Meanwhile, Celeste was galloping as fast as her horse would carry her, determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and that deranged spectacle.
She made a wide circle around the perimeter of their camp, scanning every shadow for any lurking goblin who might have stayed behind.
Aside from a few scrawny magic beasts scampering out of her way, she found nothing.
No footprints, no tracks—nothing at all to confirm he'd even been here.
A tiny, persistent voice in her mind suggested he'd lied, that the entire absurd panty-bargain was some elaborate distraction.
But she shook it off.
The rain had been pouring minutes ago, any prints would have washed away long before she'd finished her patrol.
She decided not to think about it further. She'd done her part, embarrassing or not.
With a final kick to her horse's sides, she galloped straight back into the tents.
One hand clutching her gown tight against the wind as it threatened to whip clean off her thighs.
