Page 16 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Clear on the other side of his room, Mariana was wiping her arm on her trousers with a look of abject disgust. Faren noted Warner’s empty mattress behind her—thank the Fates his bunkmate had found another person’s bed to sleep in last night; he would’ve never lived this down—then returned his attention to Mariana.

“Will you be waking me like that every morning on this mission?” Faren asked.

Mariana scowled as if he’d just dumped a bucket of cold water on her head.

He smirked and went over to the neatly folded clothes resting atop his already packed bag. With his back to Mariana—demonstrating howunthreatened he felt in her presence—hepulled on a loose shirt. It took all of three minutes to fasten his armor into place and strap his twin shortswords to his back.

When he faced her again, she was leaning against the desk with her arms crossed over her breastplate. A crease had formed between her eyebrows, as if she were annoyed by his nonchalance.Good.

Faren shouldered his pack and gestured toward the door, which was already ajar from her break-in. (Howhad she even gotten in here?) “Shall we?”

Mariana pushed off the desk and strode toward him, clipping his arm with her shoulder as she walked past. He smelled her again—herbaceous and earthy—and he tried not to like it too much as he followed her into the hall. A few Mighty Knights eyed her warily as she sauntered down the corridor, but when they spotted Faren—following unperturbed—they nodded at him without comment.

Outside the barracks, a gelding—dark gray, almost black—stood with one hind leg cocked in rest, his reins looped loosely around a hitching post. When Mariana neared, the horse perked up, nostrils fluttering with a low nicker of greeting. Mariana procured a small oat biscuit from her pocket and fed it to the beast, patting his neck.

Maiden Morta Killer, Lee had called her.Notorious thief, Shae had said.Kind to animals, Faren thought. He had to hand it to Mariana—she had range.

When she turned back to Faren, her brow furrowed. “What?”

He smoothed his features into a bored expression. “If I ask you to wait here while I retrieve my horse, will you be gone when I return?”

Mariana shrugged and swung up into the saddle. “You’ll find out, won’t you?”

“Deviant,” Faren muttered, heading for the stables.

“Prick,” Mariana called after him.

To his surprise, she was still in the courtyard when he returned atop his mount.

She took one look at his horse and burst out laughing, so loud and harsh that a pair of Mighty Knights at the other end of the green halted to stare in their direction.

“Could you have a more stereotypicalsteed?” she asked, practically wheezing. “You look like a fucking storybook character.”

Faren looked down at his dapple-gray warhorse, fitted with golden barding. “You mean I look like a knight in shining armor?”

“What’s his name?” Mariana went on, mocking. “Storm? Thunderbolt? Maximus?”

“Close. It’s Buttercup,” Faren said, patting his gelding’s neck.

“Wait, really?”

“No,” Faren said as they angled their horses toward the gates. “His name is Sunny.”

A snort.

“Seriously.”

“But he’s gray.”

Faren shrugged. “My sister Beatrice named him.”

“How old was she when she named him?”

“Twenty-eight.”

Mariana stifled another laugh, her cheeks tight with amusement, eyes squinting—unguarded, for the briefest of moments. “I’m surprised you didn’t insist on a more pretentious name.”

“Do you want me to be clichéd or not?”