Prince of Traitors

Owin

"I need weapons of my own," Jasper says as we trek through the woods the next morning.

I glance over my shoulder at him. My braid swings across the quiver on my back, curls escaping and falling around my face. I adjust the strap of my satchel and raise an eyebrow at him.

"I can help hunt," he adds when I don't respond. "Help defend us if I need to." I stop walking and turn to him.

"Are you decent with a sword?" I ask, resting my hands on my hips.

"Of course I am—"

"Besides your fancy, royal fencing lessons?"

"I—yes," Jasper says defensively.

I sigh. "Fine. If we can find some kind of weapons cache, we can stock up. I need arrows anyway." I shoulder my quiver, running my fingers along the remaining arrows clattering around in it. I'm not running low yet, but hunting for our meals will eventually take its toll on my supply.

"What about the main road—" the prince begins.

"Absolutely not," I snap.

"There are outposts along the main roads, they have armories."

I scoff. "And get caught by patrolling guards?" I bark out a laugh. "No."

Jasper glowers at me. "An outpost is the only place we're going to find weapons. Or other supplies, for that matter."

I bite my lip, drumming my fingers on my hips as I pace. My apprehension hums in my chest. "It's a bad idea. Guards will catch us and ship us both right back to Highcaster."

Jasper shakes his head. "We won't get caught if we're careful," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

He glares down at me, his lips pursed in a tight line. A muscle feathers in his jaw under the scruff of his beard. There is a small scratch on his throat where my knife pressed into his skin a couple days ago.

"I heard guards in the city panicking about the dead king. They said his son murdered him," I continue. "You wouldn't be a traitor on the run, would you, Your Highness?"

His face is like granite. I hold his gaze as I tilt my head to one side. He stares at me and practically growls, "No, I wouldn't."

I scoff. The only reaction I get is the shift in his jaw as he bites the inside of his cheek. His composure impresses me. "If we rob this outpost of yours and the guards catch us, I will not hesitate to leave you behind, Your Highness," I say.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "I thought we were allies in this, Navaarim," he retorts.

I shake my head and say, "No, you're the unfortunate baggage that insisted on following me into the woods."

*

My arrow sticks high in the stone wall with a crack. The rope dangles down the wall from where it's tied on the shaft. I grab the rope and tug on it, lifting myself off my feet. The rope creaks a little, but the arrow above holds.

The outpost is a wooden tower by the side of the main road with a stone wall ringed around a small yard. Inside, guards mill about, changing shifts for the evening. They're not armed, but the prince informs me that there is a small armory inside the walls.

Jasper watches from the ground, ready to give a sharp whistle if he sees a guard approaching. I shimmy up the rope, anchoring my feet on the wall as I climb. I vault up over the edge, landing in a crouch on the narrow walkway atop the wall. It's empty of guards. They're all below, in the yard.

I hear the rope creak once more as Jasper climbs up, and he clumsily lands on the walkway a moment later.

There's a ladder on the other side of the wall, leading down to the back of the armory. I hurry down the ladder while it's clear, and Jasper follows almost immediately. The armory is dark, the doors unlocked and unguarded during the night.

I pull one door open, slipping inside. Racks of weapons sit in several rows inside the armory, creating a maze of blades, maces, and axes that glint in the waning moonlight leaking in through the single, large window in the wall. It's thrown open, letting in the summer breeze.

Jasper turns immediately inside the door and goes right for the swords lined up along one wall. He selects a slender scabbard and pulls a blade from it. The sword is finely made, lightweight enough to use one-handed but heavy enough to do some damage. He buckles the scabbard diagonally across his back, and grabs a smaller sheath and a knife that he loops around his right thigh.

Further in, I find a crate full of bundles of arrows bound in twine and grab one. I untie the twine and slip the dozen arrows into my quiver. I spend a few moments perusing the weapons on the racks and walls, seeing what else I can find. I slip a whetstone into my bag. I don't need a sword, and my dagger is trustworthy.

Behind me, I hear the door rattle. It opens and a guard enters, rubbing his eyes tiredly. I duck behind a rack of practice swords, but he notices me, his body tensing. He wears woven leather armor and has a short sword at his hip.

"Hey!" he exclaims, and unsheathes his sword. He swings it at me, and I dodge his attack. I reach for my knife and hold it in a reverse grip.

He slashes again, and his blade catches me across the collarbone as I thrust my knife at him. He deflects my attack, his sword much bigger than my dagger.

It flies from my hand and I scramble backward to get it. I tip a rack of dulled practice swords over, and they clatter to the floor between me and the guard, slowing him while I go after my knife.

The guard advances on me. I grab my knife and flip it in my hand, holding it in a hammer grip as I crouch on my toes. I drive my blade up at the guard from under him, and feel it pierce through his leather armor and the flesh underneath. The guard drops his sword and blood spurts over my hand, hot and red.

I yank my knife from his stomach as I push to my feet. He stumbles back, and I stab him again, this time thrusting my knife upward into the soft underside of his jaw. His eyes go wide, and then dull, his face slackening. He stays on his feet until I remove my knife again, and he drops lifelessly. His blood pours over the fallen rack of swords.

Jasper stands gaping at me. The guard hadn't seen him tucked away in the corner. He eyes my cut collarbone, the torn collar of my shirt and the blood dripping down my front. "Saints," he breathes.

Outside, I hear a commotion gathering. The guards outside have heard the crash of the rack falling during the fight and are coming to investigate. "Window. Now," I snap, and step over the dead guard to the open window. I climb out, the prince following me wordlessly. We drop t the grass below, clutching our stolen goods.

We rush back up the ladder behind the small building as the guards in the yard begin to gather around the front doors of the armory. We use their discovery of the dead guard to escape, rappelling down the wall with the rope dangling from my arrow.

As we run back into the cover of the forest, I hear yells go up from the outpost behind us.