She had to get out. Not out riding with Lady Flidais and her attendants, all dressed up and talk, talk, talking along the way, expecting answers Cara could not give, expecting smiles she did not have in her. Not out walking to the settlement, so Lady Flidais could drop in to every cottage and check on someone’s welfare. Out, away from the prince’s holdings, out where only wild things lived, out beyond the trappings and the boundaries of this place where she didn’t fit and never would. Out to run, to climb, to hide. To go home. Only she couldn’t go. Not home, not out, not anywhere.

There was no point in asking Lady Flidais or any of her women – Deirdre or Nuala or Mhairi – because every single person in the household knew Cara was not allowed beyond the walls without an escort. And escort didn’t mean just one of them, it meant a guard as well. What did they think she was, a wayward child of six? It almost made her wish she were a married woman and ruler of her own household. But she didn’t wish that. She would not have her own household, not truly, until Father died, and she couldn’t bear to think about that. Even while she cursed him for sending her away, she still loved him. He was her family. Why couldn’t he live forever?

There was a spot near the stables where, if she screwed up her eyes and concentrated hard, she could almost catch a glimpse of the home forest. The hills rose in the distance, lovely under their green blanket. It looked far away but it wasn’t so far. Barely an hour on horseback. She could be there and back on the same day. Why would Father forbid that? And why wouldn’t he explain? If she could get there, if she could surprise him by simply turning up, maybe she would find out.