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He wasn’t certain whether she believed what he’d said, but it was the truth; with the suitors and courtiers otherwise occupied, he had been free to search for a hidden servants’ entrance. All castles had them—unmarked exits, discreet passages, escape tunnels—but he’d only been able to dedicate an hour to his search before his lungs had begun to burn. For now, lying to the guards would have to suffice. To maintain appearances, he’d brought a handful of Erdurian guards with him and left them standing watch on the streets surrounding the Royal Theater.
He shucked off his sodden cloak and slung it over the back of the nearest seat, noting the way Riona’s wary gaze dropped to the emerald-hilted dagger sheathed at his hip. He turned and scanned the room, taking in the worn seats and skeletal trees. “This isn’tquitewhat I had in mind when I told you we’d need somewhere to train, but I suppose it will work.”
“So pleased to have your approval, Your Highness,” Riona responded, crossing her arms. Her braids hung in one long, thick plait over her shoulder, and she wore a long-sleeved tunic and fitted black pants tucked into knee-high leather boots. The simple ensemble clung to her figure, leaving no curve to the imagination. She was stunning, even as she glared at him with absolute loathing. Here, away from the court, she had no reason to hide the depth of her hatred for him. “But we’re not training tonight. We’re going to a brothel.”
He set a hand on his heart in mock horror. “What about my pristine reputation? My chastity?”
She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “Your country rests on the graves of those your father, and all the emperors before him, slaughtered. Your rivers run with their blood, and their remains fertilize your fields.” Riona stalked down the steps of the stage. “What about that makes a reputation worth preserving?”
“You do not know of what you speak,” Auberon said, his voice deathly soft. “So I would advise you to hold your tongue.”
Riona stopped before him, mere inches between them. “Is that a command, Your Highness? From the son of a tyrant?”
“Atyrant?” Anger flared within him. “I am no tyrant, and neither is my father. You mistake us for the Kostori. Eamon is the one of whom you should be wary.”
“The Kostori did not send a neutral ship to the bottom of the Tranquil Sea.”
“No, they only laid a year-long siege on the capital of Kenter after devastating the countryside. Duke Valerian can tell you all about it. They killed farmers and fishermen, burned fields and razed towns. Stole livestock. Poisoned water sources. Flung disease-ridden corpses over Glenkeld’s walls,” he retorted. “That’s war. No one survives without the blood of innocents staining their hands.”
“Do not use their crimes to justify those of your people.”
“No ruler alive is a saint. Far from it. They do what they must to win wars, or more people die. More people like your moth—”
Before he could finish the word, Riona pulled the dagger from the sheath at his hip and leveled it at his chest. “Do not,” she warned, “speak of my mother.”
Auberon forced himself to take a deep breath, tempering his anger. “I am sorry for her death, truly. I am sorry for the pain and grief you have endured because of it. But I am not to blame for the attack on her ship,” he said as placatingly as he could. “I am here to help you.”
Riona held his gaze for several heartbeats, her cold expression betraying no hint of the thoughts racing behind that calm veneer.
When she started to lower the dagger, he caught her hand and wrapped his fingers around hers, repositioning the angle of the blade. “The way you were holding it, you would have struck one of my ribs. If someone were attacking you, the dagger would have gotten stuck between the bones and been wrenched out of your hand before you could land a killing blow.” He moved it back to the way she’d been holding it, then showed her the correct position again. “Like this. Straight through the ribs.”
A shadow passed through her eyes. “Like Cathal…”
She saw the body, he suddenly remembered.It hadn’t taken long for word of the Treasurer’s bloody, brutal death to spread through the castle. Auberon gently tugged the dagger from her grip and sheathed it, then shot Riona a cocky, roguish smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to train tonight? Seems like you could use a bit of practice.”
Riona turned away and grabbed a wool cloak that she’d left draped over the back of one of the seats. She slipped it over her shoulders and tied the strings at her throat, then drew up the hood. “Your lungs still need time to recover from the poison,” she responded as she returned to the stage to extinguish the candles. “We’re going to the brothel. One of the elves who worked there may have witnessed Cathal’s murder, and I want to learn everything I can about her.”
He shook his head, feigning resignation. “Very well. I suppose I can accompany you to a house of lust and debauchery.” She started down the aisle, toward the light bleeding in from the foyer, and he trailed after her. “Never been in one of those before.”
“Prince Auberon?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Do you ever stop talking?”
He grinned as he fell into step beside her. “When one finds himself graced with natural charm and blade-sharp wit, one must not deprive the people of charming witticisms.”
“If only I knew someone like that. Perhaps he would drown out your incessant noise.”
Auberon’s grin grew, and he lapsed into silence as they left the theater and stepped out into the pouring rain. Riona led him away from the heart of the city, and the streets grew narrower and more twisting as they neared the poorer section of Innislee. The same streetlamps lined the roads here, but unlike the main avenues, many of the lanterns were cracked and unlit, leaving large patches of darkness. They didn’t pass a single carriage for hire, so they ran from building to building, ducking under awnings or into the covered alleyways that were common in the city. It wasn’t long until they were soaked through and shivering.
When they passed under the light of a streetlamp, Auberon saw the flicker of disgust and shame that crossed Riona’s face. She didn’t want a foreign prince to see this side of her beloved city—the streets uneven and missing stones, the houses with broken shutters, the sewage rotting in the alleys. It was nothing to which he was unaccustomed, considering how much time he spent in Torch’s lower district. He opened his mouth to tell her that, but the drumming of the rain and the roar of the wind were so loud they would certainly drown out his voice.
Still, he couldn’t help but curse her as they continued along the streets, holding their cloaks closed with one hand and their hoods up with another. “You couldn’t have chosen a more perfect night for a tour of the city, my lady!” he yelled, his eyes slitted against the stinging rain.
“WHAT?”
“I said—”
