With her agitation building, Kate couldn’t keep the glare from her face. Some of the people stepped out of the way at the sight of her blue tunic with the silver galloping horse on the left breast, but most did not. A Relay rider uniform commanded respect only from atop a horse and with a full mail pouch in tow—the contents of those pouches too important to impede, containing everything from personal missives to newsletters to royal decrees.
Booths and vendor carts lined both sides of the streets, some beneath canopies, some leaning with off-angled sides, but all displaying savory wares like sweet buns, pumpkin-glazed crumpets, or flatbreads slathered with butter and honey. The smell of yeast and sugar filled Kate’s nose, making her stomach quiver. She’d been too distraught last night to eat, and hunger sabotaged her now when there was no time to assuage it.
As she reached the end of Bakers Row, turning onto Copperfield, Kate began to silently curse the royal for all the congestion. Nothing brought out a crowd as quickly as the chance to ogle one of the Tormanes, especially way out here in Farhold, where they so rarely journeyed. She wanted to scream aloud how foolish everyone was being, that they were wasting their time—and hers.
But when she reached the intersection with Main Street, she realized she might be the foolish one. A row of city guardsmen standing at parade rest blocked the road ahead. In the distance Kate heard the trill of trumpets, sounding the approach of a royal procession.
Damn them all, she thought, picturing every member of the Tormane family in her mind. Well, not everyone. There was one she refused to picture. One she chose to believe did not exist.
Kate glanced behind her, weighing her options. Nearly everyone towered above her, and they were all pushing forward, vying for a spot near the intersection. The only option was to sneak across Main Street somehow, and her short stature would be an advantage. She ducked under the arm of the woman in front of her, then jostled her way forward until she reached the guardsmen. They stood with their backs to her, their cloaks so dark a shade of green they were almost black. Kate couldn’t see beyond to determine how far the procession still was, but it didn’t matter. She refused to be late, especially after last night. Taking a deep breath, she dashed between the guards onto the empty street.
“Stop!” someone shouted, but Kate plunged on, counting on her size and quickness to keep her from being caught.
Once again, her assumption proved wrong. Whether motivated by the approaching royal or perhaps just favored by the gods, one of the guards managed to grab the end of her braid. The sudden jerk against her scalp yanked her off-balance, and she landed hard on her rump, a shock arching up her spine and into her neck. Her teeth clanked together, catching her bottom lip, and the iron taste of blood filled her mouth.
“Get her up,” one of the men yelled. “Prince Corwin is almost here.”
Prince Corwin.
The sound of that name struck Kate like a cattle whip. She clambered to her feet, ready to claw and bite her way free if she had to. Anything to get out of here before the procession reached them.
But it wasn’t to be. The guard still had hold of her braid, his fingers twisted cruelly around her black hair. “What were you thinking?” He gave the braid another jerk. “And you, a Relay rider. You ought to know better.”
“Let me go.” Kate craned her neck, pulling uselessly against his hold.
“Get her off the street!” another guard called. “They’re here.”
Kate stopped fighting and let herself be dragged off to the side, where two of the guards stepped in front of her, shielding her from view.
“Please let me go,” Kate said, hating the plea in her voice but desperate for escape. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’m going to be late. I’m—”
“Be quiet.” Another tug on her braid, this one hard enough to make her yelp.
She bit back the sound, her heart sinking as she realized it was too late anyway. The procession had reached them. As always, the prince rode up front, flanked by a dozen men on horseback. Some wore the livery of the governor of Farhold and some wore that of Norgard, the home city of the royal family. Kate’s home city.
No, not anymore.
Dropping her gaze, she fixed her eyes on the prince’s warhorse, a tall bay with a white strip on its face. An ache squeezed her chest at the sight of it. The horse had been sired by Shadowdancer, her father’s prized stallion. She would’ve known the breeding anywhere. Looking away, she told herself she would be all right once they passed.
The discordant clop of steel-shod hooves striking the cobblestones halted. Again, Kate refused to look up. Dear gods, make me small. Sweet Farrah, goddess of night and shadows, make me invisible.
“What’s the commotion here?” It was the familiar voice of Governor Prewitt, the most powerful person in Farhold. “You there, step forward and explain.”
Kate braced as her captor pushed her out of the shadows of the intersection and onto the cobbled street once more.
“Apologies, lord governor.” The guard bowed low, forcing Kate to do the same with another harsh tug on her braid. “This Relay rider tried to break through our line.”
“Ah, yes, the riders are always in such a hurry,” a new voice said. This one familiar, too. It was deeper, more mature than the last time she’d heard it, but still unmistakable.
Prince Corwin. The sound stirred emotions long buried inside her—anger aged to bitterness, and something else she refused to name.
“But surely,” the prince continued, “no harm has been do—”
Looking up was a mistake, but Kate couldn’t help it.
Corwin stared down at her, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening in shock.
Kate stared back. Her heart had become a separate living creature inside her body. It thrashed and quaked. There were so many things she wanted to say. You let my father die. You ruined my life.
You broke my heart.
She shoved the last away. That thought didn’t belong to her. Not anymore.
“Do you know this girl, your highness?” Governor Prewitt asked.
The prince didn’t answer. His pale-blue eyes, like winter sky, remained fixed on her, and his jaw worked back and forth as he took in her appearance. Kate’s stomach roiled at what he must see—dirty tunic, mud-caked skirt, hair in disarray. She’d imagined this scene a hundred times before, the day her path crossed his again, but she always pictured herself with an impeccable appearance, the undeniable air that she was fine, that she had triumphed over the hardships he’d helped bring down on her. Instead she looked one step above a beggar wallowing in the gutter.
Belatedly she realized there was blood on her lips, and she wiped it off. With her confidence shattered, Kate looked away, her eyes refusing to be still in her growing nervousness. She swept her gaze over the crowd, which was pressing in for a better look, voices murmuring as someone recognized her.
Traitor Kate . . . Traitor Kate . . .
“Your highness?” Governor Prewitt prodded. “Do you know this young woman?”
Kate glanced back, her gaze on Corwin. He was as handsome as ever, with his dusky blond hair and a tanned face chiseled by the gods—each angle and plane designed to complement the other, from the high cheekbones to the angular jaw. All except for his nose, which was more crooked than she remembered, and the thin, white scar across his chin. The source of these injuries was a mystery no one had solved. The newspapers out of Norgard had nicknamed him the Errant Prince, thanks to the way he had vanished for nearly two years. He’d returned some few months ago, to wild speculation as to where he’d been and what he’d done. To Kate’s dismay, the scars only added to his attractiveness. Damn him.
“No,” Corwin finally said. “I don’t know her.”
The words were a slap, and Kate lowered her gaze to his horse. Temptation called out to her. One little push with her magic and she could fill the horse with an inescapable desire to dump its rider. A poor vindication, but better than none.
“But neither would I begrudge her a livelihood,” Corwin added. “Let her go.”
“As you wish.” The Governor cocked his head toward Kate’s guard, and he released her braid at last.
She dropped into a quick bow, then started to turn, ready to run.