Chapter Six
Six
“Avast,” the man on the hill called out.
“Ahoy,” Juniper responded before his thoughts caught up with him. At least he hadn’t taken his dick out to pee before the handsome stranger arrived.
Mo shifted beside Juniper, his posture changing from exhausted but relaxed to subtly alert, hands drifting down toward his hip and the knife belt still strapped there.
Why couldn’t their positions have been swapped, with Juniper shirtless while Mo stood there in his skivvies? It wasn’t fair. Mo had a smear of soot across his brow and was dripping, bare-chested with muscles rippling unfairly, and a knife belt slung a little lopsided over his hips.
“Who are you?” the man called, sword still stretched out in his hand. “State your business.”
“Morningthall Elmthorn and Juniper O’Reilly,” Mo answered him, fingers ghosting over his biggest knife. “On dragon hunting business for His Majesty.”
Juniper shivered—the words sounded regal, important—and then immediately snorted despite himself. “You’ve been waiting all your life to shout out a sentence like that,” he said softly, nudging Mo with his shoulder.
Mo’s eyes remained fixed on the handsome traveler, but a grin played across his lips.
The man sheathed his sword, his gait slowing. “I am Prince Edward,” he said.
“Oh,” Juniper blurted, unable to contain his disappointment. “I thought you were the crown prince. You’re the third, aren’t you?”
The gossip scrolls were full of tales of all the various princes and princesses and royal offspring of various other assorted genders and species. There were a great many, of course. The king was always at it like a rabbit.
This prince’s golden features were cast in shadow for a moment, but then he shrugged and grinned.
“It’s convenient, actually,” he said. “If I were the crown prince, they would never let me go dragon-hunting. And I do love the chase. Did you see her, then, boys? The great winged terror we’re hunting? ”
Juniper nodded eagerly. “Yes,” he said. “We did. She was beautiful and terrible and—well, Mo saw her. I just helped us escape.”
He shot a look at Mo, whose face remained neutral, Divona bless him. Juniper very much did not want it revealed to a prince (a prince!) that he had also fallen asleep and let the dragons set their camp on fire.
Prince Edward beamed, holding out his hand to clasp Juniper’s.
A real prince, shaking his hand? Juniper took it eagerly. If his old man could see him now, shaking hands with a prince. Even if it was a third prince. After all his old man had said about Juniper never amounting to anything, here he was anyway, against the odds.
Mo nodded to the prince, a gesture that should have been respectful but seemed a little cold, even for Mo, who was often withdrawn with new acquaintances.
“Any luck wounding her?” the prince asked Mo.
People often looked at Juniper and Mo and decided, even after only speaking two sentences to them, that Mo was the one to ask. Mo was in charge. Mo was the tough one, the leader, the decision-maker.
The dragon hunter.
“Not yet,” Juniper answered before Mo could.
He didn’t often feel jealous when people did that; they were right: Mo was the better of the two of them.
The better shot with a bow, the better with animals, the better gardener, the better craftsman.
Juniper was really only better at needle arts, growing chamomile, and getting the sheep to follow him, which hardly seemed like something a prince would respect.
And also finding the best berry-picking spots, because Mo so loved the preserves he made.
Again, not something a prince would respect.
But jealousy was white-hot in this moment, when the prince’s glowing gaze fell on Mo like a sunbeam.
Mo already glowed. It wasn’t fair that he had the prince’s full attention.
“It woke us by setting our camp ablaze,” Mo told the prince, whose attention remained fixed on Mo. “Are you alone, Your Highness? No guards to travel with you?”
Prince Edward looked very grave. “Unfortunately, my men were badly injured by the dragon last night. We routed her and she fled south—alas, it would seem straight to your camp.”
“Badly injured?” Juniper blanched. “How badly?”
“If they’re not with you, I assume they’re dead,” Mo said bluntly.
But Juniper heard the rest of the sentence, clear as day: Or you left them behind.
But princes wouldn’t do that. Certainly not one as chivalrous as this one, the kind of man who wore his crown even in the rough wilderness and said things like avast.
The prince and Mo were staring at each other. Usually Mo was the one who struggled to read the undercurrent in a social situation, but Juniper found himself unable to decipher the look that passed between them.
Tension, certainly. Maybe even a speck of jealousy from Mo. Disdain.
“It was an unfortunate turn,” the prince answered. “Would you fine fellows care to join my party? I understand how it is with your mercenary bands, so there will be no ill will if—”
“No,” Mo said.
Not No, thank you. Not Yes, Your Highness, we would love to.
Just no. Flat as could be and twice as heavy.
“Mo,” Juniper protested. Would they be beheaded for rudeness, just like they could be if they quit this quest before Samhain? Surely this was something he and Mo should talk about.
But the prince only tilted his head, his friendly expression remaining, though looking a little frozen in place now.
“I understand,” he said. “You have my respect, of course. My father employs mercenary bands across this land for quests just like this one, and the thing they all share is their fierce sense of independence. We are grateful for your service.”
He inclined his head at Juniper.
“If you meet a man named Bill,” Juniper said. “Steer clear.”
“Oh?” The prince looked more interested than he had a moment ago.
Mo’s elbow caught Juniper’s ribs sharply.
“You won’t be able to miss him. He smells like a horse,” Juniper added, tacking on a grin so it would seem as if he were joking. “But in all seriousness, Your Highness, he talks a good game but has never been successful.”
“Good to keep in mind,” His Highness said politely. “I wish you well, gentlemen, and better luck than what happened upon you last night. If you change your mind—”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Mo said.
His face had no smile, no hint of anything behind his eyes but steel.
Mo would do this when negotiating in the city for goods they needed, his jaw set like this.
It made merchants back down, and even those obnoxious little banker men offered a better price.
A good jawline was an antidote to price gouging, Juniper thought.
And here, Mo’s look was a clear dismissal, even though this was a prince they were speaking to.
The prince returned up the hill, his movements elegant and graceful despite his heavy armor.
“What in the name of Divona?” Juniper asked, as soon as he was sure there was sufficient space between them and the prince. “That was a prince. It would have helped, quite a lot, and he could have paid our way at taverns along the journey.”
“And he would have left us for dead when the dragon attacked,” Mo said. “Just like he abandoned his men last night.”
“Morn,” Juniper protested.
Mo shrugged off more of his wet clothing, hanging it over branches to dry. “Don’t be a fool,” he said.
Juniper took a step back, hurt flickering like a flame. “I am not a fool,” he protested, despite the fact that only a few moments ago he had shouted ahoy at a prince.
Still, they made decisions together.
Or maybe that was only the case back on their farm. Maybe they were different out here, versions of Mo and Juniper where Mo made decisions and Juniper was too dumb to be consulted. For a moment, just a moment, Juniper couldn’t quite catch his breath.
“No,” Mo said finally, weighing his words. “But he’s trouble.”
“He’s a prince.”
“Princes often are trouble,” Mo said sagely.
“And what princes have you met?” Juniper demanded, peeling his shirt off and slinging it roughly over a sooty oak branch. “Other than that one just there?”
Morn shook his head, all the answer he seemed willing to give Juniper.
We should talk, Juniper wanted to say, but Mo was already turning away to hang more of his wet things on some nearby tree branches.
And talking, actually talking, had never gotten him anything but left behind.