The Dreaming Hunt by Cindy Dees Page A

please.” She didn’t often resort to the polite but firm noble’s tone of command her mother had perfected and which she imitated now.
    Frowning, Hrothgar lowered the lock, and the faint glow around the doorway disappeared. But then he surprised her by tossing the key to Lizmorn. “You’ve got the door while I escort the White Heart.”
    â€œI’ve no need for an escort,” she protested. She really just wanted to be by herself for a little while. Was that too much to ask?
    The knight ignored her and threw a cloak over his armor. He took up an imposing white shield emblazoned with the Royal Order’s symbol—a red field with the heart-and-sunray pattern upon it—and drew his sword.
    Oh, for the love of the Lady . “I’m not going into battle,” she grumbled.
    He merely shrugged and opened the door for her. Stubborn barbarian.
    With a huff of exasperation at the ruination of her plan to be alone, she stepped past him. The night was chilly and damp, and she breathed deeply of the cold, fresh air. Resolved to ignore the warrior pacing behind her, she hurried down the steps and across the broad square in front of the Heart building.
    The city of Dupree was laid out like a wheel. The governor’s palace and the huge square around it made up the hub. Broad avenues led outward like spokes to smaller squares, each one housing the headquarters of a different Imperial guild. The space between the spokes was a warren of twisting side streets, businesses, and dwellings crammed together willy-nilly to make a sprawling city.
    It was into this morass of winding streets she plunged with Hrothgar in tow. Her White Heart colors virtually assured her that no one would harm or harass her here. Not only was the tabard known and respected by all, but she, herself, had gained acclaim as a prodigious healer in the great riots just prior to Anton Constantine’s fall. It probably didn’t hurt, either, that she resembled her mother, Charlotte, who had been a great beauty renowned throughout Dupree in her youth. And then, of course, there was the burly, menacing, and well-armed knight stalking her heels.
    She wandered the deserted streets, enjoying the shine of wet cobblestones and the way tendrils of fog curled at her feet as she neared the shore of the great Bay of Dupree. She fancied that she could hear the voices of the sleeping people of Dupree whispering to her as she moved among them.
    Her claustrophobia dissipated, leaving her so exhausted she could hardly stand. She paused on a street corner to orient herself and realized with a start that she was just around the corner from Leland Hyland’s town house. The landsgrave had been like a father to her since she had come here, protecting her and advising her in her quest to find the Sleeping King. He’d been the one to convince her to join the White Heart, as well. It was mostly for him that she tolerated the confines of the colors.
    Her entire being felt drained. Empty. The long walk back to the Heart loomed, and she was abruptly so fatigued she could not fathom making the long trek back to her own bed. It was not as if she could ask Hrothgar to carry her home on his shoulders. Although she had no doubt he would if she asked him to. The Royal Order of the Sun took its duty to the White Heart extremely seriously, which was ironic in its own way. Some of the most violent warriors in the Empire protected the exclusively pacifist arm of the Heart.
    â€œSir Hrothgar, would you mind if I spent the night at Hyland’s house?”
    â€œThat would be acceptable. The landsgrave and his troops are capable and honorable men. They will keep you safe at the forfeit of their own lives.”
    She shuddered at the notion of anyone sacrificing his or her life for her. But then, that was exactly what Hrothgar was sworn to do. A frisson of guilt rippled through her for dragging him out here in the dead of night into a city that was far