We spent two more days travelling through the dense forests of the Delbosque lands. The temperature dropped as we climbed steadily towards jagged grey peaks in the distance, their caps crowned with snow. Even though I'd guessed before, now I was certain that we were headed for Vareinne – the only mountains on the continent that stood as tall as the ones before us were the Centinelas, or the Sentinels, as I'd been taught. The natural border between Ardalone and Vareinne, with only a few well-travelled passes between the staggering peaks.
"Perhaps we ought to consider that Dulciana will have posted additional troops at the passes to ensure you cannot escape via land to Vareinne," I said over dinner one night, after the peaks of the Sentinels range had first come into view.
"We aren't headed to one of those passes," was all that Frederico said in reply. He had been decidedly frigid towards me since our discussion in his tent about Beatriz. Thankfully, I wasn't the type to take such a reaction personally. I'd have felt much the same if some meddlesome, foreign prince was spending far too much time with Anne. Though I would have relented if he'd proven to be half as clever as I was.
"He's angry with me," I said to Beatriz the next morning, during our practice session. She hadn't removed her shirt since the last time, much to my chagrin.
"He'll be fine tomorrow," she said, then darted a look over at me as if she'd accidentally let something slip. I cocked an interested eyebrow, blocking the strike she thrust forward in an attempt to distract me. I snared her staff with mine, locking it against the ground.
"Tomorrow?" I prompted. She tugged at her staff once, twice, then gave up and pushed a piece of hair from her face. She was close enough that our panting breaths mingled, her eyes finding mine and rooting me to the spot.
"You're in for a surprise, idiota. But I won't steal Frederico's thunder and spoil it for you just yet."
"Perhaps I can convince you otherwise..." I trailed off, my eyes having fallen to her lips. They curved into a smile. The temptation to lean over and close the space between us overruled my better judgement to keep my hands to myself while in view of the rest of the camp. But before I could act, she kicked my legs out from under me, laughing when I tumbled, swearing, to the ground.
It had been like that since she'd laid her head on my shoulder a few days ago, when we'd nestled beneath a cloak together. I'd now grown convinced that this was how Beatriz flirted. She was not the type to dimple prettily and offer up a coy compliment. She was the type to knock me flat on my back and gloat about it. Though she seemed to like it most when I somehow managed to best her.
The day after Frederico's lecture, Rafael had been the one to train me, he and Beatriz arguing in hushed tones before I arrived and they stopped. Ever since, Beatriz had been the one to come fetch me, before the sun – and Rafael – had even risen. I wasn't one to complain about the early rise, especially if it meant more time with the princess whose brother seemed intent on keeping her away from me.
Beatriz' words proved true later that day. We'd spent the better part of our journey travelling uphill, until the trees suddenly fell away to reveal a plain stretching out towards the sheer cliff face of the Sentinels. I ran wary eyes over the newly felled tree stumps, wondering why the forest had been cleared here. When I turned my gaze to the cliffs, I could have sworn I saw something move.
"There's someone up there," I said, when a face popped up beyond the rock I'd been watching before darting back down again. Beside me, Rafael seemed unconcerned, much like Beatriz and Frederico before him.
"I mean it," I continued, insistent now.
"We know, idiota," Beatriz replied.
As we approached the cliff face, I realized that it was not a solid sheet of rock as I'd thought from afar. Instead, a narrow pass, barely big enough for ten to ride side-by-side, cut through the rock, camouflaged upon our approach by the odd angle of entry. Frederico did not hesitate, glancing back at me with the smirk I'd only ever seen him wear in Relizia. He chuckled upon noticing that my hand had strayed to the sword belted to my hip, riding through the narrow path flanked by sheer rock without a moment's hesitation. The rest of us followed down the pass that twisted and turned through the rocks before letting out to another field, this one surrounded by mountains.
Camped in this field, however, was an army.
Frederico, Beatriz, and Rafael were the only ones who didn't rein their horses up in shock at the sight of the tents and campfires. While Josepe and Vicente exchanged startled words in Ardal, I spurred my mount forward to catch up with the three riding ahead of us. From somewhere above us, a horn sounded three short blasts, further startling the Carvalho uncles and their men.
Ahead of us, men drilled in the field, practicing formations and basic combat. Officers in navy surcoats with shining brass buttons led them, barking orders. Beyond, a veritable city of tents spread around a quaint village, women moving to and from a large well in the central square while children cavorted through the streets in packs. A stream of arriving farm carts stretched up the hill behind the village, towards a larger valley between the mountains.
With a curse, I wheeled my horse in front of Frederico's to force him to stop.
"Why haven't you told anyone about this?" I demanded, my horse dancing beneath me. He tore his gaze from the tents, smugness the only thing showing through his kingly mask.
"Telling people puts lives at risk," Frederico said. "The world is full of whispers and I want as few of those as possible to reach my sister."
"But the rumours that have left Ardalone say that your force is pitifully small, a ragtag bunch of disenchanted soldiers and pitchfork wielding peasants. This..." I trailed off, dumbfounded that such an army could be kept so secret. The sheer numbers were astounding, far greater than anything I'd anticipated from the rumours about organized rebels that had reached Highcastle.
No wonder he killed any enemy soldiers who crossed his path. All it would take to ruin this surprise was one escaped prisoner. I quickly reassessed the young king beside me. Brutal, but clever. Not the bumbling fool I'd thought him to be after that first bloodbath of a battlefield.
"The less Dulciana knows, the easier it will be to surprise her and gain ground closer to Relizia," Frederico continued, his entire demeanour more relaxed than it had been for days.
"You need to tell your allies. They think you have no one at your back. If they knew of this..." I blew out my cheeks, attempting to calm my frustration.
If I'd known Frederico had so many men – armed men who appeared well-trained enough to maintain order in their camp like a real army – I would have told Andrew, who could have secured me Pretania's support. On land, Dulciana didn't stand a chance, not when it became more and more clear that notoriously disciplined Vareinnian soldiers in their navy pants and crisp white shirts were training alongside the peasants in their homespun.
"Have you sent emissaries to Bazera?" I asked, as Frederico urged his horse around mine, towards the camp. His smug half-smile reappeared.
"Bazera has long known of my plans." He turned to study me when I fell in beside him. "Did my sister ever tell you where she spent the past eight years?"
I blinked, momentarily confused by thinking he meant Dulciana, until he turned his gaze ahead of us, to where Beatriz was chatting with Rafael. Comprehension dawned.
"They say she spent them in a convent," I replied, feeling foolish that I'd never bothered to learn the truth. I'd known the convent was a lie from the moment she'd saved my sorry self from Dulciana's scouting troop. I'd been too busy trying to flirt with her to remember to ask. Frederico chuckled.
"Then you don't know the half of it. I'd be disappointed if you thought she'd spent her time at an Ardalonian convent with all those stuffy nuns," he said. "Bazera is the only country that has agreed to help us, but only once we've proven ourselves in battle. Beatriz has friends there who have proven invaluable to us. Perhaps you might get to meet them today."
Frederico fixed me with a smirk before kicking his horse forward to ride alongside his sister. Beatriz glanced over at him as he approached, her eyes darting back briefly to me before she turned back forward again.
I studied her, her leather armour and the sword strapped across her back, envisioning her easy, predatory movements as she sparred with me. A memory surged forth, from a very long time ago, when father's old friend, Lord Hadrian Amberly, would return from his travels with trinkets and tales of his adventures. Andrew and I would listen to his stories until we fell asleep to the sound of his voice, enraptured by his tales of far off lands and foreign customs...
"The girls fight?" Andrew asked, wide-eyed. Lord Hadrian nodded, taking a sip of his Kentshire whiskey. Across from him, father's lips twitched upward in a grin, the fire crackling in the grate of his study.
"Better than me. Better than most anyone I've seen," Lord Hadrian said.
"That's impossible," my younger self proclaimed. "Girls can't fight better than anyone."
"In Bazera they can. They have priestesses that train as assassins, so deadly that you won't hear them coming before they kill you," Lord Hadrian said. Andrew's mouth popped open into a wide O, while my younger self crossed his arms.
"I think you're lying. I've never seen a girl fight, let alone kill something," I said.
"Then you have much to see, little prince," Lord Hadrian said, ruffling my hair...
I shook my head to clear it. Convent indeed, I thought. The other Ardalonian princesses seemed not to have a clue that their sister Beatriz had spent the better part of her teenaged years training with assassins in a foreign kingdom, not gardening, cooking, and praying in some idyllic Ardalonian nunnery. I wondered if the late king had known too, or whether Beatriz and Frederico had kept her training as their secret. Yet one more secret, adding to the pile Frederico had been safeguarding like a greedy miser.
Frederico remained silent as we approached the camp. The men in the fields paused in their drills, led by their Vareinnian commanders in saluting the prince as he passed. Frederico lifted a hand to return the gesture, shrewd eyes running over them all. Once we reached the village, the salutes turned to curtseys and bows, wide-eyed children halting in their antics to watch us pass. Beatriz and Rafael rode towards a large building at the far end of the central square, where Ardalonian banners hung from the second storey windows.
Frederico and I had barely dismounted when the door flew open.
"Where is he?" demanded a young woman in heavily-accented Ardal. She wore a dress the likes of which I hadn't seen since I'd left Highcastle, all lace ruffles and billowing yellow skirts. But her voluminous courtier's attire did not hinder her steps as she sprinted from the doorway, throwing herself into Frederico's arms. He caught her, his face softening for the first time since I'd met him. A laugh escaped his lips – of mirth, not condescension, for once. But his lips did not remain free for long, the woman seizing his face and kissing him ferociously.
"And that," Beatriz said, sidling up beside me, "Is my brother's wife."
**A/N: Hello hello everyone! Europe was AMAZING and I'm back home now, but busy with furious edits and critique exchanges. I'll do my best to keep updating regularly, but unfortunately finishing my editing and helping my critique partners is taking up all of my spare writing time. The good news is that a few chapters I'd written a loooong time ago are almost upon us, so with some polishing and continuity edits they'll be ready as soon as I can join the rest of the story up with them.
In the meantime, if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to vote and comment!! xoxo**