“Where are we?” Rafe asked Jeremy.
“Sleepy Creek,” he said. The clopping of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone was a sound Rafe had heard only in films. But it was exactly the same. “We’re halfway to the palace.”
Jeremy swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, then grabbed both horses by the bridles and led them to the water.
Rafe dismounted Sparrowhawk with a groan.
“God—” he said with a half-strangled scream as pain spiked up his entire body, from his feet to his neck. If his muscles had been twigs, they all would have snapped. “Ahh…that is…not good.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeremy said, patting Sparrowhawk’s panting chest. “It only hurts the first time. That’s a lie. It hurts every time.”
“Highness?” A small voice spoke behind him. Rafe turned and saw a woman of about forty years old wearing a green velvet gown that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a Renaissance Faire.
“Me?” he said. He would never get used to it.
She stared at him with wide eyes.
“Prince Rafe? Is it you?” she asked.
“I…yes?”
The woman ran off, calling out, “The prince has returned! And our knight!”
Quickly, a crowd formed around them, a few dozen men and women, some with children perched on their shoulders or babies in their arms. They were all dressed like characters from books or old paintings except they were all ages and races, as if someone had gathered lost souls from every corner of the globe and dropped them into this old English village and said, “Welcome home.”
Impossible, wasn’t it? The uncanny feeling passed quickly when Rafe saw their eyes full of fear and hope.
The townspeople wanted nothing from him but to shake his hand and pat his shoulder. Jeremy’s too.
Welcome home, Highness. Oh, we’ve missed you, Sir Jay. Come to dine with us when you can, gents. We’ll roast a goose for you and have a dance.
Rafe caught himself smiling, greeting them like old friends.
“Highness?”
He turned toward a soft voice from behind him. The girl who’d spoken had a smudge of flour on her cheek, as if she’d run there from baking something.
“It’s really you?” she asked.
“Really me?” he asked. “I hope so.”
“You’re Prince Rafe?” Then she looked up at Jeremy. “And the Red Knight?”
“We are,” Jeremy said, answering for him.
She clasped her hands as if in prayer and hopped on her toes.
“You don’t remember me, I know, Highness. It was so long ago. Mama said you rode two villages over at night to fetch the midwife when I was being born breech and brought her back just in time to save us both. Mama asked you to name me.”
Rafe wanted to remember so badly it hurt. He wanted to remember that night ride and the panic he must have felt and the beautiful relief of returning in the nick of time. He wanted to remember hearing the baby’s cry, holding her, and naming her. What would he have named a baby girl?
“You’ve forgotten. It’s all right,” she said. “It was such a long time—”
“Firefly,” Jeremy said into his ear, which activated a very old primal memory.
Rafe said, “Kaylee?”
A smile wide as the horizon spread across her face. “You do remember.”
He couldn’t take that smile from her. “How could I forget?”
“Time to ride,” Tempest said. “Back to your homes!” she cried out to the crowd. “The Bright Boys are on the prowl. Don’t let your children out of your sight!”
Kaylee gave him one last shy smile before stepping forward suddenly and kissing Rafe on the cheek.
“They always say it’s good luck to kiss a prince,” she said, then ran away before he could say anything, even goodbye.
As some townspeople filed off, many lingered a moment to shake Rafe’s and Jeremy’s hands. A few women gave them quick embraces. All of them called him Highness, Your Highness, My Prince, Prince Rafe.
When they were gone, Rafe turned to Jeremy. “How did you forget to tell me I was a prince here?”
“I also forgot to tell you I was a knight.”
Rafe glared at him. “You’re a bad knight.”
Jeremy only grinned. “That’s not what she said.”
“Asshole.”
