The iron-rimmed carriage wheels clattered over the granite stones of the capital highway.
Inside, three goose-feather quilts made a soft nest across the velvet bench. Kaelen Vance lay flat on his back, his heels resting on a travel hamper. Resting against his ribs was Claire Vance’s scuffed leather recipe book.
Tucked neatly inside the recipe book’s cracked binding was Book 4 of The Bandit King’s Secret Bride.
Kaelen turned a page with his thumb. A good novel was like slow-cooked pork belly. If you chewed too fast, you missed the grease.
Old Barnaby thinks the capital is full of glory, Kaelen thought. In reality, it is just twenty thousand people looking for reasons to wake me up before noon.
Opposite him, Mina pressed her nose against the glass. A tiny wisp of pale blue vapor curled from her knuckles, frosting the pane before she pulled her hands into her sleeves.
“Brother,” Mina whispered. “The outer walls are white stone. They are taller than the towers at Red-River. Four flying sloops are docked above the grand pavilion.”
“Don’t look at the sloops, Mina,” Kaelen said mildly. “Looking at ships makes people think of travel. Travel makes people walk. Walking leads directly to sweat.”
