* * *
I looked at Rafe but couldn’t imagine him sitting on a throne. I could only see him on the back of a horse, a soldier, his hair sun-kissed and windblown, fire in his eyes, intimidation in his gaze, and a sword in his hand. That was the Rafe I knew. But he was more than that now. He was the ruler of a powerful kingdom, and no longer the heir apparent. His lids were heavy, as if all his lost days of sleep were finally overtaking him. No man, not even one as strong as Rafe, could go forever on handfuls of rest.
The captain rode on the other side of him, conferring with a soldier. I didn’t know how Rafe had explained his long absence. I was certain most details of Terravin had been left out. What did a captain care about a tavern maid serving a farmer?
Rafe turned, knowing I was looking at him, and smiled. “Hot baths for both of us first thing.”
Was it wrong for me to wish it could be a single hot bath for us both? A few blessed hours where we could forget that the rest of the world existed? After everything we’d been through, weren’t we entitled to that much? I was tired of waiting for tomorrows, hopes, and maybes.
“There she is!” I heard Orrin call from somewhere ahead of us.
I looked and saw a structure rising on a gentle knoll in the distance. Two soldiers galloped ahead of our party to announce us. This was an outpost?
“That’s Marabella?” I said to Rafe.
“Not what you were expecting?”
Not at all. I expected a sea of tents. Perhaps some wooden barricades. Maybe a fortification of sod. This was the Cam Lanteux, after all, and no permanent structures were allowed here. It wasn’t just an understanding—it was part of a very old treaty.
Instead what I saw was a sprawling stone structure with gleaming white walls, lithe and graceful, spreading out like beautiful swan wings from a tall gate tower. As we got closer, I saw wagons and tents huddled in groups outside those walls. A city in its own right.
“What is all that?” I asked.
Rafe explained that the outside perimeter of the outpost served as a safe haven and stopping point for traders on their way to other kingdoms. Vagabonds also took refuge close to its walls, especially in winter, when the northern climes were too harsh. Here they could set out plots and grow winter vegetables. And there were those who came to ply their trade with the soldiers too, offering food, trinkets, and diversions of various kinds. It was an ever-changing city as merchants came and went.
The sun was still high, and the rising expanse of stone wall shone bright against the dark earth, reminding me of something magical from a child’s story. The gate opened and people flooded through it—not all of them soldiers. More crowded the tower walls above, eager to get a look. The news had arrived, and likely none of them could quite believe it. The lost prince was found. Curious merchants from the nearby wagons walked closer to the gates to see what the fuss was all about. A line of soldiers kept them back so the road was clear for us to enter.
It seemed that if there was one thing I was destined for, it was to make underwhelming and filthy first impressions, whether it was the first time I stepped into Berdi’s tavern, my entrance into Sanctum Hall—or today, meeting Rafe’s countrymen for the first time.
I felt the stickiness of my neck anew, the grit behind my earlobes, the grime smearing my face, and wished I at least had a basin to wash up in. I smoothed back my hair, but my fingers only became tangled in knots.
“Lia,” Rafe said, reaching out and returning my hand to my side, “we’re home. We’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
He licked his thumb and rubbed it across my chin, as if that made a difference, then smiled. “There. Perfect. Just the way you are.”
“You smudged my dirt,” I said, feigning irritation.
His eyes sparked with reassurance. I nodded. Yes. We were safe—and together. That was all that mattered.
Other than the rumble of hooves, it was silent as we approached. It was as if every breath was held, all unbelieving, certain that the soldier had made an error in his message, but then murmurs of recognition rose, and someone high on the tower wall yelled, “Bastards! It is you!”
Rafe smiled and Sven waved. I was startled at first, then realized that it was a greeting and not a jeer—soldier to soldier, not soldier to king. Jeb, Orrin, and Tavish returned calls from other comrades. I was surprised to see that there were women among the crowd. Finely dressed women. Their mouths hung half-open and their gazes rested on me—not their new king. Once we were through the gates, soldiers waiting to lead our horses away took our reins, and Rafe helped me down. My injured leg was stiff and with my first step, I stumbled. Rafe caught me, keeping his arm around my waist. His attentions didn’t go unnoticed, and there was a lull in the greetings. Certainly the soldiers who rode ahead with a hurried message of the prince’s return hadn’t included details of a girl in the convoy.
A tall, trim man made his way through the crowd, and everyone quickly moved aside for him. His stride was deliberate, and his bare scalp gleamed in the sun. One of his shoulders held the distinction of a wide gold braid. He stopped in front of Rafe and shook his head, his chin dimpling like an orange, and then just as the captain had when we were out on the plain, he dropped to one knee and said loudly so everyone would hear, “Your Majesty King J
axon Tyrus Rafferty of Dalbreck. Greet your sovereign.”
There was a collective hush. A few immediately dropped to their knee as well, more officers echoing King Jaxon, but the majority of soldiers hesitated, shocked by the news. It had been a secret—the old king was dead. Slowly the realization took root, and the crowd rippled to their knees.
Rafe acknowledged them with a simple nod, but it was obvious to me that, beyond anything, he wished he could forgo these formalities. While he honored tradition and protocol more than I did, right now he was only a very tired young man in need of rest, soap, and a decent meal.
The officer stood and studied Rafe for a moment, then reached out and gave him a vigorous embrace, not caring that Rafe’s filthy clothes were soiling his fresh tunic and crisp shirt.
“I’m sorry, boy,” he said softly. “I loved your parents.” He let go and held him at arm’s length. “But blessed devils, soldier, your timing stinks. Where the hell have you been?”
Rafe briefly closed his eyes, his weariness returned. He was king and didn’t have to explain anything, but he was a soldier first, loyal to his fellow soldiers. “The captain can answer some of your questions. First we need—”
“Of course,” the man said, realizing his error, and turned to a soldier at his side. “Our king and his officers need baths and fresh clothes. And quarters prepared! And—” His eyes fell on me, perhaps noting for the first time that I was a female. “And…” He fumbled uncertainly.