Prince of Traitors

Owin

"Shit," Jasper mutters. He pulls the parchment off the wall. He reads it over and over again before quickly folding it up and stuffing it into his satchel.

"We have to get out of here, now," I snap at him.

"Oh, do you think?" he hisses.

"Come on." I grab him by his cloak and haul him along the side street.

We skirt around the main thoroughfare of Morsenas, circling around to the inn where we tied our horses. Posters dot the walls of the worn wooden buildings, each plastered with the prince's face. I hadn't noticed them before. How many of these things are there?

I'm grateful that he still has his hood drawn up over his head to hide the golden sheen of his blond hair and the clean-shaven angle of his jaw. We are lucky in that respect.

My face isn't on any posters, so to the people of Morsenas I'm nothing but a Navaarim woman who ventured down from the mountains.

Jasper stays close to me as we hurry along the winding side streets. I tug him back by his cloak, slowing the pace of his long legs. He narrowly avoids colliding with someone on the street, and ducks his hooded head.

We hurry along toward the pair of horses we tied outside the inn, going at the edge of a run. We untie them and mount up, rushing back toward the forest and under the cover of the trees.

We ride until the sounds of Morsenas become distant. My heart pounds against my ribs.

"Saints, that was too close," Jasper says. He pushes his hood back from his head as he pulls his horse to a stop beside mine. "Do you think anyone recognized me?"

"Let's hope not." I dismount from my horse, gritting my teeth against the pain that shoots through my injured thigh. Jasper follows suit, his boots thumping on the grass. I take off my cloak, throwing it over the saddle of my horse. "Where's that dye you bought?"

"That's dye?" he asks. He digs the brick of dark stuff out of his bag and hands it to me. I nod and take it.

"Sit," I command. He gives me an inquisitive look. "Sit, now." He rolls his eyes, but sits on a fallen log. I step around behind him. I take the small brick of dye and scrub it into his hair. It's a chalky substance, and a bit crumbles off onto his blond head.

I set the brick aside and work the chalk into his hair. I scrub it in with my fingers. "Ow," he mutters when I pull his hair.

"Shush."

The chalk quickly stains his hair a dark brown, almost black. I scrub at the sides of his head, combing the longer bit on top with my fingers. I cross in front of him and swipe some of the chalk into his eyebrows, staining them dark. This close to him, I can see the faint freckles splattered across his slightly hooked, aquiline nose. He peers up at me, his eyes deep green like pine trees.

I rub the dye into the short hair at his temples, making sure all his hair is thoroughly covered. "How long will this last?" he asks.

"Couple weeks, maybe," I say. I comb his hair with my fingers one more time, and dust the chalk off of my hands. "There. Don't touch it; let it settle." I pack up the brick of dye. I dump some water onto my hands, rubbing the dark chalk from my skin. "Don't shave anymore," I say. "We'll use this to color your beard too, when it grows in. You can't look anything like yourself."

Jasper stands and removes his cloak. The shoulders of it are dusted with the excess chalk. He looks strange with dark hair, the golden tan of his skin bright against the almost-black. He picks up his satchel from where it hangs on his saddle horn and pulls out the folded parchment with his face on it. He unfolds it and holds it up so there are two of him looking at me. "Enough of a change?"

I examine the etching of his face and the real thing. "Might need something more. I could break your nose or something."

He gapes at me. "You're not serious."

"Of course I am."

"You are not breaking my damn nose," he growls.

I shrug. "Suit yourself," I say. "The dye should be enough. Someone will have to really get a good look at your face to see who you are."

He sighs and lowers the poster, frowning down at it. "Good."

I cross my arms over my chest and look at the parchment in his hands. I furrow my brow. "What's it say?"

He looks at me. "You didn't read it before?"

"I, uh—didn't get a good look at it," I mutter. I look down at my feet, hoping my loose hair hides the flush that creeps across my face. "With the—running, and all."

The prince quirks an eyebrow at me. "You... can't read, can you?"

I glare at him. "So what if I can't?" I growl.

Jasper's expression is unreadable. He clears his throat and holds up the parchment for me to see. "'Wanted for regicide and treason,'" he reads.

"Regicide?"

"Assassination of the king," he says. He sighs heavily and rubs at the back of his neck. "Saints, he's put a 900,000 crown reward on my head."

"Nine hundred—thousand?" I ask, gaping at him. "Shit."

He scoffs darkly. "Shit is right."

I bite my lip. "Your brother?"

He nods. "Alix, he, uh... he thinks I killed our father."

"Did you?"

He looks at me, his hand still hanging off the back of his neck, his fingertips pressing into the skin. Part of me expects him to be angry, but his voice is soft. "No."

I sit on the log where he was sitting just a few moments ago, uncrossing my arms and bracing my hands on the mossy surface of the bark. "What happened?" I ask him. He folds the poster once more and sighs as he sits next to me. He holds the folded parchment in both hands in his lap, like it's made of glass.

"I couldn't sleep one night. I saw a light on in my father's chambers, so I went to go see why he was awake at such a late hour. I opened the door... and he was dead. His throat was cut. There was... so much blood. It was everywhere." He shudders, taking a heavy, shaking breath.

"You don't know who did it?" I ask. He shakes his head.

"No idea," he says. "I didn't see the assassin. But my knife was there. The one the blacksmith gave me, with the sun emblem."

"And your brother?"

"I yelled for help, and he came with some guards," he says. "I suppose I don't blame him. I was there with our father lying dead on his bed, my knife in my hands, covered in his blood. He had little choice but to believe it was me who did it." A wry smile crosses his face. "He locked me in the dungeons."

"How did you get out?"

"My friend and my fiancée," he says with a sigh. "They got me out, gave me provisions and the rings to buy passage. Told me to go, to not worry about them." He shrugs. "And here I am."

"And now your brother is hunting you," I say.

Jasper looks at me, his brows furrowed with worry. "Yes, he is. And I'd be willing to bet my life that plenty of others are too."