I’d managed well enough while he slept, blissfully unaware of our situation. They would get Fowler to safety—get him the care he needed. It was his only chance. Once he was healed, I could slip away and continue on to Relhok as I needed to do. That hadn’t changed, but I had to see that Fowler survived. I didn’t allow myself to consider that I was putting Fowler ahead of the rest of the world . . . ahead of all the girls who fell even now, prey to Cullan’s kill order. I didn’t permit myself to question the rightnesss of that. There was no choice.
I could not allow Fowler to die. Later, I would let him go, but I wouldn’t let him die.
The soldiers who had found us relaxed. Tension ebbed from them as they lowered their weapons and greeted the new arrivals with warm familiarity. Evidently they were fellow Lagonians.
“Your Highness, out on a hunt?” Breslen asked, his tone and manner that of total deference.
My heart struck a hard beat and held there for a moment before receding again into a normal rhythm. Your Highness? As in the king of Lagonia? He dared to leave the safety of the palace to travel the Outside?
There was a slight shift in the air and then dull vibrations on the ground as the three men escorting us dismounted and lowered to one knee.
I listened raptly, fascinated at the prospect of meeting the man who ruled Lagonia. He’d known my parents. Sivo and Perla were the only people I knew who had known my parents.
“Breslen, good to see you returned safely. We were beginning to worry.” The leather of his saddle creaked as he shifted his weight. “Although there were two more of you that originally set out, were there not?”
I frowned slightly at the sound of his voice. He did not sound like a man of advanced years. Deep as his voice was, he sounded young, his voice smooth polished stone. Even without Breslen addressing him so formally I would know he was important. His words flowed with authority.
“Sad to report they were lost, Your Highness.”
“Well, perhaps next time I shall go with you and lend you my sword arm.”
Another voice from atop a horse spoke, this one older, guttural and raspy. “As much as they would benefit from your sword, I do not think your father would permit that, Prince Chasan. He dislikes the risk you take on these hunting forays as it is. He’ll not let you cross into Relhok.”
So he was not the king. He could not have known my parents. My chest deflated a bit then, even as my thoughts raced with the realization that he was a prince, heir to a kingdom. Like me. Or, depending how one viewed it, like Fowler. No one recognized me as a royal. The world thought I was dead.
The prince chuckled. “Don’t underestimate my skills of persuasion.” There was something underlying his voice, a silky quality that indicated that this prince in fact knew how to talk. Confidence radiated from him. Arrogance, too. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted—an anomaly in a world where nothing went right for anyone.
He addressed Breslen again. “It appears, however, you’ve gained two additions to your group. Who is that behind you?”
Fowler’s hand slipped from my arm as all attention swung to us.
“We happened upon them returning home, Your Highness. A surprise for your father.”
“Why should my father be surprised over these two haggard-looking individuals? The bigger one there looks ready to collapse.”
“He’s the surprise, Your Highness.”
“And how is that?”
“He’s King Cullan’s son. Prince Fowler.”
Fowler had held silent during the exchange, but at this declaration he stiffened beside me. I suspected it had been a long time since he’d considered himself a prince—or Cullan’s son. Perhaps even longer since anyone addressed him as such.
Prince Chasan swung off his mount swiftly. He strode to where we stood near the tree, his tread muffled by soft-soled boots. He stopped before us. I listened to his breath several inches higher than my head and knew he was tall. “So this is the prince of Relhok. He doesn’t look well,” the prince announced. “Is he diseased?”
“He is right here,” Fowler growled. “I can speak for myself.”
“Is that so?” Amusement curled the prince’s silky voice. “Are you unwell, then, Prince Fowler? As thrilled as my father will be to make your acquaintance, I don’t think it wise to take someone sick near him. My father is healthy and I would like to keep him that way.”
I bristled at his arrogant tone and opened my mouth to inform him that he need not fear contamination.
“Just a little dweller toxin in the arm,” Fowler replied in a caustic-thin voice that did nothing to disguise the pain he felt. I felt it radiating off him. Standing on two feet, enduring this conversation with any semblance of dignity, was costing him.
“Oh. Toxin? That’s all? I thought it might be something serious.” The prince’s attendants laughed deeply at his sarcastic remarks, and I had a flash of him at court, surrounded by groveling courtiers. He was accustomed to being the center of attention, his every word applauded. My upper lip twitched. Already I did not like him.
“They told us the king’s physician can help him. Cure him,” I bit out, tired of the conversation. We weren’t far from the palace, from help, and here we stood talking.
The prince of Lagonia turned his full attention on me. I felt the prowl of his gaze over me. His scrutiny lasted several beats, intent and heavy. I resisted shrinking away.