The Source (Creasan #1)
Chapter 17

It was dark and empty in the room in which Ana had been abandoned. It was a room she had never seen before, a room she didn’t know existed in the palace. A room hidden in the walls of the king’s chambers. There were no windows, no furniture, no decorations of any kind. It was just stone walls and stone floors. She’d been locked inside with only her fears and worries for company.

When the door finally opened, she wasn’t sure how long she’d been waiting. Long enough for her dried tears to have made itchy track marks on her cheeks and her screams for help to die on her lips.

Favian entered with bloodshot eyes, mussed hair, and stained clothes. He did not look like a king anymore. He looked terrifying, made even more so by the horrid screeching of a chair’s legs as he dragged it into the barren room.

Ana quickly pushed herself up to her feet. “Favian, please, allow me to explain—“

“Do not talk.” His voice was very soft and controlled, almost calm. Like this was a regular conversation, like Ana wasn’t being held against her will. He stopped the chair in the middle of the room and sat down, letting out a deep sigh like he’d just come back from a particularly difficult day at work.

And he…just sat there. Staring at Ana with those red-veined eyes. A pleasant smile on his face. It was more disturbing than any vile thing he might have shouted. It was like looking into the face of disease, of madness.

When he appeared comfortable enough, Ana licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Your Majesty—“

“I said, do not talk!” he shrieked. He yelled the words with so much gusto that he nearly came off the chair and the muscles bulged in his neck.

Ana’s ears rung as his voice ricocheted off the walls and she cringed. She covered her ears and stared at the stranger before her, heart in her throat, adrenaline surging.

Favian collected himself, smoothing his filthy clothes. “You will not speak unless I explicitly ask you to. Am I understood?”

Ana blinked quickly. Was she meant to—

He screamed again, “Am I understood?”

“Yes, yes,” she answered hurriedly, bowing her head away from the assault on her ears. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

His lips turned up again. “Good.” He settled into his chair and stared.

Ana gazed back at him, confusion coloring her face. She wished he’d just yell at her, punish her, get over with the suspense of it. She hated the anxiety filling her, loathed the discomfort that came with his probing eyes, despised not knowing what was happening to Ulric. She wanted Favian to just come out and tell her what was going to happen.

But he didn’t. He simply stared at her, watched her. That eerie grin on his face, his eyes watering from refusing to blink.

Ana had feared her husband many times throughout their marriage. She’d known his threats to be real, known the pain that would come with any outstep. But the fear she felt as she stared into his dead eyes was more than any she’d ever experienced in her entire life.

Brom, Carac, Peronell, and Thea stood outside the tunnel as the sun started to go down. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say Brom, Carac, and Peronell stood while Thea paced impatiently.

While they’d waited for their wounded friends to improve, the four of them had turned Merek’s kill into three coats. Between the four of them, they managed to wrangle and kill a small bear, so they had enough furs for the entire group.

Yet there they were, stuck in the same place they’d been for about a week.

“Thea, why don’t you sit down,” Carac said. “I can grab some of that ale Merek had—“

“I don’t drink,” she said quickly but stopped in her pacing. “I’m going to check on them again.”

“Thea,” Brom said, stepping front of her. His eyes were kind but his voice was firm, “that won’t help.”

She ran her hands through her greasy hair, untangling the braid that had already come mostly undone, and turned around. Without the pressure of running for their lives, Thea had been able to find The Forbidden Mountain again. It was so close now, towering over them in the overcast sky. Thea felt she could practically reach out and touch it. Everything Lief had given up, everything he had hoped for, stood right there. Thea was so close. Always so close. “There has to be something we can do,” she said.

No one answered her because there was really nothing to say. They knew as much as she did that the only thing they could do at that moment was wait.

Brom cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “I can take His Highness back to the palace. I’m sure he will be able to convince the king he was kidnapped, and I will say the same.”

Thea stared at him sadly. She’d thought the same thing almost the moment they’d been hurt. But that was nearly half her team. With just four of them, she wasn’t sure they’d make it. And what if they found Aestus? Who would be there to communicate with him?

Peronell said, “We don’t need to give up yet. Surely another few days…”

“Perhaps this is Aestus’ way of telling us it wasn’t meant to be,” Carac offered. “He always said a Lance was supposed to be on the throne. If we climbed that mountain, we could die. For what?”

But that wasn’t what Thea wanted to hear. She ran her hands through her greasy hair again. “I’m going to find some water to wash up.”

“I’ll come with you,” Carac immediately said, stepping forward.

She pushed him back gently with a shake of her head. “No, stay here. I’ll be fine. If anything happens, come find me.”

They all nodded, and she headed off.

Thea had felt odd for awhile now. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite place. Not an uneasiness exactly, but a sense of…something missing. She’d felt it ever since her conversation with Fendrel.

He was a real idiot, wasn’t he? she thought. Jumping in front of me like that. He was the bloody prince, for Aestus’ sake. He couldn’t just be throwing himself in front of daggers like that. And then to speak to me as he had that night in his fevered state…She shook her head and repeated to herself, A bloody idiot.

She followed the sound of running water until she came to a flowing river. She knew it was going to be freezing, but she had to get rid of the disgusting greased feeling inside her.

She knew why she had that uneasy lost feeling, of course. Because if the prince had jumped in front of her, even after all the cruel words she’d said, if he had sacrificed himself so easily for someone like her, if he had really endured all the things he’d claimed to in his life, then she had been wrong. She’d been wrong about the royal family and she’d been wrong about Fendrel.

That hatred that she’d held onto since Lief’s death, that hatred she had comforted herself with, that hatred that had been there for her when no one else could be, would have been wrong. And if she didn’t have that hatred anymore…then who was Thea Wyvern?

Fendrel’s chest still ached but it was much better now than it had been all week. So much so, that he was ready to get out of that cold, dank tunnel.

Isolde was asleep beside him and Merek was keeping watch over her. She’d surely endured the worst of the injuries and they were healing slowly, though they were healing.

Fendrel cautiously pushed himself to his knees.

“Mate,” Merek whispered.

Fendrel glanced at him over his shoulder.

He spoke softly so as not to wake Isolde. “Where are you going?”

“I’m all better,” the prince answered. “And I can’t stay in this blasted place any longer.”

“Just—be careful, Highness.” Merek eyed the puckered wound in Fendrel’s chest. “We don’t need you making yourself worse.”

Fendrel nodded and gazed at Isolde. She slept soundly, not a single crease of concern in her brows. “You’re a good friend, Merek,” Fendrel told him.

Merek’s lips tipped up in an ironic smirk as he gazed at the young woman beside him. But he said, “Thanks, mate.”

Then Fendrel crawled out of the tunnel.

Brom and Carac and Peronell were in the middle of a debate and didn’t see Fendrel right away.

“I understand,” Peronell said to Brom. “I just think turning back now isn’t a very good idea.”

“I have done as my prince has commanded this entire time,” Brom responded. “But I will not stand by and watch your leader get him killed. We must return.”

Carac turned to Peronell. “He’s right. Going on is just stubborn. We can’t climb the tallest mountain in the country with three of our friends hardly able to stand. It would be suicide.“

Peronell’s nostrils flared. “We’ve come all this way. We can’t turn tail and flee because this Guard is frightened for his prince.”
 “I will not be sorry for trying to keep Fendrel safe,” Brom snapped.

Carac argued, “We’ve done our best here, Perry, but I think we have to accept—“

“You can’t have lost your eyes for nothing,” Peronell burst.

The conversation cut off awkwardly. Carac and Brom both faced Peronell in astonishment. Brom and Peronell made eye contact and Peronell dropped his gaze to the ground, shaking his head.

“Perry…” Carac started.

“Forget it. I’ll go find more firewood.” Peronell turned and headed into the forest.

“Wait, Perry.” Carac took off after him.

Brom looked indecisive. Clearly that was a private conversation, but perhaps they’d need his protection in the woods.

Fendrel spoke up then. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’d rather not turn back just yet.”

Brom breathed a laugh and turned around. “Noted. But I think—“

“Look at me, Brom.” Fendrel held out his arms, spinning in a circle. Other than the gooseflesh popping up across his bare torso in the cold and the red of the wound that was already becoming a scar in his chest, he was all right. “I can stand. I can fight. And I can climb.”

“It’s too dangerous, Your Highness. If something were to happen to you—“

“What?” Fendrel waited expectantly. “Go on, finish the sentence. If something were to happen to me, then what? You’d be sad? My brother would mourn?” He crossed his arms, ignoring the slight pinch that brought to his chest. “My death would mean exactly nothing to the rest of the kingdom. But if we keep going and succeed, think what that would do for—“

“Your death would mean everything to the kingdom, Your Highness.” Brom’s hands fisted at his sides and he looked away from the prince as he spoke. “I know I am just a Guard. I know I am not an educated man. I know I have no real understanding of politics. But I also know that your influence in court has helped more people than you come to realize.”

Fendrel was already shaking his head. “I have no power at home. Favian does whatever he wants.”

“But he is curbed by your opinion. And do not say that isn’t true because I have seen it with my own eyes.” Brom brought his gaze back to Fendrel and the fierceness there took the prince by surprise. “You may not advise the king in an official capacity, but everyone knows the sway you hold. You are the only defense the people have against your brother. An army of one is better than no army at all.”

For a moment, Fendrel believed him. For just one moment, he believed the meager he was able to accomplish at court meant something. That he hadn’t been fighting his whole life for nothing. But Brom just wanted to take him back. He would tell him whatever he wanted to hear in order make sure he went home.

He stamped down his crushed hopes and asked, “What does Thea have to say about all this?”

Brom sighed. “She hasn’t really said much on the matter.”

“Well, I’ll ask her. If Peronell is the only one dissenting, then we can go back. Where is she?”

He shrugged. “She said she wanted to wash up.”

Fendrel nodded. “We will finish this discussion when I return.”

“Let me come with you—“

“No.” He gestured to the tunnel where Isolde and Merek were and the trees were Carac and Peronell had gone. “They might need you.”

Brom looked like he was about to argue further but then he reached behind him and held his hands out to the prince. “At least take these.”

His sword and a coat. Fendrel didn’t want to admit how happy he was to see that coat. The cold of the outdoors had started to seep into his veins and make his very organs shiver. He took the items with a nod, and then went in search of Thea.

Peronell had no idea where he was headed. Embarrassment colored his face as he charged ahead. He could hear Carac calling from him to stop, but he wasn’t ready to face him yet.

He could practically hear the thoughts of Brom and Carac: He wanted to keep going because Carac had lost his eyes. Who was Peronell to make that decision? If Carac wanted to return, Peronell had no right to insist otherwise. Peronell shook his head as another bout of humiliation stung his face.

Carac grabbed hold of his arm and spun him around, saying, “Perry, stop.”

Instantly, Perry said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“You don’t have to apologize.” Carac smiled gently. “I know this is hard.”

“But it shouldn’t be so hard for me. You’re the one who…” He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Carac responded. “I am.”

An uncomfortable silence followed. Peronell stared at Carac, at his blindfolded face, and felt even worse. There he was, a blind child finding his way through dangerous woods after experiencing an enormously traumatic event, and he was comforting Peronell.

“Don’t do that,” Carac ordered.

Peronell’s brows lifted. “What?”

“Blame yourself. You always do that.”

“I don’t—“

“Do you remember when I had first started sword training and we were sparring? I stepped back and fell, twisted my ankle, and you kept apologizing. You said you should’ve been more careful.”

Peronell smiled at the memory. Of course, he hadn’t been happy Carac had been hurt, but Carac’d had to lean on Peronell for an entire week. They’d been almost quite literally attached at the hip.

“This,” Carac said, pointing to his eyes, “is my fault and mine alone. Am I understood?”

Peronell snorted. “Yes, sir.”

Carac grinned and reached for his hand, drawing him closer. “If you want to keep going, then we can keep going. I just want you to know that I do not feel like we have to because of my…accident. Okay? If we go on, it is to find Aestus. Not add meaning to a meaningless thing.”

Peronell swallowed with a nod. He didn’t know if he could actually promise that, but he would try for Carac. He would try.

Carac reached up his hands to cup Peronell’s face, feeling for the answer. “Was that a nod?”

He laughed. “Yes. That was a nod.” Peronell’s smile quickly fell away as he stared at the cloth wrapped around Carac’s eyes. “Love,” he began softly, “does it still hurt?”

Carac dropped his hands to his sides and did his best to smile, though it was wobbly. “Every second of every day.”

He felt his heart break at that statement. “Could I…?” He ran his fingertips along the edge of Carac’s blindfold, skimming the skin of his forehead.

Carac drew a sharp breath. “I don’t know if you’d want to see—“

“I do.”

A charged silence arose between them as Carac thought it over. Peronell wasn’t entirely certain why he felt the need to remove the cloth, but he thought it was because he was only seeing half of Carac. He wanted—no, needed—to see him. To see the new person his love had become.

Finally, Carac gave a tiny nod.

Peronell reached around him to undo the knot at the back of Carac’s head. Very slowly, he drew the blindfold away.

He was very conscious not to react, no matter how jarring the sight may be. But he needn’t have been so cautious. It looked exactly as it had last time, seared and charred to the bone. Two black holes in the center of Carac’s face. But it was Carac’s face. Peronell just barely touched the skin of Carac’s cheek, and the other boy jerked slightly in surprise. He ran his his fingertips down his cheek to his jaw to his chin up to his nose. He settled his finger at the center of his lips. This was Carac. His Carac. He would always be his Carac. He skimmed up to the corner of his right eye. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

Carac’s chin quivered and Peronell was sure there’d be tears in his eyes if it was possible. “Don’t lie to me, Perry. Please don’t do that. Spare me that.” 
 “You are beautiful,” he insisted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You always have been.” He kissed his forehead. He held his lips above Carac’s and breathed the words into him, “I love you.”

“Perry?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much.” Then he wrapped his arms around Peronell’s neck and crushed his mouth to his.

Peronell cupped his jaw as he kissed him harder, trying to pour every ounce of feeling he had into him. The blindfold fell to the ground as Peronell gripped him tighter to him, pressing their bodies flush together. Every movement, every heart beat, every breath was felt between them, and it made Peronell’s pulse rush faster.

Carac buried his fingers in Peronell’s hair, scratching slightly and making Peronell moan. Peronell’s feet moved as he walked Carac back against a tree. He dropped kisses against his cheek, his chin, his neck, and then up to his ear. “Whatever you want,” he whispered, “whatever you need, you shall have it. Continue on, go home, stay right here forever, I don’t care. I go where you go.”

Carac drew back, holding Peronell’s face in his hands. His now swollen lips were slightly parted as he took that in. His throat worked as he swallowed. Then he breathed, “All I want is you.”

“Then I am yours.” And they fell into each other again, mouths frantic.

There is a perfect, wonderful isolation that comes with being with the one a person loves. Nothing else in the world exists, nothing else in the world matters because that person is your world. Peronell could almost forget every problem they’d ever had, could forget every struggle he knew was to come, because he had Carac in his arms.

Althalos was at a complete loss. He’d searched everywhere for his mother, father, and Ulric. No one was to be found. He’d even waited until night fall when he knew his mother would be in her bed, but she wasn’t there. He’d asked Guard after Guard where the king and queen were, but no one had an answer for him. They either refused to respond or were as clueless as he was.

Ugly thoughts started flying through his mind, thoughts Sybbyl had put there. Thoughts of terrible things happening to his mother.

But he shook them away. His mother was fine. Ulric was fine. Everyone was fine.

Just as he was about to give up, he saw Destrian walking down the hall, his back to Althalos. He’d hardly spoken to the old man, but if anyone was going to know where the king was, it would be Destrian.

“Destrian!” Althalos cried as he sprinted after him.

The old man turned around in confusion and squinted to make out the figure approaching him. Then a friendly smile broke across his face and he greeted, “Young Highness, how wonderful to see you. How have your studies been going?”

“Fine, good,” he said quickly, waving the irrelevant question away. “I need to find my mother and father. Do you know where they are?”

“I am sorry, I don’t.” But something had changed in his face. A tightening in the corners of his mouth, unmistakable in his wrinkly face.

“You’re lying,” Althalos accused. “Please, Destrian, it’s an emergency.”

Immediate concern melted over his face and knelt to eye level with the boy. “What’s wrong, Young Highness?”

He was beginning to lose his patience. “Nothing! It’s a family thing. Just please, tell me where they are.”

Destrian studied the prince’s face for another moment before straightening to his full height again. “Like I said, Young Highness, I do not know where they are. But I am sure they will turn up soon.”

“They are not lost toys!” he burst. “I want to see them now.”

The old man frowned. “Like I’ve said—“

Something snapped inside of Althalos, and he blamed it on Sybbyl. Before he’d even found Destrian, his nerves had been wound tight. The worst case scenarios running through his mind were frightening him more than he cared to admit, and after the odd behavior of his father that other day, Althalos wasn’t sure what he believed to be true. He shouted, “I am the future king of Creasan, and you will tell me where my parents are right this minute, or I swear to Aestus, my first decree as king will be to see you hanged!”

Destrian blinked several times as he stared at the young boy. Althalos was surprised at himself for saying the words, but he gazed hard at the old man. He would stand by that promise if need be. His father had hanged many people to get what he wanted. Althalos would do the same.

The old man’s mouth moved without words. Finally, he croaked, “I am sorry, Young Highness, but His Majesty has requested privacy. I cannot tell you where they are.”

The prince narrowed his eyes. “I will remember that, Destrian.”

Destrian gulped before scurrying away.

“Psst!”

Althalos blinked in confusion as he looked for the noise. His eyes fell to the Guard standing beside him. He didn’t—

“Psst!”

No, it wasn’t the Guard. Then where…?

He turned his head to the other side to see an older man he’d never set eyes on before peering out of the shadows of the palace hallway. He waved Althalos over, glancing around to make sure no one had seen him.

Quickly, Althalos approached the old man and demanded, “Who are you?”

“Name’s Rowan, Young Highness,” he said with a sloppy bow. His large belly made the action a bit awkward and the arthritis in his hands and legs couldn’t be helping. “I heard you were looking for Their Majesties.”

Althalos hopes shot through the roof and he nodded eagerly. “Do you know where they are?”

“No,” he said, and Althalos felt like he might just hang this man too. “But I was very close to your uncle. He often spoke of walls that are doors in this place.”

“Walls that are doors?” Althalos cocked his head to the side. “Are you sure you’re perfectly sane, Mr. Rowan?”

“There are hidden passages all around this palace,” he insisted. “If you can’t find your parents in the rooms you can see, best start looking in the rooms you can’t.”

Suspicion started to cloud the prince’s eyes. “You were a friend of my uncle’s you said? What do you do here at court?”

“I work in the stables, Young Highness.”

“So why are you in the castle?”

“I was told your uncle hadn’t come back. They’re calling him a traitor.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I had to see for myself.”

“And?” Althalos pressed. “What did you find?”

“Well, he packed more than he’d need for a meager search party. Traitor or not, he certainly had no intention of coming back.” There was a sadness in those words that was not present on Rowan’s face. He was trying to hide it, but it was difficult to hide much from such an inquisitive child.

“Are you helping me because you feel betrayed by the prince?”

“I am helping you because I think your father is ill,” he said, “and if your mother has gone missing as well, I think she might be in danger.”

Althalos studied this stranger’s face carefully, searching for any signs of deceit. But the man’s face was open and earnest, hiding nothing. The prince said, “I will remember your assistance when I am king, Mr. Rowan. Thank you.”

He bowed. “Be careful, Young Highness. These rooms were probably made secret for a reason.”

Thea’s bare skin broke out in goose flesh as she washed her hair and face. She’d had to shed her shirt for risk of having to continue in the cold with wet clothes. She tried to wash herself as quickly as possible so she could return to the warmth of her shirt and furs.

The water was freezing to the touch and she hissed each time she stuck her hands into it. She appreciated the time alone to think. It made sense to turn back, obviously. Her friends could not make the trip, and their well-being was more important than any doomed crusade, which she knew everyone saw this journey to be. She couldn’t let them get more hurt or even killed because she was too concerned with what Lief would think.

Suddenly, she heard a twig snap and her hair stood up with the feeling of eyes on her. She waited a beat to see if they would leave, her heart thumping. It could just be a wayward animal, curious as to what she was doing. But it wasn’t. The eyes never left. She pretended as if she was still just washing up, moving her hands near the water, but she was really reaching for her sword.

In a flash, she spun around, ready to pounce on the first enemy she saw.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Fendrel put his hands up, eyes wide. “It’s just me.”

The adrenaline slowly drained from her veins and she lowered her blade. “Why were you sneaking up on me?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were—“

“If I was sneaking up on you, you wouldn’t have heard me coming.” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes. Fendrel was dressed in the same pants he’d been wearing all week, plus one of their new fur coats. “This cold can’t be good for you,” she said. “You better get back.”

“I’m feeling better now,” he answered. “Now what’s all this talk about turning back?”

A snarky comment was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back. She didn’t know how she was supposed to act around him anymore. What did one say to the person that had saved their life?

Fendrel frowned at her silence. “Thea?”

“Were you watching me?”

He blinked. “What?”

“When you failed to sneak up on me. You were there long enough to call out my name. Were you watching me wash my hair?”

“I…No, I was not watching you wash your hair.”

Thea narrowed her eyes at him. His face betrayed nothing but she thought she saw a slight blush work up his neck. Her face started to copy his in response and she internally growled. What the bloody hell was wrong with her?

“We have to go back,” she said, turning to the river to hide her face and gather herself. “All three of you are still recovering and we can’t make it up that mountain unless you’re all at your best.”

“Merek is practically healed,” he said, his boots crunching the grass as he approached her. “Isolde is on her way. And I’m completely fine.” He crouched beside her. “Check for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Thea kept her gaze fastened to the rushing water as her heart picked up speed. This wasn’t right. She mentally berated herself for behaving this way.

Three breaths. In…out…In…out…In…out…

She tried to do as Lief had said, but her heart still thundered in her ears.

Fendrel put his hand on her back. “Thea, are you ok—“

She jerked away from him, popping up to her feet, and locked her eyes with his. “Why did you do it?”

His brows furrowed. “Do…?”

“Why did you jump in front of me? You could have died, you know that, right? You could have died in my place. Why would you risk that?”

His mouth opened and then closed as he really thought it through. He turned his gaze to the water. “Whenever I go into battle,” he said, “I am always made commander. Head of any battalion. I am in charge. My soldiers do everything they can to make sure I get out of there alive, because I’m considered the most important on the field.” He shrugged and brought his blue eyes back to hers. “I guess…it feels like you’re my commander.”

An alien feeling swirled through her stomach as she gazed down at him, at his bright blue tranquil eyes. She didn’t like this feeling. It was messing with her mind, making her breaths come too quickly. It couldn’t be as simple as he made it sound. He liked to be in control, even goaded her to make it so when they were back at Gentis. He couldn’t see her as his commander, couldn’t have saved her life for that reason alone. She shook her head and said, “Was it a ploy to get me to trust you?”

“What?” He stood. “No.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Yes, that made more sense. “You thought if you saved my life, then I’d have to trust you. I’d feel indebted to you. You’d be back in control, just like you wanted.”

“Thea, I would not risk my life on a ploy.” He lifted his hands and then dropped them again back to his side, at a loss.

“Wouldn’t you? You did it with the mirka attack, hoping to impress the lot of us.”

“I was trying to help!” He ran his fingers through his long dirty blond hair that had come out of its ponytail. He collected it and began tying it back into place.

“Or were you hoping to play us.”

“Dear Aestus, woman, what is it going to take for you to trust me?”

“I can’t trust you!” She picked up her sword and clutched it tightly in her hand. The sword she’d wished to drive into a royal’s heart. She shook her head as she gazed at the blade. Softer, she repeated, “I can’t trust you.” She met his tranquil eyes again. That was what sold her—those eyes. Still tranquil, peaceful, unbothered. In control. How could he really be so in control if he’d nearly just died to save the woman who was trying to kill his brother? “I can’t,” she said again. Then she made her way back to the tunnel, chilled hair swinging freely behind her.

Ana supposed it must be dinner because a Guard came in with two plates in his hands. He handed one to Favian, and it was covered with decadent treats and juicy looking meats. The second one was handed to Ana and it looked like mush. Perhaps they were mashed potatoes? Perhaps it was just a mixture of scraps. Slop. Fit for pigs.

Favian ate his quickly and easily while she picked at her plate. Her stomach grumbled noisily, but her dish was so unappetizing she nearly chose starvation over it. One dark look from her husband was enough to force her fork into her mouth. She chewed with much effort, struggling to swallow each bite.

She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take, this terrible uncomfortable silence. She was bored and frightened and worried.

She thought of Althalos, where he must think she’d gone. She wondered if he was all right, if Favian had done anything to him before he’d sat down in this room.

She thought of Ulric, what must be happening to him at this moment. He must be in the dungeon. She hoped he hadn’t been flogged. Or worse, hanged. She liked to believe he was simply sitting, same as she. Wondering when his time would come, hoping it wouldn’t be for longer still.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Favian asked.

It surprised Ana so much that she thought she’d popped a blood vessel from snapping her eyes so quickly to him. She didn’t know if she was meant to answer that so she simply nodded.

Favian lowered his plate to his lap as he basked in the memory. “We were both so young. So naive. Excited to take on this country as its rulers. Prepared to fall in love. What fools we were.” He shook his head as he took another bite. “I remember what you wore that day. A shimmering blue gown that dragged on the floor. Your parents behind you. Your skin seemed to glow in the sun. You looked like the very image of a wife my father had promised me.” There was a crease between his brows when he looked up again. “Tell me, do you remember what I was wearing that day?”

She swallowed hard and croaked through the dryness of her throat. “Your crown was nestled atop your head. You wore a cloak the same color as my dress. No beard yet. You despised them then. Your shirt showed the Lance family crest.” Ana tried to smile. “You were the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen.”

“What happened to us?” he asked, his gaze seeming lucid for the first time in days.

She felt her shoulders lower as relief slowly moved through her. “I suppose people just…grow apart. It is difficult to be focused on a wife when you are king of a nation.”

“Yes. Exactly what Father had said.” He returned to eating and silence blanketed them.

Ana stared at him expectantly. Surely that couldn’t be all he had to say. Surely he was about to shoot a canon of horrifying news into the small space. Surely there was a reason he’d brought up that memory.

But he said nothing else. Ana felt confused and stupid as she followed his lead and returned to her food.

Perhaps this was the plan all along. After all, what was so bad about death? It was quick and then off you went, into a realm of mystery no one could explain. When one really thought about it, it wasn’t death that was so terrifying. It was the anticipation of it. The predicted pain. The knowledge of leaving loved ones behind. And there Ana sat, in a continued and never-ending state of anticipation of her death.

It was the cruelest punishment Favian could give her.

That night, the whole group sat outside the tunnel, surrounding a campfire. Isolde was looking much better than the last time Thea had seen her, and both Merek and Fendrel looked completely healed. Perhaps they’d be able to go on after all.

Thea had made a conscious effort to avoid Fendrel since they’d returned to camp. They sat on opposite sides of the fire.

Merek was reaching into his pack and drew out two more bottles of ale, holding them up proudly.

Brom stared at him in shock. “How did they not see you?”

“I am more than just my good looks, mate.” He handed one bottle to the Guard as the group chuckled. Merek took a swig from the other before passing it to Isolde.

She took it hesitantly. “I really shouldn’t…”

“It’s a known fact,” he said, “that drinking helps you heal faster.”

She laughed. “Is that so?”

Merek looked to Carac who was leaning easily against Peronell. “Carac,” Merek said, “you’ve read loads of books. Aren’t I right?”

“I can honestly say,” Carac answered, “that I have never read that wasn’t true.”

“Aha!” Merek smiled victoriously at her. “There you have it.”

“Who am I to argue with such clear evidence?” she said and took a large gulp.

Brom offered his bottle to Thea at the same time Isolde offered hers to Fendrel. Almost in unison, they said, “I don’t drink.”

After being so careful to avoid eye contact, Thea found her eyes going to the prince’s in surprise. Peronell was the one who asked the prince what they were all thinking: “How is that possible?”

Merek asked, “I thought the royals were constantly drunk.”

“Some of them are,” Fendrel answered. “But not me.”

“Got to be in control,” Thea said.

The prince narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t you drink then? If not to remain in control?”

She did her best not to give anything away, even though he’d hit the nail on the head.

“Here I’ll take it.” Carac leaned over Fendrel to take the bottle from Isolde, doing his best to stop the rising tension. “No one has to drink if they don’t want to.”

“We’re just having some fun before we head off again,” Peronell added.

“No, I’ll drink,” Fendrel said. “If Thea does.” There was a challenge in his eyes, and it made Thea’s blood boil. She hated a challenge. She hated not accepting a challenge. She hated anyone thinking she’d lose a challenge.

She hated being taunted into something she didn’t want to do. “Peer pressure is not going to work on me, Highness.”

He shrugged. “That’s fine. At least we know now.”

Thea gritted her teeth, not wanting to ask but knowing she had to. “Know what?”

“That you can’t handle your ale.”

The others exchanged glances around the fire, everyone trying not to laugh. But Merek couldn’t help a childish, “Ooh!”

Fendrel hurried to say, “It’s fine. Women at court struggle in the same way.”

Thea was not like women at court. “I can handle my ale,” she ground out. “I just prefer not to.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Because you lose control too quickly. Got it. Really, Thea, it’s—“

Peer pressure be damned. She kept her eyes fastened to Fendrel’s and held out her hand. “Give me the blasted bottle.”

Peronell glanced back and forth between them. “Thea, you don’t—“

“Now, Brom.”

With great hesitancy, Brom passed the nearly full bottle into Thea’s grasp. She tilted her head back and took a long swig.

Merek whistled low and Isolde covered her mouth to hide her giggle.

Thea wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and cocked a brow at Fendrel. His lips turned up in a smug smile and he took the other bottle from Carac, copying her huge chug.

“Well, all right then,” Merek said. “Looks like we got ourselves a real party.”

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