The road opened up before them again.
The snow fell lighter, in scattered flakes that landed on shoulders and hoods like small white embers, slowly melting. The silence of the road seemed almost welcome after the raucous spectacle of the young redhead and her broken carriage. Damon rode at his usual pace, relaxed in the saddle, his lance resting on his shoulder, as if the explosion minutes ago had been nothing more than another minor setback.
Ester, on the other hand, held the reins steady. Her blue eyes fixed on the horizon, but her mind was not there.
She relived every detail.
That irritating girl—so loud, so useless. Ester felt sick just thinking about the noblewoman's futility and feigned despair. And yet, it wasn't the girl who stole her concentration. It was Damon.
More specifically… Damon hugging her.
