Page 43 of Lady Knight and the Thief

Once Torren got Cypress to believe him that the Old Ones were waking, that the Hounds who signaled the beginning of the Wyld Hunt had already begun haunting the deepest of the dark corners of the Wylds, he would have the Scepter.

And then, Torren would be able to find the Old One’s heart and take control of the Wyld Hunt. Andthen, well. Then Caelith’s days would be numbered.

Torren was close, but he couldn’t get too ahead of himself. Everything still depended on Cypress believing what he told her. The oath they shared certainly helped with that, but she was dancing dangerously close to asking some hard-to-answer questions.

What was worse, Torren wasn’t sure how he would evengetthe damned thing without her help, now. Surely, Caelith would have placed the scepter under locked guard, day and night. Another attempt at a heist would be pointless.

“If you’re bothered by such a small blade, Thief, I guess that would explain your lack of lovers,” Cypress said, giving him a thorough examination. “A pity.”

“If you want to see the size of myblade, Cypress, just say so,” Torren said, winking.

Cypress scoffed. “Please. With the great sword you swing around, I already know enough, thank you.”

“So you agree, it’s big.” He said, wiggling his brows at her.

Cypress gave him a smug smile. “The opposite. What else could you be overcompensating for?”

Torren’s mouth gaped open, his feet stalling on the path toward their mounts.

Cypress laughed as she passed him, closing his still-open mouth with the barest of touches on his chin.

“Careful, now. You’ll start catching flies.”

“I cannot believe you would say that,” Torren said, finally taking another step.

“Was I supposed to inflate your ego?”

“No!” Torren insisted, but felt compelled to explain his use of a great sword nonetheless. “It’s just what feels natural. I’m not trying to insinuate anything with the size of my sword.”

“If you say so, Prince,” Cypress said as she mounted the sooty buckskin mare.

“Is this what all women think like?”

“What, that menfolk often have a sense of grandeur about them and think that if they swing a big enough sword, women will think they have a big cock between their legs too?” Cypress huffed an unamused laugh. “Please. The bigger the ego, well,” She said, gazing down to the waist of his pants. “Sorry about your luck.”

A very undignified squawk left Torren’s throat as he realized what she was saying. “I’ll have you know,”

“I really don’t feel the need to knowanything, Princeling. Mount your horse,” She said, pointing with her chin, leaning on the pommel of the saddle.

Torren sent the Lass another glare, took a few measured breaths to master his irritation, and mounted. “This way, Lass,” He said through gritted teeth, directing his horse down the path, the two horses once again connected by a length of rope.

“Is there anything I should know about before we meet more of your people?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Torren. I’m asking.”

“No harm will come to you while you are my guest, Cypress,” Torren retorted, emphasizing the use of her name, as she had.

“That’s no answer.”

Torren shrugged. “Does it matter?”

She sighed in resignation, though Torren could feel the anger seeping from her like a physical thing.

Slowly, the deep forest of the Wylds swallowed them once more, but the path kept opening up before him like a blooming flower. Every step he took was propelling him toward his eventual goal– killing Caelith and restoring Faerie to what it once was.

“Did you ever enjoy life at the Keep?” Cypress asked a while later when they’d stopped to give the horses a quick rest in a Faerie circle that a small stream of spring water ran through.