TWENTY-ONE
Xylander woke slowly, revelling in how well-rested he felt. He could not recall how long it had been since he'd slept so well. Why, he could almost imagine himself in his own bed in his father's castle, he was so comfortable.
He opened his eyes, and realisation dawned. He wasn't home, nor in a bed, and the trees surrounding him seemed to mock him for his stupidity.
He'd eaten Guinevere's apple. There was still a piece in his mouth – he hadn't swallowed it. Yet it had enchanted him, all the same.
He spat it on the ground, cursing as he realised he was alone beside the ashes of a cold fire. No fire, no horse, and no Zurine, either. She'd even taken the rest of the b****y apple.
Something about the apple must have made her suspicious. Maybe she'd seen that he hadn't swallow
