Chapter 13

Mildred stared at the Befelynians, her cheeks heating. The handsome boy with the golden eyes and wild hair was a king? What would a king be doing walking into Homard with only two escorts, both of whom looked no older than Mildred herself?

The boy seemed just as uncomfortable as she felt. He waved a hand in the air like he could swat his title away. "There's no need for formality, really. I'm just Reynolds—"

"You're not old enough to be the king of Befelyn, Reynolds." Mildred crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Did he think she was stupid? She didn't know what the Befelynians hoped to gain by making such a ridiculous claim, but they weren't going to get it from her. She'd spent years learning everything there was to know about the kingdoms that surrounded Gruidarid, and the king of Befelyn was old enough to be this boy's father. "I don't know what you want here, but it's time for you to go."

"You dare speak to him this way?" The girl with the short dark hair and sharp green eyes stepped toward Mildred, but the huge, dark-skinned Befelynian boy put a hand on her shoulder to hold her back.

Reynolds met her gaze, and grief lurked in his. "My father died in the ogre war. My older brother and my mother also." His gaze drifted from hers as he opened his cloak to reveal the Befelynian royal seal—a bronze dragon with emeralds for eyes and wings studded with rubies—pinned to the inside just above his heart. "I'm the king of Befelyn now."

She believed him. "I'm sorry for your loss." And she was. But more than that, she needed to understand why the king of Befelyn was in Homard and whether that posed a danger to her people or to Sydney, Alvie, and herself.

She waited until he looked at her again before saying, "What are you doing traveling through Gruidarid with such a small escort? And why would you bother stopping at a village like this when Nordenberg—which is a far wealthier town—is just north of here and its people are used to nobility—"

Sydney nudged her with his elbow and whispered "manners" before giving

Reynolds a huge smile. "Forgive us, my lord, for you have us at a disadvantage. My sister is frankly deplorable at conducting courtly conversations. The only thing worse than her ability to make appropriate small talk with royalty is her attempt to let a man lead her on the dance floor. Your timely interruption has saved me from the chore of attending dance lessons with her. My feet thank you."

Stepping back from the Befelynians, Mildred snatched Sydney's shirt and pulled him close so she could whisper, "We aren't royalty here. We're supposed to pass as peasants. That means—"

"We aren't peasants. We're the Heirs—"

"Not to him. We need to send them on their way and go meet up with Alvie and Sasha to make sure everyone in the village is all right."

"This is getting weird," the female Befelynian called out.

Sydney flashed her a smile. "It's our first time meeting royalty in the woods. We really don't have a precedent to call upon." Turning to Mildred, he whispered, "One day Elinor won't be on the throne. You will, with me as your charming and loveable assistant. And when that day comes, you'll need a working relationship with the king of Befelyn. It might be best if he didn't remember you as the girl who saved his life and was then unspeakably impolite."

He was right. Plus, she wanted to know why the new king of Befelyn was in Gruidarid instead of in his own country where he belonged, and she wasn't going to get that information without trying to use a little bit of Sydney's charm. Mustering a smile, she let go of her brother's shirt and stepped toward Reynolds again. Behind her, Sydney whispered "courtly conversation" as she reached one gloved hand toward the king as if offering him a dance.

Reynolds took her hand in a gentle grip. She looked up and found his amber eyes fixed on hers, while the wind teased his red-brown hair and the sun glowed against his golden skin. The corner of his mouth quirked in a half smile, and heaven help her, every lesson she'd ever learned on proper etiquette for Befelynian royalty flew right out of her brain.

Sydney made a sound behind her, and Mildred realized she'd been stared into Reynolds's eyes, her hand resting in his palm, for who knew how long while the king's escorts frowned at her, waiting for her to break the silence.

She should bow—no curtsy. She was a princess. Princesses curtsied. She should curtsy and say . . . something.

The king's half smile grew, and he opened his mouth as if to speak. Hastily, Mildred swept into an elegant curtsy—no small feat considering her current attire—and said the first thing that popped into her head.

"You look most fetching today, my lord."

The large Befelynian boy snorted. Reynolds's eyes widened, and his smile froze. And Sydney—curse his miserable hide—made the kind of strangled choking noise that meant he was trying desperately not to laugh.

"Oh no." Mildred pulled her hand from Reynolds's, her skin prickling with heat from absolute humiliation. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, the forest floor would open up and swallow her. If there was any justice in the world, it would swallow Sydney too.

"I . . . thank you?" Reynolds glanced at his escorts, but they were both smirking at him.

"This is your fault." Mildred glared at Sydney, who stopped trying to swallow his laughter and sagged against the closest tree trunk so he could truly enjoy her embarrassment. "You and your stupid courtly conversation jokes, and now look what happened."

"I myself have always found Reynolds quite fetching." The Befelynian boy stepped forward and held out a hand twice the size of Mildred's. She gingerly placed her hand in his. "I'm Waltman and that beautiful but surly Befelynian is Luther. We're both grateful for your help." His brows rose. "You can call me fetching as well, and then allow me to demonstrate my gratitude by—"

"That's enough, Waltman," Reynolds said. Waltman grinned at Mildred, his teeth a slash of white against his dark skin.

"Why is the king of Befelyn traveling through this part of Gruidarid?" Mildred asked because even though she'd mangled her attempt at making a good impression as a princess—not that Reynolds even knew she was a princess— she was determined to get the information that mattered.

"I'm on my way to see your queen. We stopped hoping to find a decent meal and a bed in one of the mountain villages—a mistake I won't make twice."

"You're going to see Queen Elinor?" Mildred stepped back, icy calm washing over her as Sydney stopped laughing and moved to her side, his eyes guarded.

"I am."

Mildred's hands slowly closed into fists as magic raced down her veins to gather in her palms. "You said you owed me a debt."

He inclined his head graciously, though a watchfulness had entered his gaze.

"Then do me a favor and forget any of this ever happened." She leaned toward him. "Forget this village. Forget my bird. Forget the two of us. Don't mention any of this to the queen. She punishes those who displease her, and this village has enough problems without adding the queen's wrath to the list."

Reynolds touched his brow again, and said quietly, "I owe you a much greater debt than simply omitting today from my conversation with Elinor. You saved our lives."

She met his gaze. "And by keeping silent, you will save ours." She glanced at the village again. "Ours and hundreds of others."

He held out his hand. "You have my word."

She slowly laid her palm over his. He pulled her closer and slid his hand up her arm to cup her elbow in the traditional Befelynian greeting. Heat unspooled in her stomach, and her heart quickened—a foolish response she had no time for.

Casting about her lessons for a polite way to say goodbye to a Befelynian, she said, "May the skies grant you protection on your journey."

Reynolds's eyes widened as though surprised that she knew the phrasing, but he responded, "And may heaven watch over you on yours."

She gave him a tiny smile as she pulled away from him and then turned to disappear into the forest with Sydney.

"One more word about the courtly conversation from you, and it will be the last thing you ever say," Mildred said as they hurried through the woods toward the village.

"I wasn't going to say a thing!" Sydney protested as they leaped over a fallen evergreen. "Though I do think the entire conversation was very—"

"Sydneypold Arlen Wolfgang Diederich, don't you dare." "Fetching."

She opened her mouth to insult him—not that she could ever think of an insult that could get the best of him—when Sasha's thoughts arrowed into her own, a silver-quick image of Alvie sagging against the back wall of the pub, blood pouring from a wound in his chest and puddling on the cobblestones at his feet.

The breath left Mildred's body, and panic curled through her stomach. Not Alvie. Not like this. Her lips trembled as she started running for the village.

"What are you doing?" Sydney demanded as he caught up to her.

A rush of magic burned down Mildred's arms, and she clenched her fists. "Alvie is hurt."

Bleeding fast, fast, fast. Big wound. Sasha's thoughts darted through Mildred's mind, showing Mildred an image of a crudely made spear lying beside Alvie, its sharp tip covered in blood.

A homemade spear one of the villagers had thought to use against the Befelynians but had used against Alvie instead. Why? Because his wards were helping the Befelynians escape? Because Alvie had tried to stop the mob himself instead of going to the mayor's wife, Risa, for help?

It didn't matter how Alvie had been wounded. All that mattered was that they get to him in time to save his life.

Mildred leaped over a tumble of stones and skidded around an oak with drooping brown leaves still clinging to its branches. Sydney sprinted past her, his longer legs eating up the ground. He reached the gate ahead of her, threw the bar to the ground, and heaved it open, his eyes full of the same desperate fear that pounded through Mildred with every beat of her heart.

Alvie was all the family they had left. He was their surrogate father, their protector, their mentor, and the rock-solid foundation upon which they'd rebuilt their lives.

He was not going to die.

It only took a few moments to run from the north gate to the alley behind the pub, but it felt like forever, the distance stretching endlessly before them while Alvie's blood poured out of him with every passing second.

Sydney reached him first and wrapped his arms around Alvie as the older man stumbled toward him on legs that shook.

"We'll take him to Risa's. She can send for the physician," Mildred said as she put her arm around Alvie and helped Sydney support him.

"The physician left town a month ago," a woman said from the pub's doorway.

Mildred turned to find the owner of the pub standing behind them, her watery blue eyes full of anger.

"Then Risa will know where to find medical supplies." Mildred turned away. "Come on, Sydney."

"There be no medical supplies in Homard. And even if there were, you wouldn't be getting any of them." The woman spat on the cobblestones and crossed her arms over her chest as Mildred turned to stare at her again. "Best be leaving now, girl."

Magic stung Mildred's fingertips, and it took effort to sound calm as she said, "We can't leave. He's badly wounded. Risa will know—"

"Risa won't have anything to do with you after what you just did. Not if she knows what's good for her." The woman's voice was as hard as the look in her eyes.

"But we'll help you. We'll get food for the village, I promise. Just as soon as Alvie is stable, we'll—"

"What good is your promise to help us sometime later on when you just denied us help we need now? You get out of here before I stop telling my husband he doesn't get to kill all three of you and take your possessions as payment for the Befelynian riches you just stole from us."

"You think you can kill us?" Sydney's voice vibrated with fury. "Do you have

any idea who we are?"

"You're the fools who chose loyalty to a pack of Befelynian strangers over your own people." The woman spat again, only this time she aimed the spittle at Mildred's feet. "If you aren't out of this village in the next few minutes, I won't be held responsible for what happens to you."

Sydney opened his mouth, but Mildred beat him to it. "We're leaving. Come on, Sydney."

"But Alvie—"

"Will die if we don't get out of here." Mildred's hands burned, her power begging for release she wouldn't give. The woman was right. Mildred and Sydney had taken the possibility of Befelynian riches out of the villager's hands, and the desperate people in Homard weren't concerned with the morality of saving innocent strangers when it meant condemning their children to starve to death.

The only way to help Homard and villages like it was to step up her plan to take down Elinor. Hit another garrison and steal more food. Break loved ones out of dungeons where they were rotting away for the crime of being unable to pay taxes to the queen due to the blight.

But she couldn't do any of that until she saved Alvie's life. Without another word to the pub owner, Mildred and Sydney helped Alvie back to their tent outside the village, bandaged his wound as best they could, and then quickly left Homard behind.