every troop leaving the field and was sure that his brother was still in the camp. Perhaps Jaymes had seen the light; or perhaps the Hythrun had abandoned him once they knew they were heading home.
It was just on dawn when Tarja gave the order to move out. He and Damin waited off to the side, their heads close together as they discussed something of import, as the men moved off. Several other riders waited behind then, but from this distance, Mikel could not identify them.
“Mikel!”
Jaymes broke away from the host and cantered toward him. He was mounted on a Medalonian horse – he was too raw to be trusted with a valuable Hythrun mount, but his saddlebags were full, his bed roll tied to the saddle.
“Have you come to see me off?” His brother’s eyes glittered with the excitement of his adventure. He sat his horse as proud as any Defender.
Mikel glared at him reproachfully. “Traitor.”
Jaymes’expression hardened. “You’re a child, Mikel. You don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty. You’re betraying your country, your lord and your prince. Just like her.”
“Just like who?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He was not going to share his knowledge with Jaymes. He didn’t deserve to know the truth.
His brother sighed. “I have to go, Mikel. Will you give mother and father my love?”
The audacity of the request made Mikel’s blood boil. “I’ll do no such thing! I’ll tell them you’re dead. Better they think that than know the truth!”
He jumped off the rail and ran back toward the Keep, ignoring Jaymes’ frantic calls for him to return.
When he finally stopped and looked back Jaymes was gone.
The next time Prince Cratyn arrived, a long and frustrating day after the Hythrun had departed, it was with a much larger party and there was no white flag in evidence. The Prince knew he had won and was in no mood to mind the tender feelings of his vanquished foe. He marched into the Keep, his dukes at his heels, with all the assurance of one who knew he had nothing to fear.
Mikel hung around the yard, trying to be inconspicuous. It proved to be a relatively simply task. Neither the Defenders on guard nor the Karien escort spared him a glance. They were too busy eyeing each other warily to be concerned with one small boy.
Mikel had no idea how he was going to get near the prince. He knew none of the knights waiting outside with the horses, and he was fairly sure that he looked like nothing more than a Medalonian urchin. They would not spare him a copper if he was starving, let alone take him to see the prince. The meeting dragged on for hours as the cold sun climbed high in the sky. Mikel missed lunch and his stomach growled in complaint as the sky darkened toward dusk.
His chance came just as he was on the verge of giving up. Sir Andony emerged from the hall to speak to the knights waiting outside. Mikel swallowed his apprehension and hurried forward.
“Sir Andony?”
The young knight glanced at him, his eyes widening in shock.
“Mikel? What in Xaphista’s name are you doing here?”
“I have to see the prince, Sir Andony.”
“Don’t be absurd! What could you possibly need to see the prince for?”
“It’s about Princess Adrina.”
Andony was not renowned for his intelligence, but even he understood the implications. He nodded slowly.
“Wait here.”
Mikel fidgeted impatiently under the scrutiny of the Karien knights as Andony disappeared inside. In a surprisingly short time, Lord Roache appeared. He grabbed Mikel by the collar and dragged him aside, out of the hearing of the knights and the Defenders alike.
“What do you know of the princess?” he demanded without preamble.
“She was here, my Lord.”
Roache’s expression betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. “Are you certain?”
He nodded. “I fled Karien with the princess and her servant. The Hythrun captured us the morning after we left. The princess has been here ever since.”
“And where is her Highness now?”
“I’m not sure. I think she left with Lord Wolfblade.”
“I see.”
“My Lord? There... there is something else you should know.”
“What?” Lord Roache sounded impatient, as if his mind was already on other things.
“The princess and Lord Wolfblade... they’re... well...”
“Out with it, boy!”
“She was kissing him, my Lord,” Mikel blurted out.
Roache’s eyes narrowed. “Who else knows of this?”
“Nobody, my Lord! I —”
“Come with me,” Roache demanded, not in the least interested in what else Mikel had to say. He pulled Mikel along in his wake and thrust him at Andony.
“Take the boy back to our camp. Now!” Roache ordered. “You are to stop for no one. Nor must you allow anybody to speak to the child. He is to be held in my tent until I return.”
Andony nodded, too well conditioned to question his orders. Before he truly understood what was happening Mikel was sitting in front of Andony on his big warhorse, riding away from the Medalonian camp and heading for home.
It was close to midnight before Roache returned and when he did, he had Prince Cratyn with him. Mikel’s determination to reveal the true depth of Adrina’s treachery wavered in the Prince’s serious presence.
“Tell his Highness what you told me,” Roache ordered, waking Mikel from a light doze. The boy jumped to his feet and brushed his fingers through his sleep-tousled hair.
“The Princess is with Lord Wolfblade,” Mikel told Cratyn. The young prince’s expression was shadowed in the light from the smoking brazier.
“Then she fled to Medalon, not back to Yarnarrow as we thought.”
“She told me she was going to Fardohnya, your Highness. To seek aid from her father.” Mikel thought it important that he establish his own innocence as soon as possible. “I thought I was following your orders, Sire.”
“Lying bitch,” Cratyn muttered. “What else?”
Mikel glanced at Lord Roache uncertainly.
“Tell him the rest of it, boy.”
“I saw them kissing, your Highness.”
“You mean Wolfblade was forcing himself on her?”
Mikel shook his head sadly. “No, your Highness. She was... well, she didn’t seem to mind at all. She called you...”
“What? What did she call me?”
Mikel stared at his boots with determination. “Prince Cretin the Cringing.”
“I see. And what else did she say?”
Mikel looked to Lord Roache desperately for help. He did not want to repeat what he had heard, despite his promises to himself.
“The prince must know the truth, boy,” Roach said, almost sympathetically. “Tell him.”
Mikel nodded and told him everything he had heard. He told him of the meeting on top of the tower. He told him of what he had seen and heard in the stables. He told him everything he knew, although it broke his heart to be the bearer of such dreadful news.
Cratyn swore under his breath and then turned to Roache. “This is intolerable! I will send a party out to hunt her down. By Xaphista, I will see the bitch burn!”
“We’ll hunt her down,” Roache agreed. “But do you really want it made public that the wife you could not
