“When do the lies stop?”
“I’m not lying; you’re just not listening!” Liane shouted in exasperation.
“You’ve been lying to me for years; how can I hope to trust a word you say?” Mother said, using a stern tone she rarely used on her.
Liane’s mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water.
“What—I—” she choked on the words. Shame colored her cheeks, and Liane stared at the bedspread; she’d been caught.
“I knew you were sneaking out of the palace playing vigilante with Ludwig, and I looked the other way because I thought it would help you move past Elias. But considering certain revelations, I fear I was wrong. What if he’d hurt you?”
“Ludwig would never hurt me. Heinrich framed him!” Liane started to protest.
“Not, Ludwig. Prince Erich—or whatever his real name is…”
Liane blinked with confusion; what did Erich have to do with any of this?
“I was going to tell you about Prince Erich, but I had to find proof.”
“Then you knew he was a fake prince all along and didn’t say anything.” Mother looked at her aghast, one hand clutching her chest.
“A fake… but…”
Ice coursed through her veins and turned her stomach. She didn’t know anything about Prince Erich and had entered an agreement with him thinking she had the upper hand, but he’d been lying to her all this time. She wrapped her arms around her torso, feeling dirty and used.
He lied to her about everything.
Mother squeezed her hand. “I was fooled as well until Duke Mattison came to the palace. When I mentioned Prince Erich, he told me that the real Prince Erich went missing six years ago and is presumed dead. Whoever that man was, he’s an imposter.”
She thought she was going to be sick as she slumped back down onto the bed.
Mother tucked her in up to her chin.
“Rest a while.” Mother planted a kiss against her forehead.
“Where is he now?” Liane asked as Mother walked toward the door.
She looked sad for a moment. “The City Watch is on their way to arrest him now. He’ll never be able to hurt you again.”
As Mother walked out of her room, Liane sat in the silence and knowledge of Erich’s betrayal. Then she shoved it aside. In the end, he would be another of an endless string of disappointments, and she would forget him because she had to. But it didn’t lessen the sting, not one bit.
The priest’srobes were too conspicuous, and Erich had discarded them not long after leaving the temple, in favor of a pair of pants and tunic he’d stolen from a washing line. They were too small and slightly damp, but better than the alternative. He’d taken the long way back, not wanting to bring trouble to Ivar’s doorstep, and his thighs and arms were chafed by the time he arrived at the ambassador’s townhouse, reeking of sewage, and sweat, and wearing stolen clothes. But at least he felt confident the attempted theft of the Golden Blade couldn’t be traced back to him. He’d spent all night leading the guards on a chase through the city, leaving false leads along the way.
As he stumbled through the door, the servant, accustomed to strange arrivals, simply crinkled his nose and suggested a bath. Erich trudged upstairs to shed his stolen clothes as a pair of servants filled a pewter tub with boiling water for him. As he undressed, his muscles cramped, and he grit his teeth against the pain. Any time the dragon was unleashed outside of the full moon, it depleted him. It was good he hadn’t lost full control, or he might be curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. As it were, he’d be feeling the aftereffects for days. Precious time he needed to escape the city and seek shelter for the full moon.
Tomorrow night. One day to get out.
Once the bath was filled, Erich sank into the warm water, letting it ease his aching, tired muscles. Dirt muddied the water, and the tub had to be changed three times before it ran clear. And when it did, Erich dismissed the servants to allow himself a few moments to soak and regain some of his strength. Head resting against the rim of the tub, he stared up at the ceiling. If he could get official papers from Ivar, he could leave the city with minimal hassle, and from there, maybe he should head north to the feral lands. If the elves were anything like Fritz, they’d accept him as he was, or at the very least, he wouldn’t be a danger to them.
Erich held up his hand; he’d almost killed an innocent man in cold blood tonight. Maybe he didn’t deserve a cure; perhaps there was no changing him from the monster he was deep inside. With a groan, he ran his palm over his face.
Someone knocked at his chamber door. The bath water was cold anyway, and so he climbed out and pulled on the clean tunic and breeches, before going to answer the door. All the while, the knocking grew more persistent, and when Erich threw the door open, he wasn’t surprised to see Ivar on the other side, face flushed.
“Thank the Trinity, you’re here. You’re being summoned to court.”
Ivar shook his head, and his gaze darted down the stairs where the palace messenger presumably waited.
Erich ran a hand along his jaw. “I don’t have time for that; I need to leave the city today. I’ll be headed back to Sundland.” He figured it was easier to lie to Ivar about his reasons than try and coerce him.
