"Stay still, princess. Or I can't guarantee yer safety." The rough mercenary says, flashing a wink and his signature smile at you as he whips the horse on its back.

He chuckles at your restlessness, grabbing your hands to wrap around his waist, "I told ya to stay still." He says, keeping one hand on your hands to prevent you from pulling away.

Boothill, as he calls himself, is acting a bit too clingy and lovey-dovey for a hired mercenary. Especially considering your status as a royal. Though the man doesn't seem to overthink it nor does he care.