The wind had teeth that morning, sharp and unrelenting. Edeana tugged her cloak tighter around her shoulders as her mare paced carefully through the slush-packed road. Her thighs already ached, and they weren't even halfway to the capital. Riding across the country with your new husband on a great adventure was turning out to be a whole lot less romantic than the books made it out to be. In truth, it was mostly trying to ignore the dull pain creeping up her legs while also trying not to look like a fool in front of the man who rode like he was born in a saddle. The only saving grace in this whole situation was that her new husband hadn't even blinked when she chose to ride astride for their journey down south.
Devlin rode ahead of her, tall and silent on his black stallion. His posture was effortless, like he had been made for the saddle. He hadn't said more than ten words since they'd departed—just nods and clipped commands when necessary. As if they were soldiers marching instead of newlyweds traveling to the country's capital to start a new life.
Well, she supposed they were barely married. No vows, no kiss, no celebration. Just ink on parchment and a mutual disinterest in pretending otherwise. Still, the silence between them had started to weigh on her. She urged her mare forward until she rode beside him.
"Is this how you usually travel?" she asked, her voice light, trying to fill the quiet. "Just… in silence?"
He glanced over, catching her gaze briefly, then looked back to the road, his eyes scanning the distance. "I didn't mean to be quiet," he said, his voice thoughtful. "I'm just… watching for trouble. It's easier when you stay alert."
Edeana considered his words as she shifted in her saddle yet again, trying—and failing—to keep her discomfort from showing. She adjusted her grip on the reins, biting back a wince as her mare stepped into another slushy dip in the road.
"You're stiff," Devlin said after a moment of silence between them.
She blinked and let out a sheepish smile. "That wasn't very subtle of me, was it?"
He returned her smile with an amused grin before nodding toward the sparse stump of trees just off the road, where the snow thinned a little under the cover of bare branches.
"We'll stop there. Midday's not far off. The horses could use the rest."
Edeana nodded, more relieved than she wanted to admit. "Thank you."
Once they reached the trees, Devlin dismounted with practiced ease. She followed, a little more cautiously, her legs wobbling as her feet hit the ground. She grimaced but tried to hide it.
Devlin noticed anyway.
"You've handling it better than most would," he said as he reached into one of the saddle packs. "This road's a mess even in summer."
"That sounds suspiciously like praise."
"Maybe."
He pulled out a small wrapped bundle and handed it to her—thick brown paper tied with twine. Inside was the simple fare packed that morning: a hunk of bread, a wedge of sharp cheese, and a slice of dried apple. Familiar, sturdy food from the Duke's household. Edeana took it gratefully and sat on a dry patch of log, watching the wind toy with the snowflakes.
Devlin sat across from her, leaning back against a fallen tree trunk. For a few minutes, they ate in silence. The kind that wasn't uncomfortable—just cautious, like stepping onto a frozen lake and listening for cracks.
As she chewed on a bite of bread, Edeana couldn't help but study Devlin, noticing how his dark cloak was dusted with flecks of snow, how the muscles in his jaw worked as he chewed. It was strange, but the more she observed him, the more she saw the subtle tension in his posture, the way he held his reins almost as though they were a shield. Was it from the cold? Or something else?
"I apologize I hadn't been able to provide better accommodations thus far," Devlin said eventually.
She glanced up, surprised at his apology. "Well, it's definitely not how I imagined my first day as a married woman."
"Nor mine."
She tore a piece of bread and studied it, avoiding his gaze. She could feel him still watching her, that unsettling intensity in the quiet of the woods. "I'm new to all of this. I hadn't even known that Lady Seraphine existed before yesterday. I received a missive from the Duke only a week ago, and as soon as I'd arrived from Leighton, I had been ordered to marry a nameless stranger. It's all been a whirlwind, and if I'm being honest, I half expected to be sent back to Leighton after our wedding ceremony this morning."
"Would you have preferred that?"
Edeana considered that, then shook her head. "No. There isn't much waiting for me back in Leighton."
He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "Thank you for your honesty. Even if it's awkward."
She looked at him for a long moment. She hadn't expected that answer—hadn't expected the quiet frankness in his voice. He didn't make eye contact often, but when he did, it felt like he was peeling back layers, showing her a bit of his thoughts without flinching.
"Then I suppose we're starting well."
"So far," he said. "We've shared no more than ten words, a saddle-sore silence, and now half a loaf of cheese."
Edeana gave a quiet laugh. It caught her by surprise, and she softened, just a little.
"Not the worst beginning," she said.
"No," Devlin agreed. "Could be much worse."
Edeana couldn't help but smile, the dryness of his words almost making her forget the tension that had been hanging between them. "Quite the romantic beginning."
He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in what might have been the faintest hint of a smile. "I never promised romance."
"And here I was, hoping for an elaborate courtship," she teased, but her voice softened slightly as she turned her gaze back to the half-eaten bread in her hands. "I suppose this... this is as close to a beginning as I'll get."
He studied her again, and for the first time, the quiet intensity in his gaze seemed less unsettling. "Maybe beginnings don't have to be grand. Sometimes they're just small moments. Like this one."
Edeana didn't respond immediately, lost in thought. It was strange, how quickly the silence had settled between them again—this time, not as uncomfortable. As they sat there, the faint sound of wind stirring the leaves overhead, she found herself wondering if she was beginning to understand him, or if, like him, she was merely peeling back the layers of someone still too much of a mystery.
"You're not much for words, are you?" she asked after a beat, half-laughing to herself.
His gaze flicked to her briefly before he shrugged. "I prefer them when they're worth saying."
They sat there a while longer, letting the cold settle less sharply around them, and for the first time since morning, the distance between them didn't feel quite so wide. Her legs still ached, but it was easier to breathe now, the pressure of the silence easing just slightly. The simple meal, and perhaps his quiet company, had somehow made the exhaustion more bearable.
Devlin stood, brushing snow off his gloves. "We'll ride until Blackmere tonight," he said, adjusting the strap of his saddlebag. "It's not far—maybe five more hours at a steady pace. There's an old inn there. Stables, decent roof, nothing fancy."
Edeana raised an eyebrow. "Five more hours?" She tried not to sound defeated. Her legs already felt like bruised fruit, and the thought of mounting again made her want to weep—or bite someone.
He seemed to read her hesitation.
"It's not ideal, I know," he added. "But it's only a day's ride until we reach Wendlyn. From there, the roads are easier. Coaches run from the northern waystation into the capital."
Edeana blinked. "Coaches?"
"Stagecoaches. Carrier wagons, too, if you're not picky. Once we reach Wendlyn, you won't need to ride your mare unless you want to."
The relief nearly made her sag. She didn't trust herself not to show it, so she focused on rewrapping the leftover bread instead.
"You've thought this through."
Devlin gave her a bold wink. "Anything for my blushing bride."
Returning his smile, Edeana did her best to squash the tender feelings building up within her.
They rode side by side for a while, the silence between them lighter now. Edeana stole a glance at him—his face was harder to read now, but there was a flicker of something in his expression as he looked ahead, something fleeting like the glint of sunlight through clouds.
Eventually, Edeana spoke. "And when we reach the capital—what then?"
Devlin didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened, but not in discomfort. Just consideration.
"I would need to meet with my uncle. He's the head steward to the royal household."
That surprised her. She turned to look at him properly.
"You have family at court?"
"Of a sort." Devlin kept his gaze on the road ahead. "He raised me after my parents died. Got me work in the household staff. I've written to him about my predicament and he said there'd be something for me when I returned."
She hesitated. "And what of me? Will you require me to find employment in the palace too?"
He looked over, meeting her gaze. His eyes were steady, the faintest shadow of something hidden behind them. "Only if that is what you desire. You'll have food. A roof. A place to stay." A pause. "I'm not going to let you starve, if that's what you're worried about."
It was said plainly, without condescension. Still, something in her curled up, cautious.
"Thank you for your generosity, dear sir," she said.
"I take my duty very seriously," he replied. "We're married, Edeana. Even if it wasn't by choice, it means something. I hope to provide for you."
She wasn't sure how to respond to that. Not yet. So instead, she looked toward the horizon, where the clouds were thinning and the sunlight—weak but present—broke through in slivers of gold.