“Go. Make sure she does not go astray again.”

Harper jerks the reins out of my hand. Without a word, she gives the buckskin a solid kick, then canters down the hill. Grey follows without hesitation.

Once they’re gone, I turn my horse in the opposite direction and drive my heels into the animal’s sides.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HARPER

This stings. I feel like I’ve been smacked on the wrist.

Grey sticks to my side, cantering easily along in the slush, and we cover ground quickly. I expected some tension between me and him, especially after the incident with the dagger, but there’s none. He might be ten times more dangerous than Rhen, but he’s a hundred times easier to get along with.

This is all so confusing. Rhen is so confusing. He doesn’t act like a man who’s trying to fall in love. He plays this whole thing like a game, where underneath his pretty words is a man full of cunning and guile. He acts like a tethered animal that’s learned the limits of its chain—but knows how to lure prey to its death.

That is why I don’t trust him.

After the showdown in the snow, I realize he doesn’t trust me, either. Somehow, despite the fact that he trapped me in Emberfall, his distrust seems to run deeper.

When the inn comes into view, I slow the horse to a walk. A glance over my shoulder reveals a blue sky sitting atop a slushy landscape. Rhen is nowhere to be seen.

Grey has slowed to match my pace.

“Would you really have cut off my arm?” I ask.

He gives me a glance. “I would have prevented you from causing harm,” he says.

“So that’s a yes.”

“I follow orders,” he says equably. “I bear you no ill will.”

Somehow that’s completely reassuring, yet not at all. “Where do you think he went?”

He sighs and a shadow of irritation slides into his voice. “You know as much as I.”

As we dismount in the courtyard of the inn, the front door is flung open. Small sections of snow slide from the roof and land with a plop. The horses throw up their heads and snort.

Coale stands in the doorway. “My lady!” he booms in surprise. “You have returned?”

“Yes. I brought …” But I trail off as Rhen’s warnings about riots and skirmishes echo in my ears. “Um …”

“Lady Harper has brought gifts of goodwill,” offers Grey, moving forward to hand me the overloaded saddlebags.

“Oh. Yes. Here.” I’m completely off balance. I thrust them at him awkwardly.

Coale looks dumbfounded.

Evalyn’s voice calls from behind him. “Do we have guests? Why are you—oh, my goodness!” She appears beside her husband and gives a low curtsy. “Lady Harper. You have returned.”

“With gifts,” Coale says numbly.

“It’s nothing.” I feel a blush crawling up my cheek. “It’s just some food. I know we dumped Freya and her family here unexpectedly.”

“But … His Highness paid handsomely for six months’ worth of lodging. It is hardly an inconvenience.”

I’m frozen in place. I didn’t know he’d paid them anything.

Evalyn speaks quickly, misinterpreting my silence. “You must think us greedy. We tried to refuse.” She wrings her hands.

“No! No. I—I misunderstood. I wanted to bring a little something for the kids.”

“Oh!” Her face breaks into a smile. She claps her hands. “You must come in.”

We’re ushered into the front room. The fire is banked and low, embers glowing. I smell baked bread. Coale takes our cloaks and shouts to the back of the inn. “Children! The Lady Harper has returned to see you.”

I move close to Grey. “Did you know he paid that much money?” I whisper under my breath.

He frowns. “You thought otherwise?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t—”

“Lady Harper!” Feet thunder down the steps and across the wooden floor. Three children come running, obvious glee in their faces. Freya descends the steps more slowly, the baby cradled in her arms, but even she is smiling.

I’m not sure I deserve it. Their home was destroyed.

The girl does not stop until she tackles my waist. The two boys tackle Grey’s legs. Their joy is infectious. I’m glad there are frosted cookies in the saddlebags.

Even Bastian comes out of the kitchen, drawn by the commotion. Everyone presses in against the table, eager to see what I’ve brought.

The girl reaches out a hand and traces a fingertip over the yellow stitching, while the older boy pokes at the inlaid jewels on one of the saddlebags. Their brown eyes are wide.

Freya moves to pull them back. “Dahlia. Davin. Don’t touch.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. “Dahlia can open it.”

Her slender fingers fuss with the buckle, but it finally gives, and wrapped pastries and cheeses roll out onto the table. She laughs with delight. The other children gasp and press in more closely against the table.

“This is too much,” Freya whispers.

It’s barely enough for a meal to feed her family. But silence falls on the room as everyone stares. No one touches anything.

“Look,” whispers the older boy, who must be Davin. “Sweet cakes.”

I feel awkward, like I’ve made a misstep. I find myself wishing for Rhen to work out the politics here, and I want to kick myself because of it.

All of Rhen’s warnings are echoing in my head. “Did I … offend you?” I whisper.

“My lady.” Coale’s voice is heavy. “We have never known royalty to bestow gifts on the people. We are—we are overwhelmed.”

“And grateful,” Evalyn says hurriedly. “So grateful, my lady.”

“Perhaps I should get everyone a nice glass of mead,” Coale booms.

A loud knock sounds at the door, and Evalyn hurries to answer it. When she swings the door open, Rhen stands there, his blond hair shining in the light. He looks none the worse for wear, his cloak and armor hanging perfectly.

“Your Highness,” says Evalyn quickly. “We are doubly honored. Please, come in.”

“You have my thanks.” His voice is mild. He steps across the threshold.

I meet his eyes without meaning to. His eyebrows lift just a fraction, and in that one tiny motion I can tell that he knows I’m flailing, unsure how to proceed. Half an hour ago, I yelled at him, and now there’s a tiny part of me that wants him to rescue me from this situation. I wonder if he planned on it. I wonder if he knows.

I force myself to hold his eyes and stand my ground.

“Coale,” I say. “Mead would be great.”

Rhen and I end up sitting by the fire again. I’ve reclaimed my armchair, and he sits on the stone hearth, sipping from his mug. Grey stands at the edge of the mantel, near the corner, firelight glinting off his weapons.

Rhen hasn’t said one single word to me since entering the inn, aside from a nod and a brief “My lady.”

The air feels prickly and uncertain. The fire crackles behind him, and the children eat and play in the main part of the room, but silence hangs like a woolen blanket strung between us.

The only child with the courage to draw near is little Davin—and he seems fascinated by Grey. He can’t be more than four, with thick hair and large brown eyes, and he keeps sneaking over to peer up at the guardsman. Grey has been immobile, impassively ignoring him. He stands so still that he could be a part of the fireplace.

But when Davin sneaks close and dares to put a hand on Grey’s sword hilt, the swordsman feints as if he’d chase him away.

The boy jumps and darts back a few feet—but then he laughs, full out. Grey smiles and tousles his hair. “Go,” he says, his voice kind but leaving no room for disobedience. “Play.”

Davin scampers off, but a mischievous look over his shoulder says he’ll be back.

I look at Grey, remembering how he made faces at the children in the snow. “You’re good with kids,” I say. “That’s like the most … incongruous thing about you.”

“Is it?” he says, his voice dry. “Truly, my lady?”

“Actually …” I hesitate. Rhen’s eyes are on the room and the people in it, but I know he’s listening to every word I say. I turn my attention back to Grey. “Yeah. It is.” I make my voice careful, not wanting to wound. “Do you have children?” I pause. “Did you?”

“No. To enter the Royal Guard, you must forswear family for ten years. A spouse—and children—are a distraction from obligation and duty.”

Evalyn overhears us, and steps toward the hearth. “Is it not the same in the Land of Disi, my lady?”

Oh, right. The Land of Disi.

Rhen is looking at me, his eyebrows raised again, clearly waiting for my answer, too.

“No,” I say, spinning wheels in my head. “It’s not the same. People in the Secret Service can get married and have kids.”

“Ohh.” Her voice is hushed. “The Secret Service. Such a mysterious name.”

“Is it an honor to enter this Secret Service?” asks Coale.

Suddenly I’m the center of attention. “I … guess so?”

“Here, it is considered a great honor to even apply.” Coale stops beside his son, who’s taking a pastry from the platter on the table, and rests his large hands on the boy’s shoulders. “And a boon for the family if the child is admitted to the Royal Guard. We never dared to hope that Bastian might one day be considered, but perhaps things are changing for the better.”