After many hours, Arista had no idea where they were, nor did she care. The food faded into memory and she found herself once more near collapse. She rode bent over, resting on the horse’s neck and drifting in and out of sleep. She could not discern between dream and reality and would wake in a panic, certain she was falling. Finally, they stopped.

Everything was dark and cold. The ground was wet and she stood shivering once more. Her guides went back into their silent actions. This time, to Arista’s immense disappointment, no fire was made, and instead of a hot meal, they handed her strips of smoked meat, raw carrots, an onion quarter, and a triangle of hard, dry bread. She sat on the wet grass, feeling the moisture soak into her skirt and dampen her legs as she devoured the meal without a thought.

“Shouldn’t we get a shelter up?” she asked hopefully.

Royce looked up at the stars. “It looks clear.”

“But …” She was shocked when he spread out a cloth on the grass.

They mean to sleep right here—on the ground without even a tent!

Arista had three handmaids who dressed and undressed her daily. They bathed her and brushed her hair. Servants fluffed pillows and brought warm milk at bedtime. They tended the fireplace in shifts, quietly adding logs throughout the night. Sleeping in her carriage had been a hardship, sleeping on that ghastly cot in the dorm a torment—this was insane. Even peasants had hovels.

She wrapped her cloak tight against the night’s chill.

Will I even get a blanket?

Tired beyond memory, she got on her hands and knees and feebly brushed a small pile of dead leaves together to act as a mattress. Lying down, she felt them crunch and crinkle beneath her.

“Hold on,” Hadrian said, carrying over a bundle. He unrolled a canvas tarp. “I really need to make more of these. The pitch will keep the damp from soaking through.” He handed her a blanket as well. “Oh, there’s a nice little clearing just beyond those trees, just in case you need it.”

Why in the world would I need a—

“Oh,” she said, and managed a nod. Surely they would come upon a town soon. She could wait.

“Good night, Highness.”

She did not reply as Hadrian went a few paces away and assembled his own bed from pine boughs. Without a tent, there was no choice but to sleep in her dress, which left her trapped in a tight corset. Arista spread out the tarp, removed her shoes, and lay down while pulling the thin blanket up to her chin. Though utterly miserable, she stubbornly refused to show it. After all, common women lived every day under similar conditions, so she could as well. The argument was noble but gave little comfort.