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It’s the first I’ve heard of it. My anger rises. I’ve made my intentionsveryclear. Which meddling idiot in the court would be stupid enough to defy me?
Even father knows to leave me alone.
Washebehind this?
Whoever it was, they must be incompetent or stupid or malicious or truly desperate. Sending her to the Northlands in the middle of winter with an inadequate escort?
To the point where lives are put at risk? Whereherlife is endangered?
Quietly, I seethe.
Someone will pay for this.
I slow down as I catch sight of the carriage. It’s a basic model; sturdy and functional, although lacking in the ornamentation and without the more sophisticated engineering that would make the ride smoother and faster.
It’s the sort of carriage that would be used by a low-ranking noble. No different from the thousands I’ve seen in Lukiria.
The side door is badly damaged. The stench of lycan clings to it, cutting through the distinctive coppery tang of human blood. With such a strong smell of blood hanging in the air, I would usually be tested to the very limits of my self-control.
But this time, I’m not even remotely tempted.
Compared toherblood, there is nothing tempting about this wounded mortal’s blood, which is just as well for him.
I stare at the wooden panel of the door, which is torn and splintered.
Lycan were here last night. Did they attack? Was Finley in that carriage?
All the more reason for me to be furious.
I reach the middle of the road and set Finley down. She stifles a gasp and instinctively steps away from me, her entire body stiffening as she shoots me a look that’s equal parts fear and astonishment.
I tend to have that effect on people.
I generally don’t care.
But seeingherreaction to me…
Somehow, it’s a thousand times worse.
We’re almost upon the carriage now. The smell of blood is overpowering. The poor kid must’ve lost a lot.
Finley’s sense of urgency is justified. If he doesn’t get treated by a healer soon, he’ll be greeting Hecoa in the Underworld.
The driver, a young lad with dark hair and eyes and the typical clean-shorn hair of a knight, catches sight of us.
He wears simple leather armor. A sword hangs from his side. I recognize the coiled serpent insignia on his chest. It’s from Ruen, a small barony in the Midlands. I know of it, but only vaguely. Faint memories flicker through my mind—I believe I visited the castle there when I was a child, with father.
From what I can remember, it was quite basic, but there was a nice, homely garden. I vaguely recall playing in the woods just outside the castle.
Why are these lads here? Whyher?
The lord of Ruen holds no special power or influence within the Rahavan Court. In fact, my father despises most of the minor lords, with their shameless ambition and posturing and sycophantic behavior. I’m sure Baron Solisar is no exception.
The carriage driver slows. A man jumps out of the cabin; yet another lad who’s barely into manhood. I wouldn’t even accept recruits this green into my army.
As soon as he catches sight of me, he draws his sword.
His stance isn’t bad, although it needs slight correction; with proper training, he has potential.
