Prince of Traitors

Jasper

I look over my cloaked shoulder at the mountain peak that towers over me. Owin is probably waking by now. Finding the note and necklace that I left for her. Hating me for it.

It doesn't matter now. I can't let it, or I will go running back up the mountain to her. Better she hate me for leaving than be in danger because of me.

Drymere is quiet this morning. The small town is right on the Odrendi side of the border with Astria. My horse, taken from the small paddock in the Navaarim village, walks slowly toward the city of tents beside the town that make up the soldiers' encampment. His shoulders are sweated from careening down the mountain trail since before sunup.

My heart pounds as I approach the encampment. Soldiers mill about the tents, not paying me any mind. They either do not recognize me, or they are not fully awake yet this morning. I pull my horse to a stop, and I have to steel myself before I dismount. I unbuckle the thigh sheath holding my dagger and the bandolier holding the sheath to my sword, disarming myself. I take a deep breath, remove my hood, and step between the tents into the encampment.

I hold my weapons in plain sight, my hands up in surrender. Some of the soldiers standing bored outside the tents wake up, drawing swords and daggers, lances and crossbows. A few of them recognize my face under my longer hair and stare wide-eyed, stunned wordless.

"Take me to King Alixander," I say, my voice clear and unwavering.

*

Alix's tent is the same one that our father stayed in whenever he visited his troops. It's big and white, with royal banners flying and guards standing watch day and night. The soldiers have taken my weapons and my cloak, and tied my hands behind my back. I get the impression from their blank faces that they're unsure what to make of the fact that their prince has suddenly shown himself—let alone surrendered.

One of the guards outside the tent ducks inside. He's gone for several long moments before he emerges and holds the tent flap open wide.

Out from the tent strides Alix. My brother is clad in a finely embroidered jacket and tunic, his hair tied half back under his heavy golden crown. He looks well-rested and refreshed, like he doesn't have a care in the world. I expect his face to be cold, angry, but instead he wears a small, satisfied smirk.

"Lovely of you to finally join us, brother," Alix says. "Come in, please. I've been eagerly awaiting the return of the prince of traitors."