The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 36 - Part 2

"How did they find us?" Rafael asked, eyeing the map at the center of the table.

"The letter," I muttered, scrubbing my face. I hadn't known where we were headed when I'd sent it, so instead I'd simply told my family which direction we'd been travelling. It wouldn't have been hard for someone to retrace our steps with a few carefully placed bribes to the poverty-stricken commoners.

"But you didn't know where we were going." Beatriz shook her head. "I don't like this, Frederico."

"Neither do I," Frederico replied, his unwavering gaze still riveted to me. "Which is why I intend to give them what they want so they leave before they discover–"

"No," Beatriz and I said in unison, she in Ardal, me in Pretanian. I glanced at her, but she was staring at her brother, tension etched into every line of her body.

Finally, Frederico's attention turned away from me to settle on his sister. "It was only a matter of time, Beatriz. His father wants him home."

Beatriz sank back into her seat and stared down at her plate.

No. No. This couldn't be happening. Desperation thrummed through my veins. I'd told them in my letter that I was all right. I'd told them why I needed to stay. It was so typical of father not to believe me, not to trust me when I said I could handle this. Of course he'd swoop in to rescue me. He'd probably sent a unit of his most skilled, most dangerous men, as if I were some fool who'd stumbled into a lion's den without a sword or a hope of survival. I knew what I was doing here. I wasn't about to leave just because he didn't believe in me.

"Did my father send a letter, then?" I demanded, leaning across the table towards Frederico. "Because I'd like to inspect it, to be sure it's his hand with his seal."

The prince sipped his tea. "If the Pretanians bear a letter from your father, they wouldn't surrender it unless someone confirms that they are in contact with us. The villagers who know of this camp are all under strict orders not to share any information about my whereabouts and, by extension, yours. I don't want the foreigners sniffing around any longer, which is why I'm sending you to meet with them tomorrow."

Damn him. Damn him and his logic. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. If father had sent the men I suspected he'd sent, they would not rest or return home until they found me. If they'd tracked us this far, they wouldn't stop until they rode through the pass and into the camp itself. If they arrived here, surely bearing some manipulative missive from my father demanding my safe return, Frederico would send me away. Especially if my return was the price my father demanded for an alliance with Pretania.

But if I met father's men without Frederico, I still stood a chance of talking my way out of this. Of sending them on their way and reworking whatever written promise of an alliance my father had offered.

"Fine," I said, careful to colour my every movement with dejection. Frederico couldn't suspect what I was planning if it was to work.

"Excellent," Frederico said. "Now let's eat before this all gets cold."

Beatriz remained sunken into her chair as the servants piled her plate with sausages, eggs, and fruit. But when they moved towards me, she glanced my way.

My appetite vanished at the look on her face. It was fleeting, but it struck me to my core. Hurt and disbelief and sadness, all pooled together into a crumpled look she shuttered as quickly as she'd allowed it to show through. She shoved her chair back from the table.

"Where are you going? You need to eat some–" Frederico began.

"I'm not hungry." She strode towards the door.