He needn’t have bothered — she turned her head sharply at the sound of a horse crashing through the undergrowth. They reined in, and both Isaac and Summer could see the rider was Greenberg. Quietly, sensing that their romantic interlude was about to be interrupted, Summer crossed back to Isaac’s side, taking his hand in hers.
“The Prince,” Greenberg gasped, leaning over the horse’s neck, “come back to camp — messenger from the castle — for you both — “
Their tender, intimate moment was ruined by a hard shattering of sound, hoofs snapping twigs and branches as they stampeded through the forest. Whirling around and grabbing at the small dagger hidden in his belt (his actual sword was attached to Buttons), he gently nudged Summer to stand behind him, his eyes wide with curiosity.
“Who’s the — Greenberg?” His jaw dropped and colour drained from his face. “How urgent is it?”
“Prince says,” Greenberg sucked in a harsh breath, “right away please.” Which meant two minutes ago, really, Summer knew. Prince Derek didn’t often say ‘please’, and when he did it actually meant a command. “Go back and tell him we’re right behind you,” she said, snatching up her skirts so she could run back to their picnic. Old habits were too ingrained in her to leave the blankets there.