The Girl of Fire and Thorns Read Online Free Page A

noticing the birdseed and rose petals that have stuck in his black hair. I put a hand to my head and wonder how long it will take for Ximena to brush the mess from my own hair. My nurse is already ensconced with Lady Aneaxi in the rearmost carriage, and suddenly, I can’t wait to see them again, to let them fuss over me. I resolve to seek them out at my earliest opportunity.
    The seat is plush blue velvet, but it lurches hard against my rear as we set off. The nobleza d’oro cheers heartily, and for a moment, the air is a haze of seed and flowers and mad waving. The carriage window sits high enough that I can see across the courtyard, over the celebrating horde, to my father and sister. The morning sun is high now, casting a golden glow on the adobe of my sprawling palace, on the walls of beautiful Amalur. I drink in the sight of archways with their green creepers, of cobbled paths and tiled fountains. Mostly, though, I am transfixed by my sister. Her eyes are closed and her lips move as if in prayer. The sun shimmers against her cheeks, against the moisture there.

Chapter 3
    A LEJANDRO seems content to bear my company in silence. I fold my hands into my lap to keep them still and pretend to be indifferent while the carriage rattles away from my home. I imagine all the ways to start a conversation. Alodia always comments about shipyard construction, or the price of wool, but such topics would feel odd in my mouth. I should ask him about our marriage, and why my sister demands such caution, but I find it less frightening just to be silent.
    The carriage lurches to a stop. The door swings open. Sunlight pours in around the enormous silhouette of a bodyguard, and I raise my forearm against the glare. Confused, I turn to my husband.
    “It’s all right, Elisa,” he says. “The guard will show you to your carriage.”
    My carriage? I try to puzzle this through. “My . . .”
    “It would be foolish for my wife and me to travel in the same carriage.”
    My face tingles at his words—“my wife”—even as I parse his meaning. I’ve read of such things. In times of war, important figureheads must never consolidate targets. I nod and take the guard’s hand. A rough hand, strong and unkind.
    “I’ll check in on you when we stop to eat,” my husband says.
    We step down and away from the carriage, the unkind guard and I, and he leads me toward the back of our dusty procession. Plumeria trees, heavy with white blossoms, border the road, and I can no longer see the palace. My mind whirls with analysis, as if I were in Master Geraldo’s study again, engrossed in the Belleza Guerra .
    Never consolidate targets.
    I freeze and look up at the guard. His face is youthful and handsome, in spite of its hard lines and sculpted mustache. Irritation flickers in dark eyes, but he composes himself quickly. “My lady, we must get you to your carriage.” His voice is rough and strained, as if speech comes rarely.
    Do not be afraid to be queen , Alodia had said. “You will address me as Your Highness.” My voice is steady and confident, like my sister’s. I feel ridiculous. “After the coronation, you will address me as Your Majesty.”
    He raises one brow. “Of course, Your Highness. Forgive me.” But his look is skeptical, mocking.
    “What is your name?”
    “Lord Hector, of His Majesty’s personal guard.”
    “I’m glad to meet you.” I flash a courteous smile, the way Alodia would. “Lord Hector, what are we in danger from?”
    My face warms and my heart drums in my chest. At any moment, he’ll recognize this bluff of insane confidence.
    But his brow softens, and he nods. “It is not my place to give details, Highness. But I will mention your question to His Majesty.”
    I can’t bring myself to prod further. He ushers me toward the back, where my ladies have already opened their carriage door. It’s covered in dust from being at the rear, but their arms are outstretched, waiting to help me step up.
    They want to know