The accommodations were sparse. Only a roof over our head and a thin bare mattress on the floor that I had to hoist up from a storage room myself, but at least the barn didn’t stink—yet. I had to concede too that the food at the inn was a far better option than a bony squirrel roasted on a stick over an open fire, and I was tired of filling my bota from gritty streams.

I hope the dark ciders are to your liking.

They were. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t her. I rubbed my ribs beneath my shirt, remembering the numerous beatings, years past now, but each lash still fresh in my mind. The royals I had known were made of cowardice and greed, and she showed no measure of either. She stood her ground with that soldier, defending her friend like a whole army stood behind her. She was frightened. I saw the mugs tremble in her hand, but her fear didn’t hold her back.

Still, a royal was a royal, and her haughty arrogance proved her roots. I’d remember that when her time came, but there was no reason I couldn’t enjoy the comforts of the inn and other pleasures as well for a few more days before I finished my business. There was plenty of time for that. Griz and the others wouldn’t be joining up with me for another month. I didn’t have to spend it alone in a wasteland eating rodents when I could stay here. I’d get the job done when the time was right. The Komizar had always been able to count on me, and this time would be no different.

I pulled off my boots and blew out the lantern, sliding my knife just below the mattress edge at hand’s reach. How many times had I slashed it across anonymous throats? But this time I knew the name of my victim, at least the assumed one she was using. Lia. A very unroyal name. I wondered why she chose it.

Lia. Like a whisper on the wind.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE PRINCE

I’d told Sven I probably wouldn’t even speak to her, and yet from the moment I saw her prance around like nothing in the outside world mattered, that’s all I wanted to do. I wanted to deliver a diatribe of epic proportion, a lecture that would color even my father’s seasoned ears. I wanted to betray her identity to a roomful of people, and yet I sat there silently and let her deliver menu choices to me instead. Princess Arabella, First Daughter of the House of Morrighan, working in a tavern.

And she seemed to be enjoying it. Immensely.

Maybe that’s what bothered me most of all. While I was on the road, wondering if she was the quarry of bandits or bears, she was playing barmaid. She was trouble, that was clear, and the day she fled our wedding, I had dodged a poisonous arrow. She did me a favor. I could almost laugh at father’s suggestion of taking a mistress after the wedding. This girl could make the whole royal court and half the king’s army regret such a decision.

I rolled over, punching the lumpy mattress, hoping my restlessness kept my unwelcome companion awake. He had stomped around for the better part of an hour before extinguishing the lantern. I saw him looking at her in the tavern, his eyes practically undressing her from the minute we walked in.

I was caught by surprise when I first saw her too. Her face didn’t match the pinched, sour one I had envisioned after so many miles on the road. My epic lecture shriveled to silence as I watched her. I was almost hoping it wasn’t her but then when I heard her speak, I knew. I knew by her boldness and temper. I knew by the way she commanded a towering soldier to silence with a few hotly placed, if imprudent, words. After we sat, I noticed my newfound friend still watching her, his eyes rolling over her like a panther on a doe, probably supposing her to be his dessert. I almost kicked his chair out from beneath him.

With luck, he’d be on his way tomorrow and would forget about making a conquest of a local barmaid. After we left the tavern and he visited the privy, I took a closer look at his tack, all nondescript, no markings to denote an artisan or region. Nothing. Not on his saddlebag, scabbard, reins, or blanket—not even the humblest embellishment like a tooled noseband for his horse. By chance or design?

I rolled over again, unable to get comfortable. So I’ve seen her. Now what? I’d told Sven I wouldn’t speak to her, and I did. I wanted to shame her publicly, and I didn’t. I wanted to tell her privately, but I knew I couldn’t. Nothing was turning out quite as I planned.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Why didn’t you wake me when you came in last night?”

I stood behind Pauline as she faced the mirror, and I looked at her clouded image. The glass was speckled with age, probably thrown into the cottage as more damaged overflow, but I was happy to see that some pink had returned to her cheeks. She brushed her long honey locks with brisk strokes as I pulled my riding clothes from the wardrobe.

“It was late, and you were sleeping soundly. No need to wake you.”

Her brisk strokes slowed to hesitant ones. “I’m sorry that you and Berdi argued. She really is trying to—”

“Berdi and I are fine, Pauline. Don’t worry. We talked after you left. She understands my—”

“You have to realize, Lia, Terravin isn’t like Civica. Your father and his cabinet aren’t watching over every soldier in the kingdom. Berdi does the best she can.”

I turned to lash out at her, my anger flaring at being chastised again, but then the kernel of truth caught in my throat. My father rarely left the comforts of Civica. Neither did his cabinet. He ruled from a distance if he ruled at all, arranging things like marriages to solve his problems. When was the last time he had actually toured his realm and spoken with those not cradled in the security of Civica? The Viceregent and his small entourage were the only ones who spent any time away from Civica and then it was only on routine diplomatic visits to the Lesser Kingdoms.