Page 81 of Rule of Wolves

Was this who the crown prince really was? She had thought he was a sickly boy with a good heart. Curse all the Saints, maybe she’d wanted to believe he was like Matthias. Another boy brutalized by Fjerda’s traditions and Brum’s hate. But Matthias had never been cruel. Nothing had been able to corrupt the honor in his mighty heart.

“Brum is coming,” Nina said, her voice low. She couldn’t afford to compromise her cover, but she couldn’t let this go on. “You will not want him to find you with a crop in your hand.”

Rasmus’ glance was speculative, as if he was wondering what might happen if Brum confronted him. Joran was Brum’s drüskelle. But Rasmus was a prince.

Then it was as if a spell had broken. He shrugged and tossed the crop aside. “I’m going to join my mother. Clean yourself up,” he told Joran.

He strode past Nina as if nothing had happened. “Tell Hanne I expect to see her at the ball later.”

“Joran,” Nina began when the prince had gone.

He had taken out a handkerchief and pressed it to his cheek. “Don’t let Commander Brum see me this way,” he said.

“But—”

“It will only make trouble for the commander. For everyone. I’ll be fine. Please.”

He remained composed, a soldier, but his blue eyes were pleading.

“All right,” she said.

She turned her back on him and left the tent, scanning the crowd. She caught sight of Hanne speaking to Brum.

Nina hurried to her side and heard Brum say, “You must tell me what has upset you. I’m needed at—”

“Papa, please, if you would just come with me.”

“It’s fine,” said Nina, smiling. “All is well.” Both Hanne and Brum looked baffled. “I … I was feeling poorly, but now I’m right as rain.”

“Is that all?” asked Brum.

“Yes, and I…” This wasn’t the approach she’d intended to make, but there was nothing to do but forge ahead. “I had hoped you might bring your wolves out for the hunt?”

“The isenulf? They’re not made for such silly pursuits. Perhaps if we were hunting fox.”

The man really couldn’t resist a jab at the Ravkan king.

“Oh, Papa,” said Hanne. “Mila is so disappointed, and it’s so much colder out here than we expected. Can’t you have one of your soldiers take us back to the kennels?”

“Hanne, you should have dressed for the weather.”

“I told you Mila needed a new cloak, didn’t I?”

“I’m f-fine,” Nina said, offering a brave, trembling smile as she shivered.

“Silly girls,” said Brum, his gaze lingering on Nina in a way that made her stomach turn. “I’ll take you back myself.”

Hanne stiffened. “Won’t it be perceived as an insult to the prince’s hunt?”

“The prince isn’t riding. Why should I?”

So he wanted to insult the crown. Seeing the prince embarrassed by his mother had emboldened him.

Nina tried to gather her focus as she and Hanne followed Brum back to the ringwall. Was Rasmus a lost cause? She’d thought healing the prince was a good thing, that a strong Rasmus might find it easier to stand against Fjerda’s drive toward war. She wanted to believe that could still be the case. There had to be an alternative to Brum’s violence. But she couldn’t stop seeing the red marks on Joran’s cheek, the ferocity in his eyes. There had been rage there, shame, and something else. Nina didn’t know what.

Get your head on straight, Zenik, she told herself. She would have one opportunity to find the letters in Brum’s office, and she’d need her wits about her to make the most of this chance.

It was even colder in the shadow of the ringwall, and Nina didn’t have to pretend to shiver as they approached the drüskelle gate. She’d never stood at the base of the Ice Court walls before. She’d been brought in hooded as a prisoner once, and she’d left by an underground river—nearly drowning in the process. She looked up and saw gunmen guarding the huge portcullis gate. She could hear the wolves in their kennels, their howls rising. Maybe they were like those Shu soldiers engineered to sniff out Grisha. Maybe they knew she was coming.