Chapter 58
Lilias
HER GUARD
Iclap my hand over my mouth to keep from cheering. Or screaming.
I thought finding the old hunting camp would be easy once we reached the valley and found the rough road that followed the Marion River’s headwaters. I assumed the whole journey would come back to me, and I’d be able to tell Zarek exactly where we were and how long it would take to reach the camp.
But I didn’t recognize anything. The dark, silent pines, the looming shadows of the mountains, the soft gurgle of the cold, black river, all of it could have placed us anywhere in the kingdom. It was only the vaguest whisper of intuition that made me turn right and follow the stream upriver.
Zarek didn’t say a word. He just followed my lead, silent as the night surrounding us. And, the further we went, the more I began to dread admitting that I was lost. Perhaps I could just wait until morning.
But here it is, gleaming silver in the moonlight. The massive pine that was once split by lightning, the mark to turn off the road and follow the rutted path into the valley that hides the royal hunting camp.
The old split pine isn’t as big as I remember, and the road beneath it looks even rougher than it was when I was a child. Still, it’s the right tree. This is the right place. Thank the gods.
The white stallion snorts, clearly nervous about the strange-looking tree in front of him.
I reach up to pat his neck. Zarek gently suggested leaving the beast behind in the forest, but as we resumed our slow progress down the little stream, the stallion followed us, snorting like he was mildly offended we didn’t saddle him before we left.
I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to be left in those mountains either.
“It’s okay,” I whisper to the horse. “It’s just a tree.”
I take a few steps forward, then turn back to the horse. He snorts, twists his neck, and prances backward. He does not like that tree.
“Diva,” I mutter under my breath.
Zarek meets me, then holds his finger to his lips and tilts his head toward the lightning-scarred tree. I frown, listening.
And a man steps out of the bushes next to me, holding a sword pointed directly at my chest.
There’s a clatter of hooves as the stallion abandons us. Zarek spins, and moonlight glints off a blade in his hands. He presses the blade to the man’s neck.
What in the hells? Where did Zarek get a blade?
“Drop your weapon,” the man says, ignoring the dagger against his throat. “There are a dozen archers in the woods.”
Why do I recognize that voice? I stare at the man in the shadows, searching my memory.
“If they let one arrow fly, I’ll slit your throat,” Zarek growls.
“Turn back the way you came,” the man snaps. “There’s nothing for you here.”
“Drop your sword, and we’ll talk,” Zarek replies.
“Gerard!” I shout.
The man’s sword wavers, then falls to the ground. I rush forward, flinging myself into the arms of my brother’s friend.
Zarek pulls back, his blade vanishing. I see him bend down as Gerard gives me an awkward pat on the back; that dagger must have been hidden in Zarek’s boot.
“P-Princess Lilias?” Gerard stammers. “Gods, what are you doing here?”
More men melt out of the shadows, pushing their hoods back to expose the weathered and exhausted faces of my brother’s men-at-arms. Most of them, at least.
“Who in the hells is this?” my brother’s man, Owain, growls, waving an arrow at Zarek.
“I’m her guard,” Zarek replies. His lips pull back in a snarl.
I blink at him as my exhausted mind struggles to make sense of his words. My guard? Zarek is the snake of Vsenrog, the prince of Dungal. Or is he ashamed to admit he’s my husband?
“What in the stars happened to you?” Gerard says, turning to me. “Were you attacked as well?”
Owain spits on the ground. “Fucking Vsenrog,” he snarls with surprising vehemence. “Those nasty sons of bitches.”
I pull in a shaky breath. The ground beneath me feels like it’s tilting. I turn to Zarek, but he’s not looking at me.
And I suddenly understand why my husband wouldn’t want to introduce himself as a member of the Vsenrog royal court.
Not to a group of armed men guarding the road to the Marion royal hunting lodge, and not when his kingdom has armies traveling through my kingdom’s territory.
But how did he know Vsenrog wasn’t welcome here?
“Yes,” I admit in a trembling voice, “we were attacked. My— My guard saved me.”
Zarek tips his head slightly, an almost invisible gesture of agreement. And just like that, he’s gone from prince and husband to personal guard. At least until I learn why my brother’s men-at-arms are growling about Vsenrog.
“But why are you here?” I ask, as Gerard wraps his arm around mine.
“We came with the prince,” Gerard replies, his voice low and solemn.
Owain laughs, a harsh, rusty sound.
“More like we ran for our fucking lives,” Owain says.
“Ran? From what?” I hear myself ask. I feel like I’m floating in the night air, watching my body from the crowns of the trees.
Gerard turns to me, his hand warm against my arm.
“Vsenrog attacked us,” Gerard says, with a quick and somewhat nasty glance at Zarek. “A group of their soldiers set an ambush just after we crossed the border from Ethiria. They didn’t even bother to hide their colors.”
I try to speak, but no words come out.
This makes no sense. Vsenrog attacking the prince of Marion? That’s an act of war, not just against us, but against every one of the Seven Allied Kingdoms.
“And, Princess,” Gerard continues. “Your brother. He’s been injured.”
The night closes in around me. Gerard’s arm on mine is the only thing keeping me from collapsing.
“Take me to him,” I say in a jagged voice. “Please.”
My brother’s men-at-arms melt back into the night. There’s a whistle, the low murmur of conversation, and then Owain returns, leading a solid gray mare that I recognize from Marion’s stables. He bows deferentially as he hands the reins to me. I glance back at Zarek, who doesn’t meet my gaze.
He’s the one who should be riding. He’s in worse shape than me. Gods, he must be exhausted. Not to mention freezing.
But he’s supposed to be my guard, not my husband. And if I pay too much attention to the strange man who just held a dagger to Gerard’s throat, my brother’s men might start to suspect he’s more than just a guard.
My chest feels heavy as I pull myself into the mare’s saddle and follow Owain down the overgrown road to the abandoned royal hunting lodge. I glance over my shoulder as I pass beneath the burned pine tree and see Prince Syvan’s white stallion following me, like a ghost.