Brannie adored her.

But clearly not all royals were rolling in gold. The Beeton-Holmes castle was on the small side. The castle grounds damn near tiny, with just a few guards protecting them. But despite the sparseness of everything else, the stables were glorious and the few horses they had were shiny and beautiful. Like they were groomed every day, which seemed strange.

“Show horses,” Aidan remarked once they were inside.

“Show them to whom?”

“Before the war, there were show events where royals from around the land would bring their prized horses to be judged for strength, beauty, and breeding. And you don’t keep amazing show horses in shitty stables, even if it means you live in a tiny castle with few servants.”

“Shouldn’t they have more horses? These stables are huge.”

“Perhaps they gave the horses to the army for battle.”

Brannie walked past the few animals in residence. “But . . . they’re not big enough to be used in battle. Look at this one. Her legs are so . . . thin.”

“Elegant.”

“What?”

“Her legs are elegant, not thin.”

“Elegant . . . and breakable. I wouldn’t even eat her. Like gnawing on a chicken bone.”

Aidan, chuckling, led their two riderless horses to their own stalls before he came back for his friends.

Taking a quick look around, Aidan pointed at a roomy stall by the doors. “Let’s put them here.”

“No,” an old woman said, coming into the stable. She carried a weighted-down bag and had on a gray wool shawl. She was the healer.

“Put them in the back stalls, past the double doors,” she ordered. “That’s where I treat injured men and it’ll allow them to get some quiet. She glanced over Uther and Caswyn, who was being held up by Brannie and Aidan. “They’ll need the sleep.”

“We need them ready to go by tomorrow,” Brannie told her.

“Maybe this one.” She gestured at Uther. “He probably just needs a splint.” She leaned in closer, trying to look into Caswyn’s face; his head was down, his eyes closed. He was, thankfully, still breathing, but that was it. “This one . . . this one will need more.”

She touched Caswyn’s face to lift his chin, but quickly pulled her hand back, her eyes widening and locking on Brannie and Aidan.

This woman wasn’t just a healer . . . she was a witch. Her power had told her what they were as soon as she’d touched Caswyn.

When she took a step back, Brannie lifted her hands, palms out, and said softly, “We’re not here to hurt anyone. We just need a safe place to stay so we can heal.”

The witch continued to gaze at them, eyes narrowed in obvious distrust. But then Caswyn could no longer hold himself up, and Aidan nearly went down with him.

“To the back,” the witch ordered. “Quickly.”

* * *

Brannie helped him carry Caswyn to the back and, together, they carefully laid him out in a stall on top of a nice pile of straw.