Clouds carpeted the sky the next morning and the leaves twisted ominously in the wind. It smelled like a storm, coming to slice through the growing humidity. The townsfolk didn't seem to mind, but the weather was certainly not improving my mood. Not when I'd fallen asleep with Beatriz in my arms and woken stretched out on her bed, with her nestled against my chest.
Frederico had been quieter than usual through breakfast, which I'd spent stealing looks at Beatriz as she stole looks at me, a tiny smile playing on her lips. Genevieve had woken chipper as well, and suggested that she, Rafael, and the Carvalho children go out to explore the town later that morning.
And all the while, the storm brewed outside.
Frederico had assigned five of his men to escort me to the same inn where we'd found the Carvalho children. It would take the better part of a day to reach it, with a smaller group and a downhill journey. I was disappointed that not even Rafael had been assigned to escort me, but I could understand why he'd want to stay close to his younger siblings, given what they'd all been through the last time they'd been separated.
Still, I was forced to remind myself that there was nothing to worry about when a chill prickled along my skin as I pulled on my riding gloves. It was only the turning weather unsettling me, when I'd grown so used to endless sun and pounding heat. I was coming back, no matter what instructions father's letter bore or what his men said.
"I think you have a visitor," I said over my shoulder to Beatriz, as I stared down into the courtyard. She'd taken a seat on my bed as I'd gathered my riding gear and pulled on my cloak.
Downstairs, Nisha's hair and cloak whipped in the wind as she paced in the courtyard.
"Nisha? She can wait. Let her grovel for a bit." Beatriz said, as she joined me at the window. She wound her hands around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder.
I patted her hands, careful to avoid her bandaged arm. "The longer you hold me here, the longer it'll be until I return."
"I know." She left unsaid what I hoped was an echo of my own sentiments – that I'd gladly trade anything to spend another night curled around her. To wake, burrowed in the tangled mess of her hair, and share a soft, secret smile with her when her eyes fluttered open.
A knock sounded against the open door and we sprang apart to the sound of Genevieve's giggle. "The guards are ready, Tommy dearest. You'd best get a move on so you're not caught in the pass when the rain begins."
"I'll be right down," I said.
Genevieve lifted a knowing eyebrow, but disappeared nonetheless. Wicked thing that she was, she slid the door closed behind her.
I turned to Beatriz, reluctant to leave her. "A kiss for luck, darling?"
She took my face in her hands and kissed me, hard, pulling away too soon. She rested her forehead against mine. "Promise me–"
"I'm coming back," I said, resting my hands atop hers.
Her forehead pressed against mine as she nodded once, then released me. "Then ride safely, but hurry back."
It was agony to leave her there, to press a final kiss to her hand as I memorized her face. But it wasn't goodbye, I reminded myself. It was one night, in an inn that was a mere day's ride away. I silently chided my lovesick self as I descended the stairs. Andrew would have chortled with glee to see me this way. Thankfully, he was half a continent away.
Outside, Nisha stopped her pacing when I emerged to join the five guards who had already mounted up.
"She's waiting for you upstairs," I said, with a nod hello as I crossed to my horse.
But her eyes were not on me, they were running over my guards, studying them. "Did you bring more than a dinner knife?" she asked when she finally turned to me.
I grinned and patted the bow slung across my chest and the sword at my belt. "I'm a quick study."
She nodded, satisfied. "Ride safely, then."
We set off as she disappeared into Genevieve's house. I busied myself with learning my guards' names and settling into easy conversation about their homes in Ardalone and the amount of time they'd served Frederico. We rode through the town, then the camp, through the swirling wind towards the rocky cleft in the mountains.
Despite the urge, I didn't look back. I didn't need to see that Beatriz was still watching me – I could feel her gaze as steadily as if it were a touch. Instead, what little part of me that harboured superstitions didn't want to tempt fate. Mother had always maintained that to look back would mean to delay one's return.
I did not intend to delay, not for one moment longer than I needed to be sure my father sided with Frederico.
And that he allowed me to stay.
~*~
It was a bitter coincidence that the last time I'd entered this village, it had been raining as well. At least this time was not a thunderous downpour, as it had been the last time. Unfortunately, this time, I wasn't sharing the company I so longed for.
As the rain misted and swirled, I was thankful for the oiled cloak Rafael had loaned me – too long and too large, but still just as effective at keeping me dry while we rode. When I dismounted, I was careful when I splashed down into the mud not to lose my boot as he had the last time.
"They are here," the leader of Frederico's guards said, returning from peering through the golden, glowing windows of the inn. "Shall we wait for you outside?"
"Nonsense. Come in, out of the rain. Get something to eat. We'll stay the night if we must, but I'd rather we return as soon as I've sent them on their way."
"Of course, Your Highness." He bowed, then turned his attention to his men and securing space in the stables for our horses.
I shook as much water from my cloak as I could before I opened the door to the inn. It was busy, for a rainy evening, but my entrance still drew glances from most of the patrons. Sure enough, seated in a far corner, near the fire, a half-dozen pale-skinned Pretanians huddled together. One of them glanced up at me for a moment, then looked back again in earnest when I tugged down the hood of my cloak.
I squared my shoulders, gathered every last ounce of my nerve, and strode purposefully across the inn towards them. The first man had alerted his fellows and by the time I'd seized an empty chair and thunked it down beside them, they were all staring at me.
"Well met, you lot," I said, throwing myself nonchalantly into the chair. "Who wants to be the first to tell me what brings you to Ardalone?"
The element of surprise had worked. I'd used my traverse of the inn to study them, to determine who was their leader. William Hunter – father's best spy and most trusted military man – was not among them. In fact, I hadn't recognized any of their faces. But then, if they were father's best spies or stealthiest soldiers, they would be poor ones indeed if I'd ever noticed them before.
I identified the leader by the way the rest of the men looked to him to speak first. He was the oldest among them, with striking blue eyes and threads of auburn through his greying beard.
"Your Highness," he said, inclining his head. "I would bow, but I'd prefer the rest of the inn not realize they're in the presence of royalty."
His eyes ran over me as mine ran over him. He was big and solidly built, like the rest of the men at the table. But most importantly, he had a northern accent. Hope sparked in my chest. Perhaps it was mother who'd sent them and not father. Perhaps they were from Kentshire, sent to check up on me. Or – though I dared not hope for such luck – sent to help me without father knowing. Perhaps this was going to be easier than I'd thought.
"Well, here I am." I pulled my gloves off, leaned back in my chair, and knit my hands behind my head. "Let's not waste time with pleasantries, shall we? Why are you here?"
"For you, Your Highness," said the leader. "Your family wants you home, where you'll be safe."
Behind me, the door to the inn opened and I recognized Frederico's guard captain's voice as he directed his men to a table. Turning my attention back to my own table, I nodded, chewing my lip as if I were considering his words. "Did my father send you?"
"He did."
Ah, well, so much for luck.
"Did he–" I began.
"Perhaps we could continue this somewhere less...prying," the leader said, eyeing the barmaid who'd sidled over to refill their ales and who seemed to be taking her sweet time about it. "We've taken the liberty of securing the best room for you."
My chair scraped as I rose. "Then by all means, lead away. And send for something to eat, will you? I'm absolutely ravenous."
"Of course, Your Highness." The leader nodded at a pair of men. "McCulloch, MacEnroe, escort His Highness upstairs. I'll see to the food."
Three men remained seated as the leader rose and headed for the bar, while McCulloch and MacEnroe joined me.
"This way, Your Highness," one of them said. His voice was northern too, with a decidedly rougher accent than the leader's.
"What part of Kentshire?" I asked, as he led me across the inn's dining room. Frederico's captain began to stand, but I gave him a quick shake of my head.
"Learidge, Your Highness," he answered, after a beat of hesitation.
The second man gestured for me to precede him up the stairs.
A cool breeze whispered along the back of my neck, rippling my skin with a shiver. I adjusted my sodden cloak. "Ah, that quaint little border town. Do they still have that tradition of stomping on rotten potatoes every Midwinter?"
"Erm...yes, Your Highness," said the first man over his shoulder. He said nothing else until he stopped by the largest door at the end of the hall. "It's just through here."
I pushed the door open, sauntering in. "All this heat must be–"
My feet ground to a halt.
The room was indeed the finest suite the inn boasted, but what stopped me was not the half dozen heavily armed men seated around the hearth, nor the Gallic conversation I'd interrupted as I'd stepped in. It was the man leaning against the mantelpiece.
I was a fool. An utter and complete fool. Their names. Their appearance. Their language. Their town – at the border of Kentshire, Germania, and Umberwood. Fates, how had I missed it? How had I missed all the warnings?
I reached for my sword, but I was too late. A blow from behind sent me to my knees as the rest of the men in the room sprang to their feet. Swords screamed free from sheaths and, over the slam of the door behind me, the hoarse bark of Callum Winters' laugh raked like nails over my skin.
**A/N: Well, those of you who know my stories well definitely saw this one coming. Unfortunately for Tom, he didn't.
What do you think Callum wants?
Is he there on his own or is he there for Dulciana?
Most importantly, what do you think Thomas will do to get out of it?
As always, if you enjoyed it, please vote and comment 😊❤️**