Chapter 52
Ian was thankful to be sitting, even if it was on the back of a moving horse. The action still required using most of the muscles in his body, but at least his own legs did not have to do all of the work.
Lane rode in front of Ian, his shorter, stocky mount traipsing along the packed-dirt road with fresh energy. Lane himself, experienced horseman that he was, rode along with an extra bounce in his shoulders.
Ian looked away. The mere sight of that expended energy caused him to seethe in anger. He rolled his hips with every step Rowena took, melding the movement of his muscles with hers to conserve the energy he no longer had.
He wished he had turned around for one last glimpse of Robin.
But he had not. He knew his resolve was fragile. And the sight of her standing there, watching him ride away, would have destroyed it.
“. . . Robin . . . never seen . . .” Lane’s voice cut into Ian’s thoughts.
Ian looked up to find his riding companion had slowed, dropping back to ride side by side with Rowena. Ian grunted, partly in response to whatever Lane had said, and partly in frustration at Lane’s closeness.
Ian’s mind immediately searched back in time, trying to rehear what Lane had said. But his thoughts were too muddled to recall the words, so he consciously decided to stop trying.
He truly did not want to hear what Lane thought about Robin. He did not want to hear what anyone thought about Robin. He did not want to think about Robin. He did not want to hear Robin’s name spoken in his presence.
Perhaps his brothers and Meena had been right to refrain from mentioning her in his presence all those years. He would have to demand that such an unspoken rule be reinstated moving forward—if he survived this. If Onric and Erich and Aden survived this. If his father survived . . .
If Robin survived this.
Funny, though, that she who put herself in the most danger was more likely to survive than the rest of them.
Robin. The woman who had been fighting this fight for longer than any of them had known it existed. Robin who had created safety for dozens—likely hundreds—of people. She would survive this through sheer force of will and the knowledge that someone needed her.
“I am glad that you came to Lockwood, Ian.” Lane was speaking to him again.
Ian lifted his head, drawn to the sincerity in the other man’s words despite his own continued desire for silence.
“I had not expected you to be so easy to get along with.”
Ian shook his head. He did not want this man’s appreciation. He was a failure, and he wanted to feel like a failure.
“Perhaps we are making the wrong move,” Lane continued, looking over at Ian. “We could be great friends, just the two of us. Leave all this behind.”
Confused—and against his better judgment—Ian looked over at the man riding next to him.
Lane had his eyebrows raised, or rather, his whole face was raised, lifted toward Ian to compensate for Rowena’s superior height.
But under those earnest eyes, Lane’s mouth twitched into a small grin.
“We could take the north fork, just up ahead. Keep riding until we reach Etrar.” Lane was grinning now.
“Find a small village in the mountains somewhere.”
Ian nudged Rowena forward, embracing the pain in his tired thigh muscles. Anything to get Lane out of his line of sight.
“We could start fresh,” Lane continued, raising his voice as Ian drew several paces ahead. “You could choose a new name. I would never betray you!”
When he had placed a comfortable distance between them, Ian relaxed his seat again.
Yes, Lane was jesting. But a small part of Ian wanted exactly what the man was suggesting. He did want to run away . . . No.
No, that was something that he had wanted.
He was surprised to find he no longer did. He had made his decision, and there was no turning back. He was Ian Sirilian, Crown Prince of Iseldis, and he would not spend another moment leaving his people—and his family—at the mercy of a cruel and manipulative usurper.
He’d spent his whole life taking the intellectual route. Weighing every option, gaining every counsel, choosing the just path forward with the least amount of risk and harm to all involved.
And he had tried to fight against Gareth the same way.
Now, he had nothing left but himself. He had exhausted every safe option. He was his own last hope.
There’s a girl in the woods who commands from the trees.
Lane’s voice bellowed out from behind him, singing nonsense words to a tavern tune Ian was familiar with.
She won’t rob you blind, only half if you please.
Ian urged Rowena forward again. He did not want to hear songs about Robin.
She’ll vanish like smoke when the soldiers draw near,
And leave nothing behind but an arrow and fear.
It was something Erich would do, intentionally poke at him to rouse him from dire thoughts. But as much as Ian appreciated the attempt, he refused to look back at his traveling companion.
He did not want to be roused from his thoughts. He wanted to think about Robin, to imagine her standing there, watching him leave.
While he hated to admit it, even to himself, the real reason he had not turned around to look at her one last time was because he was a coward.
He had been too afraid to turn around and see that she was not watching him.
He loved her.
He always had. The pure feelings of his young love all those years ago had never been fleeting.
He loved her fierce independence, the way that she tried so hard to do things on her own.
He loved the way she challenged him, first with her unexpected swordsmanship, and then the way she had stood up to his father.
It had never even occurred to him to question his father.
Frederich was a kind father and a just king; he was the person Ian idolized and emulated.
When Robin had challenged him, Ian had started to think for himself.
To analyze his father’s decisions and start to make up his own mind about the actions he would take when he became king. Even after she left.
And then, in these last sevennights, she had continued to challenge him. With her thoughts and plans and her network of Majis supporters and her ridiculous but effective loan system that had kept entire villages afloat during years of storms and low crop yields.
He loved her clever ideas and passionate pursuit of what she thought was right.
He loved the way that every muscle in her body relaxed when she leaned against him. As though, somehow, just being with him brought her some relief from the responsibility and grief of fighting a doomed fight.
At least he hoped that was what she had been feeling.
Because in those moments when she had relaxed against him, he had felt like everything was finally worth it.
Just by being in her presence, he could be just Ian.
Not the crown prince. Not the hope of an entire kingdom.
Not the person who had to have all the answers and lead with confidence despite having never done this before and not seeing a clear path forward.
It was like she saw him in a way that only his direct family members ever had. Only, his family had to love him. She chose to.
And he knew, if he had turned around for that one final look and seen her already turned away, it would have broken something irreparable inside of him. He had already watched her leave him once. He could not bear to see her turn away from him.
And he knew her. She had made her values incredibly clear, over and over. Surely, she had not watched him for more than a moment before her mind had been consumed by her own responsibilities and she had turned back to find another person to help.
So he had ridden away without looking back.
Behind him, though, Lane’s voice still carried on with his ridiculous ballad.
She’s never been followed, she’s never been found,
The ferns swallow her steps so she don’t make a sound.