When he saw his palm left hanging in the air, a flash of confusion crossed his face—like he’d just realized something precious had slipped from his grasp.
The spirit-steed grounds spread wide under the hot afternoon sun, smelling of dust and enchanted leather. Moonbred stallions raced across the field, their hooves thundering against the earth.
Myrielle had changed into a pale riding set embroidered with lunar sigils, the sunlight making her glow with deliberate radiance. Draven stood by her side, adjusting her gloves, tightening the saddle’s arcane straps—every motion gentle, practiced, intimate.
She turned suddenly, feigning surprise when her gaze fell upon me.
“Oh, you’re here too, Lunessa,” she said sweetly. “You were raised in the outer territories, weren’t you? Ever ridden a spirit-steed before?”
I froze a second, then shook my head. “No.”
That single word sent her friends into laughter.
“Of course she hasn’t! Probably spent her days mucking dens and chasing goats!”
“Careful—she might still smell like a barnyard omega!”
They pinched their noses, wrinkling them in mock disgust.
The laughter stabbed through me like shards of ice.