Page 17 of Fate's Wicked Oath

“Apologies, I’m just not accustomed to golden brutes possessing any depth.”

Faren scoffed, but the comment stung. Did she really resent his Order that much?She’s a criminal, he reminded himself.Of course, she resents your Order.Your Order represents lawfulness and honor—of which she has neither.

“What’syourhorse’s name?” he asked. “Midnight? Shadow?”

“Simon,” Mariana replied. “Came with the name and I felt weird about changing it.”

“You have feelings?”

Her jaw pulsed. “On rare occasion.”

Their horses’ hooves clattered as they transferred from the manicured grass of the bailey to the cobblestones outside the castle gates. In the pallid light of morning, Faren could see the dark circles under Mariana’s eyes, the thin scar that bisected her full upper lip. Given the peril and hardship she’d endured, it was a wonder she had a sense of humor at all—but, then again, perhaps that’s how she’d survived the trials of her life.

That, and being a fucking menace.

He tightened his fists around the reins and tore his gaze from her profile, facing ahead. Going into this mission, he’d had a clear opinion of Mariana: uncooperative criminal. But the more he learned, the more conflicted he felt. Getting to know her was pertinent to his mission…but it also seemed dangerous, somehow, like walking across a frozen lake and not knowing the thickness of the ice.

You have a strong moral compass, Faren, Oderin had said.I chose you…because I want you to use it on this mission. The only way to navigate this slick footing would be to hold true to his honor.

Beyond the walls of Castle Might, they rode in tandem through Fenrir City’s winding streets. The capital had been built into the side of Mount Shield in a series of plateaus, the city a maze of switchbacks. All around them, neighborhoods were waking up: shopkeepers opening their shutters, folks queueing outside bakeries and butchers, merchants unloading crates in alleys, wagons and carriages congesting the roadways.

As they wove their way down the mountain, people pointed at Faren’s armor, called out with good cheer, and bowed their heads in respect. He’d never gotten used to the renown of his Order, but he wore it with pride, waving back to each and every citizen, reaching down to shake the hands extended to him. When a woman gripped his leg, he hid how his touch magic winced, and reined his horse to a halt to accept her favor. Mariana kept on, glancing over her shoulder with a look of confusion and disdain, as if the respect were an inconvenience.

Butthiswas the realm Faren served. It was a privilege to tend to its citizens. There were moments when Lord Haron’s short temper and fickle humor grated on Faren, but though the ruler controlled his Oath, his Order was loyal to the people, the land, Fenrir itself. There was nothing he loved more than feeling like he was an essential part of the realm’s function and protection. He’d decided long ago that if he were to die from his charge, he would not run from his Fate, but endeavor to make his lifematter. Faren wanted nothing more than to leave a mark before the end.

Mariana, on the other hand, was practically invisible to the revelers. She scoffed when folks praised Faren’s splendor, rolled her eyes when he responded in kind. But there was a tightness around her eyes, and he didn’t miss the way she curled her fingers in her horses’ mane as if to ground herself amid the hubbub.

As the city gate came into view, the crowd thickened, a bottleneck forming where guards were letting folks pass in or out. Faren and Mariana’s horses angled closer, causing Mariana’s leg to brush his, their stirrups knocking. Her grimace deepened, knuckles paling as she gripped her reins.

Faren did not mind the commotion, but his stomach was starting to grumble about the breakfast he’d skipped. Catchingsight of a blue checkered awning down a side street, he swung off his horse and handed Mariana the reins.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

“I’m getting us breakfast.”

She gestured toward the gate. “We’re almost through.”

“It’ll take another ten minutes at least,” Faren said. “Plenty of time.”

“But—”

“Do you want breakfast, or not?”

“Not,” Mariana said through clenched teeth.

Faren knew better. His sisters weremonsterswhen they were hungry, and while he had no reason to extend Mariana any kindness, there was no point in suffering on the first day of their journey. “I’ll be right back,” he repeated, then made his way through the throng.

Inside the bakery, the air was hot and smelled—decadently—of sweet buns and sausage and yeast. The line was long, snaking through the narrow shop, but when folks caught sight of his armor, they let him skip to the front. There were many privileges of being a Mighty Knight, and expedited baked goods were one of them.

After insisting to pay the baker—no matter how much she tried to give him a free breakfast—he returned to the crowd outside to find Mariana almost to the front of the line. By the time he made it back into the saddle, the guards were hailing them through. The moment they were clear of the worst of the crowd, in a burst of frustrated energy, Mariana urged her horse into a trot, skirting around the wagons and carts that clogged the city’s entrance.

Ten minutes later, once they were fully free of the hustle and bustle, Mariana slowed Simon to a walk. A soft rain began to fall, hissing on the puddles that made up the muddy road leadingsouth. Faren lifted his hood and dug through the baked goods he’d acquired.

“Here,” he said, riding close enough to pass Mariana a bundle wrapped in paper.

She eyed it warily, jaw set. She wore a cloak, but had not lifted her hood, and tiny droplets of rain beaded in her hair like diamonds. “I told you I didn’t want anything.”