The next day dawned bright and sunny, albeit slightly chilly. Beatrix woke relatively early of her own accord, and padded over to the window. The rain of yesterday was gone, leaving a crisp, fresh morning. It reminded her that her horse, Kiara, hadn’t been ridden for a couple of days. The servants usually exercised the beautiful grey mare each day, but Beatrix always tried to go out with her horse as often as possible. Kiara had been a gift from the King a year ago. Somehow, the horse made her feel close to him.
It had been Owain who taught her horsemanship. It had been he that she had ridden with through the woods like a faerytale princess with her perfect prince. And he had laughed when she’d first been so scared of falling off. He’d been a good teacher, she remembered. A good teacher, and a good man.
He had not killed his father.
‘Oh, Milady! You’re up already,’ exclaimed Carla, coming into the bedchamber and brushing away Beatrix’s thoughts as if they were merely cobwebs left over from a bygone age.
‘I will ride out today,’ Beatrix informed her maid imperiously. ‘Prepare my riding clothes.’
‘Yes, Milady, of course.’