies got the very best.

He finished the rest of the hippocras in a large swallow and inclined his head toward Kestrel before departing her chambers.

On his way down to the barracks, he received more sly looks from the braver men at arms, while women servants cowered with fear and exchanged whispers once he’d safely passed. How many had talked about Kestrel’s state when they’d returned to the castle?

Damn that foolhardy woman and her impulsive decision to go racing into the woods in an impractical dress. He would be glad of the day she was married off and his days of being a glorified chaperone and an instrument of torment came to an end.

Except…the thought of Kestrel’s impending marriage didn’t make fill him with the jubilation that it should have.

Maybe she’d made his life a little less boring.

Or maybe he’d had too much wine on an empty stomach.