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So it surprised me to see one on the queen here in Far Shore.
Then again, she was Donnellean-born, and Donnelly had formed an alliance with High Cliff over five years ago when the kings from both realms had joined fidelities with each other by marrying the High Cliff princess off to the Donnelly prince. It made sense that Donnelly would begin to adopt some of High Cliff’s ways, I suppose. Even if their ways were ridiculously idiotic.
The queen had her arm hooked securely to the man at her side as she walked. That must be her husband, the last king’s bastard son. Except she seemed to be dragging him along against his will. When he stopped suddenly, resisting her pull and jarring her to a halt next to him, I frowned curiously and focused on his face.
And I immediately pulled back with a gasp. He bore a High Cliff mark as well.
His mark was a bit more shocking, though. It seemed less likely to me that a Far Shore man—like the king’s bastard—would take on such a richly High Cliff practice. But what did I know? What did it even matter? What I couldn’t get past the most was the disconcerting fact that he seemed to be looking straight at me.
Or maybe I was wrong.
He and the queen weren’t that close to me; they were nearly on the other side of the square, but his attention was definitely focused in this direction, and it felt as if he were peering inside me. Even the onion seller and fishmonger were sending me odd glances, as if they too thought he was staring at me and no one else.
Okay, that couldn’t be good.
I had no idea what this meant, but it made me distinctly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be on anyone’s royal radar, not even if it was only Far Shore royalty.
A second later, the prince consort spun away and stalked off, literally dragging the queen with him. She must’ve said something to get him to stop because he halted again a moment after that.
When a new man approached them, I realized he’d been walking alongside the two the whole time, keeping to the opposite side of the queen as the other man. I just hadn’t paid him any attention until now.
The new fellow said something to the queen, and she shook her head, appearing confused. So the man slapped the prince’s arm to gain his attention and jostle him from whatever daze had gripped him.
The prince sliced him with a perturbed glower. Uncaring, the second man lifted his hands as if demanding an explanation for his behavior, and the prince turned away again, determined to ignore both the man and the queen as he ran his hands over his face in extreme agitation.
The queen must’ve grown fed up with being left in the dark because she spoke to him with a flurry of flying hands and annoyed yet concerned expressions. But her husband only clutched his head in his hands and looked up toward the heavens as if seeking advice.
The queen kept pestering him, hands on her hips now, like an
y typical beleaguered wife, until she said something that finally gained a response. He glared at her, spitting something back, and whatever he said caught her completely off guard.
She turned to the other man, sharing a look with him. He seemed equally surprised by whatever the prince had told them. From that point on, the queen and the unknown man seemed to gang up on him with a flood of questions until the prince held up a finger to quiet them.
The queen and the other man shared another look, and something familiar and cohesive passed between them. I frowned, beginning to wonder just who this second male was.
That’s when I realized…
Among the gossip I’d heard, a third person was mentioned quite often in relation to the new queen. She’d come to Far Shore with a bodyguard and personal protector, an ex-High Cliff soldier who she’d made captain and leader of her armies. He was rumored to be at her side as much as her husband was.
I swallowed uneasily, realizing he must be the High Clifter. But when I scanned his features, I paused. He didn’t have a mark on his temple. Not like the queen and her hus—aw, shit.
I’d had it backward. The High Cliff bodyguard must be the man the queen had dragged into the market by the arm, and her husband—the prince consort—must be this second guy I hadn’t noticed on her other side.
Returning my gaze to the troubled man—the High Clifter—I fell back a step when I realized he was motioning distractedly in my direction. The queen and her husband immediately whirled and scanned the market until they too were looking at me.
Yeah, this really wasn’t good.
Why in God’s name was a High Clifter talking about me?
Growing agitated, I checked my surroundings for the closest escape. Because it was past time to go. I seized loaves of bread by the armfuls and blindly shoved them back into my sack.
Breathe, I ordered myself. Just slow down and breathe. I was supposed to be a decrepit old man here; I couldn’t move too quickly. I couldn’t ruin the disguise. Couldn’t let anyone find out what I was.
My hands were slippery with nervous sweat as they clutched the handgrips of the trolley, and I shoved the bumbling contraption into gear, nearly tripping and falling flat on my face when I pushed one way and the crooked wheel tried to make the cart go another. Stupid fucking wheel. I was going to have a word with Melaina about such a shoddy purchase. If this barrow got me killed, I was so haunting her ass for the rest of eternity, and not in a nice way.
Refusing to look over my shoulder and reveal just how spooked the three royals had me, I corrected my steering and shuffled along, forcing myself to go as slow as was speedily possible.
That’s when I heard it.
