Rhen has been quiet for most of the ride, but I’m having trouble figuring out his mood. I keep my voice low and shift my horse closer to him.

“You think people will be happy that you’re making an alliance with a country they’ve never heard of?”

“I think my people will be happy I am trying to save them from invasion.” He pauses and his voice turns grave. “Jamison said the battle at Willminton was brutal and most lost their lives. Their regiment was destroyed, their encampment burned to the ground. It seems the soldiers of Syhl Shallow do not intend to simply overtake my kingdom, but to raze it.”

I swallow. “You said there were a thousand soldiers in a regiment.”

Rhen looks at me and the expression in his eyes reminds me of the anguish in Grey’s voice in the hallway. “Yes, my lady.”

“They accepted no surrender,” says Jamison. “Men who tried were slaughtered before they could raise their arms.”

Rhen looks over at me, and for the first time, I begin to understand the weight of what he’s hoping to accomplish. “We are lucky to have secured the alliance of Disi,” he says.

“Our soldiers stand ready,” I say. These are practiced words, suggestions from Rhen, but my voice sounds hollow when confronted with the deaths of real men. “My father awaits my order.”

“We will fight alongside,” says Jamison. Contrary to the regret over the loss of fellow soldiers, his voice is full of anticipation. He loops his arm through his reins and hits his chest with his fist. “For the good of Emberfall!”

To my right, Grey does the same. Passion rings in their voices, strong enough that I feel it right to my core.

Rhen hits his chest, too. “For the good of all.”

His voice carries an echo of the same passion—but something else. Something closer to sadness.

Before I can puzzle this through, Grey frowns and points ahead, ever vigilant. “A covered wagon on the road. Three horses.” He glances at Jamison. “Check it out.”

“Yes, sir.” Jamison’s horse springs forward, hooves spraying slush.

Grey stares after him. “I had almost forgotten what this was like.”

“Having someone to order around?” I say.

“No.” Rhen looks past me at his guard commander. “Being part of something bigger.”

Grey nods. “Yes. That exactly.”

Rhen shakes his head. “I’m not sure I ever realized.” He draws up his reins. “I do not wish to treat my people as a threat.” He nods ahead, toward the wagon. “Come. Let us greet them.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

RHEN

We smell the harbor long before we reach Silvermoon. The scent of fish throws a faint metallic tang into the air. It’s ten times worse in the summer; I remember. I would ride with my father to inspect our naval fleet, or to receive dignitaries from other ports, and the stench of fish and sweat and dirt is ingrained in my brain. The harbor sits at the northernmost point of Rushing Bay, bordered by land that stretches south on either side for over a hundred miles, which makes the bay—and Silvermoon Harbor—easily defensible from the south. When the creature made itself known and I closed our borders, I sent the naval fleet south to stand guard at Cobalt Point, where the bay opens into the ocean.

I have no idea whether my ships continue to stand guard at Cobalt, but after bringing word of our visit, Grey reported that Silvermoon Harbor stands in better shape than he anticipated. Their proximity to the sea would have kept them well fed—and provided ample resources for trading with towns farther off. Even still, I offer silver coins and good tidings to everyone we meet along the road. For those who look in need of food, I tell them to come to where the South Road meets the King’s Highway, in two days, and I will have a wagon of food and supplies waiting.

For those who look well fed and able, I tell them we are seeking to rebuild Emberfall’s army.

At my side, Harper has been quiet and aloof, reciting the lines I’ve given her to perfection—while adding her own flair. The King of Disi longs for another victory. The people of Disi are eager for trade with those of Emberfall. The children of Disi have so much to learn from Emberfall’s rich and civilized culture. The mark on her cheek, the dagger at her waist, the cool edge to her words … she makes the perfect warrior princess from a different land. What I know is restless uncertainty comes across as distant composure.

Before long, the city wall looms ahead, the gates closed and guarded. A shadow flickers in the guard tower at the top of the wall, and after a moment, bells peal out, ringing loudly, a repeated bong-bong-bong. We’ve been spotted. The gates draw open.

“What does that mean?” says Harper. “The bells.”

“Royalty approaches,” I say. “They ring differently for different things. You will hear them at every city we visit.”

Her jaw is tense. She says nothing.

“Are you nervous, my lady?” My voice is light, the question almost teasing, but the words are genuine. Tension has begun a slow, lazy crawl up my spine as well. We have one guard and one untested soldier. I have a bow strapped to the saddle and a sword at my hip. I can already see at least a hundred people lining the street leading through Silvermoon, drawn by the bells. In my former life, they would have been no cause for concern. I would have been traveling with a dozen guards at least—if not more while in my father’s company.

Now if this crowd were to turn against me, to turn against my family’s abandonment of them, it would not take many to have us outnumbered and dead on the cobblestones.

“Not nervous.” Harper draws the words out. “But meeting people on the road feels different from … from that.” She nods ahead to the still-gathering crowd.

I lean closer and drop my voice. “I would be surprised if anyone dares to approach. It was once said that approaching the royal family without invitation was a good way to lose your head in the street.”

Her head snaps around. “What? Really?”

“The Royal Guard has quite the reputation.” I look across at Grey. “Isn’t that true, Commander?”

“We take few chances.” His voice is almost bored—or maybe distracted. His eyes are watching the crowd.

When we draw near, three armed men and a woman on horseback separate from the crowd and ride through the archway, blocking the road and therefore the entrance. One man and the woman wear armor, and carry as many weapons as Grey and Jamison. The other two men ride in front. At first glance, their attire fits well, sporting threads of silver and gold, but as we draw closer, the men’s faces are drawn and wary. They may not be armored, but they are armed.

I don’t recognize either of them. Many of the local lords ran—or died—when the creature first unleashed its terror on the lands neighboring Ironrose.

“The Grand Marshal, my lord,” says Grey, his voice low. “And his Seneschal.”

For a moment, I regret sending word of our visit. This man could carry nothing but resentment for the crown, for a royal family who has seemingly abandoned them for years. Tension builds in the air between our party and theirs. I’m tempted to draw to a halt, or to demand an expression of their intent. I’m tempted to send Grey across the remaining forty feet of road to inquire as to our reception here. The people behind their representatives are quiet, peering out of the opening.

Clearly Harper is not the only one harboring uncertainty.

To my left, Jamison’s breathing is steady. A soldier used to following his commanding officer into war. It’s reassuring. I have two men to fight at my side—and that’s a one hundred percent improvement over yesterday. We ride forward.

At twenty feet, the two leading men dismount from their horses, followed by their two guards. They stride forward. They draw their swords.

Grey’s hand finds the hilt of his own. Harper sucks in a breath.

But then the men and their guards fall to one knee. Their swords are laid on the stone road in front of them.

“Your Highness,” says one. “Welcome. The people of Silvermoon have long awaited your return.”

“We greet you with great relief,” says the other. “You and your lady.”

Beside me, Harper lets out a slow breath.

I do the same.

“Rise, Marshal,” I say. “We thank you and your Seneschal for the kind welcome.” I have to pause to make sure my voice gives away nothing. “We are eager to visit with the people of Silvermoon.”

They rise and mount their horses, leading us toward the city. The Grand Marshal is a large man my father’s age, with thick, graying hair and a stern yet kind demeanor. He compliments Harper, then begins listing the achievements of Silvermoon over the past few years, the ways they’ve bolstered the city’s defense—including defense against the creature, which tightens something in my gut. But he seems anxious to please. His welcome feels genuine.

Like with the moment on the road, I remember what this feels like. To be a part of something.

As we pass through the gates, the people yield the road. They kneel. They call out, “All hail the crown prince!”

It is not the first time I have been welcomed this way.

It is the first time it has ever meant so much.