“Any time you wish.”
Romero nickered and took a couple of dancing steps to avoid some fallen branches. Branford held me steady, and we started downhill. He gripped the reins with one of his hands and guided the steed while the other reached up and pushed my hair away from my face. I turned to look at him and found him smiling.
“You are so beautiful,” he said.
“You don’t have to say that.” I shook my head. I knew he felt he needed to say such things to me, but I wanted him to know I did not expect it from him.
“What do you mean?” he asked. He seemed truly confused.
“I know I'm not beautiful,” I said. “You don't have to say I am.”
“Who says you're not?” Branford’s eyes narrowed and darkened.
“Well, um... Princess Whitney,” I mumbled.
Branford took a breath and blew it down his nose in a huff. I felt the muscles of his arm tense around my middle.
“Whose bed do you share?” His words were a low growl in his throat.
“Yours.”
“And whose opinion on your beauty matters more—the spoiled-brat princess in another kingdom or the man whose bed you share?”
I felt heat in my face and turned away from his look, but he would have none of it. He released the reins, grasped my chin with his fingers, and brought me to face his blazing eyes.
“Whose?” he asked, demanding my answer.
“Yours,” I said quietly, sheepishly. I felt his chest push against my back as he took another breath.
“Don’t forget that,” he said though his tone was not as harsh. I nodded, and he released my chin, and we rode in silence.
“I will have to ask Sunniva what I will need to teach you, aside from reading,” Branford said after we had crossed the small creek. After a moment, he looked at me. “Do you wish to learn?”
“Learn to read?” I gasped.
“Yes.”
&n
bsp; “I never…I never considered it.”
“You should know how to read,” Branford said quietly. “Someday you will need to know.”
“Why?”
“Because you will be my queen,” Branford said as his voice turned more serious. “If you need to send a message to me or to another kingdom, you will need to be able to write it yourself.”
“Couldn’t someone write it for me?” I asked.
“It may be a private message,” he said. “Even if it is not, how will you know for sure if the messenger has written what you actually said?”
“Why would they not? I mean…wouldn’t they, um…have to write what I said? I mean, if I were the queen?”
“If they were loyal, yes,” Branford said with a nod, “but if they knew you could not read, they could take advantage of you. I don’t want to take that risk.”
The whole idea of disloyalty was so foreign to me, I didn’t truly understand. For as long as I could remember, anything even remotely disloyal meant death. Why would anyone risk such a thing? Branford had obviously felt such betrayal, and though I knew of some who were angry enough at nobles to voice their opinions, I never would have thought to act on it. But if Branford was concerned, then I would have to accept that it could happen, and I would have to take steps to make sure I would never jeopardize the security of Silverhelm or my husband.
“Then I will have to learn.”