WHEN AMELIA RETURNED to the stable yard leading Hyacinth’s horse beside her, almost an hour had passed. She was tired, cold, and very in want of a bath. She was also increasingly worried about the Princess, if for no other reason than a total lack of information.
She turned the erstwhile runaway horse over to a groom who came out to meet her, relieved to have help with the difficult animal. The stable yard was otherwise mostly empty, except for a man on the other side of it brushing down a horse. With a jolt of surprise she realized it was Arthur.
He looked over when she rode up to him and swung down.
“You caught him,” he said, nodding to Hyacinth’s horse.
“Yes. Eventually. He ran into the woods. It took forever. Is Hyacinth all right?”
“For the most part. Broken wrist. Our physician
