CHAPTER THREE
THE PRINCE
I cinched the buckle on my pack. I had enough to get me by for two weeks, and enough coin in my bag if it should take me longer. Surely there would be an inn or two along the way. She probably hadn’t gotten much farther than a day’s ride from the citadelle.
“I can’t let you do this.”
I smiled at Sven. “You think you have a choice?”
I was no longer his young ward to keep out of trouble. I was a grown man, had two inches and thirty pounds on him, and enough pent-up frustration to be a formidable foe.
“You’re still angry. It’s only been a few days. Give it a few more.”
“I’m not angry. Amused maybe. Curious.”
Sven snatched the reins of my horse from me, causing him to skitter. “You’re angry because she thought of it before you did.”
Sometimes I hated Sven. For a battle-scarred curd, he was too perceptive. I grabbed the reins back. “Only amused. And curious,” I promised him.
“You already said that.”
“So I did.” I placed the saddle blanket on my horse’s back, sliding it down the withers and smoothing out the wrinkles.
Sven didn’t see anything amusing about my venture and continued to present arguments as I adjusted the saddle. I hardly heard any of them. I was thinking only about how good it would feel to be away. My father was far more put out than I was, claiming it to be a deliberate affront. What kind of king can’t control his own daughter? And that was one of his more reasoned responses.
He and his cabinet were already deploying entire brigades to key outlying garrisons to fortify them and to flaunt in Morrighan’s face what decisive strength really was. The uneasy alliance had toppled on its head, but worse than the cabinet’s chest-beating and conspiracy theories were the sorrowful looks from my mother. She was already broaching the subject of finding another bride in one of the Lesser Kingdoms, or even from among our own nobility, missing the entire point of the match in the first place.
I put my foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. My horse snorted and stamped, as eager as I was to be gone.
“Wait!” Sven said, stepping into my path, a foolish move for someone with his considerable knowledge about horses—especially mine. He caught himself and moved aside. “You don’t even know where she ran off to. How will you find her?”
I raised my brows. “You have no confidence in your abilities, Sven. Remember, I’ve learned from the best.”
I could almost see him cursing himself. He had always rubbed that in my face when my attention wandered, pinching my ears when I was still two heads shorter than he was, reminding me I had the best teacher and I shouldn’t squander his valuable time. Of course, we both knew the irony of that. He was right. I did have the best. Sven taught me well. I was given to him as apprentice at eight, became a cadet at twelve, pledged at fourteen, and was a fully appointed soldier by sixteen. I had spent more years under Sven’s tutelage than I had with my own parents. I was an accomplished soldier, due in no small part to him, excelling in all my training, which only made it all the more biting. I was probably the most untried soldier in history.
Sven’s lessons had included drills on royal military history—the accomplishments of this ancestor or that—and there were many. The royals of Dalbreck had always had military credentials, including my father. He rose legitimately to the rank of general while his own father still sat on the throne, but because I was the only heir to the only heir, my soldiering had been greatly limited. I didn’t even have a cousin to replace me. I rode with a company but was never allowed on the front lines, the heat of battle long cooled by the time I was brought onto any field, and even then they surrounded me with the strongest of our squad as extra insurance against flares.
To compensate, Sven had always given me double doses of the dirtiest and lowliest jobs of our squad to quell any rumblings about my favored status, from mucking the stables to shining his boots to loading and carrying the dead off the field. I’d never seen resentment in my fellow soldiers’ faces, or heard it on their lips, but I had seen plenty of their pity. An untried soldier, no matter how expertly trained, was no soldier at all.
Sven mounted his horse and rode alongside me. I knew he wouldn’t come far. As much as he blustered about my plans—because he was bound by duty to do just that—he was also obligated by the strong bond we had forged through our years together.
“How will I know where you are?”
“You won’t. Now, that’s a thought, isn’t it?”
“And what shall I tell your parents?”
“Tell them I’ve gone off to the hunting lodge to sulk for the summer. They should like that. A nice safe haven.”
“The whole summer?”
“We’ll see.”
“Something could happen.”
“Yes it could. I hope it does. You’re not making your case any better, you know?”
I watched him out of the corner of my eye, surveying my gear, a sign he was truly resigned to my vanishing into the unknown. If I weren’t heir to the throne, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. He knew he had prepared me for the worst and the unexpected. My skills, at least in training exercises, had been well proved. He grunted, signaling his reluctant approval. Ahead was a narrow ravine where two horses could no longer ride abreast, and I knew that would be his point of departure. The day was already wearing thin.
“Will you confront her?”
“No. I probably won’t even speak to her.”
“Good, better that you don’t. If you do, watch your R’s and L’s. It will peg your region.”
“Already noted,” I said to assure him I’d thought of everything, but that detail had escaped me.
“If you need to send me a message, write it in the old tongue in case it’s intercepted.”
“I won’t be sending any messages.”
“Whatever you do, don’t tell her who you are. A Dalbreck head of state intervening on Morrighan soil could be construed as an act of war.”
“You mistake me for my father, Sven. I’m not a head of state.”
“You’re heir to the throne and your father’s representative. Don’t make matters worse for Dalbreck or your fellow soldiers.”
We rode silently.
Why was I going? What was the point if I wasn’t going to bring her back or even speak to her? I knew these thoughts were spinning in Sven’s head, but it wasn’t what he imagined. I wasn’t angry because she’d thought of bolting before I did. I’d thought of it long ago, when the marriage was first proposed by my father, but he had convinced me the union was for the good of Dalbreck and everyone would look the other way if I chose to take a mistress after the marriage. I was angry because she’d had the courage to do what I hadn’t. Who was this girl who thumbed her nose at two kingdoms and did as she pleased? I wanted to know.
As we neared the ravine, Sven broke the silence. “It’s the note, isn’t it?”
A month before the wedding, Sven had delivered a note to me from the princess. A secret note. It was still sealed when Sven handed it to me. His eyes had never seen the contents. I had read it and ignored it. I probably shouldn’t have.
“No, I’m not going because of a note.” I gave a short tug on the reins and stopped, turning to face him. “You do know, Sven, this isn’t really about Princess Arabella.”
He nodded. It had been a long time coming. He reached out and patted my shoulder and then turned his horse back toward Dalbreck without another word. I continued down the ravine, but after a few miles, I reached into my vest and pulled the note from the inner pocket. I looked at the hastily scrawled letters. Not exactly a royal missive.
I should like to inspect you
before our wedding day.
I tucked the note back into my pocket.
And so she shall.
There is one true history
And one true future.
Listen well,
For the child sprung from misery
Will be the one to bring hope.
From the weakest will come strength.
From the hunted will come freedom.
—Song of Venda