She considered calling out to startle the stalker, but she was shamefully too afraid of drawing the group’s attention to herself. She briefly thought about running to find Elric, but if he wasn’t at the inn, she’d waste precious time, and something could happen.
In the end, she decided the best course of action would be to keep watch and alert the guards only if absolutely necessary. She was terrified of getting caught, but she’d never forgive herself if her action, or lack thereof, caused anything to happen to Prince Eithan.
She’d simply have to become the better stalker. She glanced down at herself and scowled, irritated all over again at being unarmed. But Elric had taught her to be lethal with or without a weapon. It may have been foolhardy, but she felt confident in her ability to overpower a man who had to resort to slinking in the shadows.
She grabbed the fabric she kept stashed in her pocket for her neck and wrapped it around her face as a makeshift mask. As long as he stayed ignorant of her, she should have the upper hand. She’d tail him until she discovered why he was following the Crown Prince of Matherin.
Chapter 7
JAREN
He hated it here. Hated the entire fucking continent. Everything about it set him on edge, but nothing as much as being forced to blend into the varying towns and cities. He’d been traveling for days, asking around to see if anyone had seen or heard anything about Sulian’s men being camped somewhere close.
It wasn’t like he could outright ask. No, he’d had to buy drinks, flash careful grins, and pretend he gave a shit about a land full of people who wouldn’t hesitate to villainize him if they knew who he was. In the end, it’d been an epic waste of time.
Most people either had no idea what he was talking about or had instantly become suspicious of the hooded man asking questions and had refused to converse with him, no matter how many drinks he’d bought. It was maddening.
Finally, when he thought he’d have to threaten someone to get any real information, an ancient-looking man at the back of a run-down tavern pointed him toward the city of Midpath. The frail man appeared two breaths away from death, but he claimed to have spotted an entourage of Matherin soldiers traveling near Midpath.
Jaren should have guessed. The city was known for its convenient location and hospitalities. It was the perfect place to station a group of lonely men.
So, yet another day later, here he was. He hadn’t seen any sign of soldiers so far, so either they’d already moved out or they were stationed farther away from the city than he’d expected. It wouldn’t surprise him. Sulian always had been a sneaky bastard.
He already wanted to leave. His entire trip to Aleron was supposed to be a quick one. He’d already been here more days than he’d ever stayed before, and he was antsy. His fathers would be pissed by the time Jaren finally returned home, especially Jaeros.
But he’d already come this far, farther inland than he’d ever traveled before, so he was going to at least scout the outer edges of the city before making the trek back to the coast.
There was a reason Sulian suddenly had scouts patrolling the east. Bhasura had expected him to launch an attack during their civil unrest, but fifteen years later, he still hadn’t. This was the first sign Jaren had seen that Sulian was plotting something. He just needed to figure out what.
He was leaning against a building, trying to convince himself to go into yet another tavern to waste coin and ask questions when the door opened and none other than Matherin soldiers exited. No, not soldiers—city guards. Even with the fading sun, Jaren’s sight could make out the capital insignia on their chests.
They were loud and laughing, clearly having enjoyed a few drinks. It was almost too good to be true, but then again, Jaren always had believed in fate.
He pulled his hood farther down over his face as he began to tail them. They were talking loud enough that he didn’t have to risk getting close to make out most of their conversations. From what he could pick up, he’d been right about them being guards and not soldiers. They were apparently staying in the city for the night.
Jaren’s interest was piqued. If the men were staying in inns rather than camping at the city's outskirts, they had to be high ranking. What the fuck were high-ranking guards doing so far out from their precious Matherin capital? From what he knew, the guards never left the capital unless they were protecting the royals or some other important noble. So, the real question was who were they traveling with?
Jaren didn’t have to wait long to find out. The more he watched, the more he could make out that one guard, in particular, was always in the center. And while he did participate in the jovial mood, it was clear he held himself differently than the others.
Not once did he seem the least bit interested in the surrounding area, and his speech was clear and concise. While the other guards, although relaxed and loud, still regularly glanced around for threats and rested their hands on their weapons anytime someone passed too close to their group.
He’d been tailing them for a while and so far, none of their discussions had given away any information besides what kind of women they wished to bed. Until finally, just as they began to approach their inn, one of them slipped and uttered a phrase that made Jaren’s entire body still.
Of course, your highness.
He’d expected some form of general, or maybe even a spoiled noble, but no. The Crown fucking Prince was in Midpath.
He smiled savagely as he watched him enter the building. He didn’t believe in coincidence. Fate played out exactly as it was intended to, meaning there was a reason he’d been directed to Midpath. Threads had weaved and spiraled just right to bring him here at the same time the chinbi srol’s party had arrived.
He slunk farther into the shadows and began to edge down the alley beside the inn to map all the exits. He’d either receive valuable information or the princeling’s head before he left. He hadn’t yet decided which he hoped for more.
He wondered how long it would take the royal brat to beg and plead when he started to slowly slice—
He felt the air shift behind him, but he’d been so caught up in his planning, he sensed it just a second too late. An arm whipped across his neck and grabbed his shoulder at the same time his attacker’s other arm dug into his back, forcing his spine into an arch. Successfully pulling him to the ground, his attacker tightened his chokehold, cutting off the air to Jaren’s lungs.
He wasn’t stabbing or striking him in any way, so it wasn’t some desperate pickpocket. This individual was smart enough to know he didn’t stand a chance against Jaren face-to-face. His goal was just to knock him unconscious, and his form had been executed perfectly.