The ride to the palace, which usually took twenty minutes, was over in five. Tempest was lathered in sweat as they skidded into the courtyard. Servants scattered like leaves in a gale, and guards scrambled to open the heavy inner gates.
Soren slid off the horse and caught Eris as she moved to dismount. He didn't let her feet touch the ground. He swept her up into a bridal carry this time, but there was nothing romantic about it. It was predatory. His grip was tight, his eyes fixed on the path to their wing of the palace.
"At least let me wash up," Eris tried, her voice wavering as she attempted to sound reasonable. "I've been at the festival all day, Soren. I'm covered in snow and woodsmoke and... "
"No need," he cut her off, his voice dark as he strode down the vaulted corridor. "I like you exactly like this. Smelling of the North."
"Soren, I'm covered in... "
