Chapter 27 The Prince of the Lost #2
Radven’s devilish smile widened, and he went in for the attack.
This time, he didn’t throw the dirt in his hand—he dove straight in, grabbing Alastor by the shirt with one hand and attempting to smear the soil across his chest with the other.
Alastor, no surprise, fought back, and within seconds both were on the ground, wrestling.
Beside me, Octavian gave a deep, rumbling chuckle. But despite the humor of the situation, I was distracted by something else. That wasn’t the first time I’d heard someone refer to Alastor that way.
“Why does everyone keep calling him ‘Your Highness’?” I asked.
Radven and Alastor froze mid-headlock, and all three brothers swiveled their heads toward me.
“I mean, I guess part of it’s obvious,” I admitted.
“He’s royalty of some sort. But does that mean you other two are royals, too?
I’ve never heard anyone call either of you ‘Your Highness’—not that I can remember, anyway.
And if you guys are royalty, shouldn’t there be a lot more people looking for you?
Or are you telling me that here in Therador a band of crazy sorcerers can just poof a bunch of royals without anyone caring? ”
Radven and Alastor released each other, sitting back. For what it was worth, Radven’s plan had clearly succeeded, since Alastor’s clothes were now mussed and torn and covered with debris from the forest floor.
I turned to Octavian, since he was usually the one who explained things to me, but he was looking at Alastor, apparently waiting for his brother to take the lead on this one.
Which he did, eventually, with a sigh.
“Yes, I’m royalty,” Alastor said, rising stiffly. “I’m the prince of a place that doesn’t exist. Just call me the Prince of the Lost.”
And once again, one of these brothers had given me an explanation that raised more questions than it answered.
“Is that your…official title?” I asked. I glanced between Radven and Octavian. “And what about you two?”
“No royal blood here,” Radven said. “Not that I know of, anyway.” His eyes gleamed. “But I’ve been called a king in a few other contexts.”
“Alastor is the only titled one among us, yes,” Octavian said. “As you guessed before, we’re not related by blood.”
“And as much as I enjoy discussing my lineage, I’d prefer to get moving,” Alastor said, pulling a leaf off his dirty pants and scowling at it.
“He’s right. We need to go.” Radven was running his hands through his hair, ruffling it up again and transforming back into the slouched, rumpled version of himself.
“If we follow the slope to our left, it’ll take us right down to the southern road.
Wait several minutes before following me.
Once inside, there should be a stable to your right.
We’ll meet up in the alley behind it. If it’s no longer there, or if anything goes wrong, make your way to our usual guestrooms in the Hill.
” He looked to each of his brothers, who nodded in understanding, then turned and disappeared through the trees.
Alastor went back to picking bits of leaves and twigs off himself, and I watched him, more curious now than ever.
I supposed the whole prince thing explained his entitlement.
But I’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d called himself the “Prince of the Lost.” There were layers to this man that I wasn’t seeing, and I had to admit I was intrigued.
He’d managed to pick most of the leaves off him—but very little of the dirt—when he finally muttered something and took off in the same direction Radven had disappeared.
“Marigold?” Octavian touched my arm. “Are you ready for this?”
I nodded. We were just walking into a town, not storming a castle or anything. I told myself there was no reason to feel so jittery. Except for the fact that everything in this world is trying to kill me. And I don’t even belong here in the first place.
“Do we, uh, need to pretend we’re married or something?” I asked Octavian. “When we enter the town, I mean.”
Octavian glanced over at me, eyebrows raised.
“When we went into Far Meadow, Radven said it would be strange for an unmarried woman to be traveling with an unmarried man,” I explained.
“Oh.” Octavian nodded. “Of course we can pretend to be married if you like.”
“It’s not about me liking it,” I said, then flushed. “I mean, not to imply that I’m offended by the idea of being your pretend wife or something. I just meant that I wasn’t asking for anything other than purely practical reasons.” Good god, where was my off switch and how could I activate it?
Fortunately, Octavian spoke before I could babble myself into complete humiliation.
“Don’t worry,” he rumbled. “You’re safe with me.”
And I did feel safe, with him at my side. I still had a hard time believing this man claimed to have a hole where his heart should be.
When the time came, we made our way down the wooded slope, then hid ourselves in the trees at the bottom to watch the road that led into town. Octavian’s big hand was a warm, reassuring weight on my arm.
We waited until a small caravan of carts piled high with vegetables trundled past, then slipped out from the trees and fell in behind them.
It felt odd, being out in the open after a couple days of running and hiding among the trees.
But I had to admit, I felt safer walking next to the big, muscled Octavian.
His size alone made him the sort of guy that drew people’s attention but also made them quickly look away, as if they were afraid to meet his gaze.
Despite my nerves, the walk into Ring-Around-the-Hill was uneventful, and it wasn’t long before we were standing in the outermost circle of the town.
“The stable is this way,” Octavian said, pressing his fingers gently against my back. The touch was light, meant to do little more than guide me in the right direction, but I’d have been lying if I said I didn’t go a little tingly.
The streets were even more crowded than I expected, and I was glad to have Octavian at my side to lead us through the throng. People practically fell out of his way, apparently afraid to accidentally inconvenience the big, cloaked man.
“Looks like you’re a little more conspicuous than we’d hoped,” I said, only loud enough for him to hear.
I leaned closer to him, swerving out of the way of a man with a long, braided beard.
While people were making a path for Octavian, I wasn’t so lucky.
Most of the townsfolk—and especially the men, I noticed—were disinclined to move out of my way, instead leaving me to zig and zag and constantly veer out of someone’s path.
It figured I would be just as invisible here as I was back home.
“Unfortunately,” Octavian rumbled in response to my comment. “But there’s little we can do about it now.” He offered me his arm, and the moment I took it, the townsfolk began to treat us as a single unit, swerving around both of us instead of just him.
Of course.
It wasn’t long before we reached the stable Radven had mentioned—it was indeed close. The smell hit me even before I noticed the horses being guided in and out.
“This way.” Octavian steered me around the side of the stable and to a narrow alley that ran between the stable and the town’s stone outer wall.
It was just wide enough for the pair of us to walk abreast, and there was a trail of foul-smelling sludge running down the center that I carefully avoided.
We walked around the back of the stable, then all the way around the building’s far side, to the place where the alley opened back into the street once more. There was no one else back here.
Octavian stopped, then turned around, scanning the roof of the stable as well as the building on the other side.
“Did we pass any other stables?” he asked me in a very low, quiet voice.
“Not that I saw.” I matched his volume and followed his gaze, but I saw nothing. “Where are Radven and Alastor?”
“I don’t know.” His grip tightened on my arm, and his other hand reached for his sword. “But something’s very wrong.”