Page 46 of A Fragile Enchantment

He ducked to retrieve a riding crop from where it leaned on the side of the stall. Above the collar of his overcoat, his neck flushed a lovely shade of pink.

“Well done, Niamh.” Sinclair patted the palfrey’s neck affectionately. “You look like a natural.”

Kit pressed the riding crop into her hands but did not let go. His displeasure made itself plain on his face. “Don’t be reckless. And keep your wits about you for once in your life. If you fall, there’s no easy way out of the saddle. You’ll flip underneath your mount and be dashed under its hooves.”

A shudder tore through her at the image, but she couldn’t fight back the petulant impulse to quarrel with him. “I will be fine. Ihavemade it eighteen years without your fretting, you know.”

“Fretting?” he repeated indignantly. At last, he relinquished his hold on the crop. “I’m not fretting. Just don’t make yourself a nuisance.”

Sinclair gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. “Shall we?”

No more than five minutes into their ride, Niamh realized that Kit might have been right to caution her. Although Ferdinand’s ambling gait made it easier to balance, she still felt precarious, twisted in her seat as she was. The pleasant sensation of the wind slipping beneath her bonnet, at least, almost outweighed the nausea.

It was cool today, with thick skeins of fog drifting across the fields. Her spencer jacket, embroidered with roses in golden thread, kept out most of the morning chill. But the air still nipped at her nose and cheeks, stinging them pink. By the time they arrived at the white gates of Eye Park, Niamh sensed something amiss. Through the fog, she could see nothing. But the dull roar of manifold voices reached her through the gloom. A phantom army called to arms. Kit and Sinclair exchanged a grim look.

“We should turn back,” Kit said.

“Don’t be so dull,” Sinclair countered. “Let’s see what the fuss is about.”

He did not wait for a reply before taking off through the gates. Kit huffed out an impatient sigh. But his stallion was clearly eager to run, prancing beneath his rider. Kit hardly needed to ask before he raced after Sinclair, far faster than the polite, sedate trot Niamh had been advised they must maintain on the park trails. The fog swallowed them like a coin dropped into a dark well.

“All right, Ferdinand.” Niamh leaned over her palfrey’s neck, and his ear flicked attentively toward her. “We can keep up, right?”

The three of them rode toward the source of the uproar. They didn’t have to go far before Niamh saw them: thousands of people, gathered in the heart of Eye Park. It quickened her pulse with something like excitement—and maybe a little like fear. Never before had she seen so many people in one place. In the distance, even more of them poured off the hillside: a veritable parade marching in from all corners of the city. Some of them busied themselves pitching tents. By the looks of it, they intended to stay for a while, installed in the heart of high society’s social life.

Sinclair pulled his horse up alongside another gentleman, who had stopped with a small group to watch the proceedings. “Excuse me, sir. What’s all this?”

“Helen Carlile,” he replied. “That woman has some gall toestablish her encampment here. She and Lovelace clearly mean to incite the Machlish into another rebellion! Look at them, gathered like an army.”

Machlish?So these were all the servants who’d walked away from their jobs in grand houses. When Niamh looked out over the gathered masses, her heart squeezed with homesickness. All of them dressed like they did in Caterlow, their clothes homespun and dirtied from travel. Their skin, toughened and browned from work, made them look as though they’d grown from the earth itself. None of them carried weapons.

The gentleman’s eyes found Kit, and his face broke open with astonishment. “Your Highness. My sincerest apologies. I did not see you there. If I may be so bold to say, sir, it’s a comfort to know you are here. I hope you can talk some sense into Carlile. If not, I suppose that’s what the Kings Guard is for. This kind of impertinence is not to be borne.”

Before Kit could reply, the man tipped his hat and rode away.

Kit tightened his grip on the reins. His stallion pawed at the upturned grass. “If I call the Kings Guard, we’ll have bloodshed on our hands.”

Niamh’s heart leapt into her throat. He couldn’t. Gathering in a public space surely couldn’t be a crime.

Sinclair frowned. “I’ll give Carlile some credit. She has balls.”

“She’s a fool,” Kit said darkly, “if she thinks this can end well.”

“She’s desperate. You know as well as I do what it’s like to get Jack to listen. He’s as stubborn as you are. The question is, are you as avoidant?”

It had the air of an old argument. Kit’s mouth twitched like he wanted to reply, but he bit his tongue.

“The nobility is only going to get more antsy the longer this goes on,” Sinclair continued. “Someone has to do something before it turns ugly.”

They stood on the hill, gazing down at the growing crowd. Theypressed in around a makeshift stage, made of stacked timber and shipping crates. A trio, too hazy in the mist for Niamh to make out clearly, had climbed atop it. The organizers, she surmised. Flags whipped and snapped in the breeze.UNITY, one declared in plain black thread.STRENGTH. The others bore the insignia of the revolution, the same one that had been chalked on Jack’s dance floor: the sun with its searing rays. The energy crackling among the masses was unmistakable. Anger—and stronger yet, hope.

Niamh looked up at Kit. “What will you do?”

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“How can you say such a thing?” As best she could, Niamh maneuvered Ferdinand around so she faced him head-on. “You are aprince.”

“A lot of good that title has done me.” He met her eyes at last. “What will you have me do? I’m the second son. I’ve no allies or respect in court. Jack created this problem, and he clearly intends to handle it as he sees fit. I don’t owe him anything.”