Blake swallowed. ‘Help me take him out back into the courtyard. We’ll bury him in the morning.’
Chapter 6
Defenders trained seven days a week—no excuses.
A typical day for Harlan began with a three-mile run followed by sparring with a variety of weapons, such as sword, battle axe, mace, dagger, and lance. The last part was strength training, horsemanship, archery, hand-to-hand combat, or long-distance swimming, depending on the weather and his father’s mood.
Harlan was carrying weapons to the armoury when Prince Borin and Astin approached on horseback. The commander exhaled, then placed the weapons on the ground. He turned and bowed before the prince before nodding a greeting at Astin, who gave him an apologetic look in response.
‘Commander Wright,’ the prince said, pulling up his horse. ‘I have business in the merchant borough. Fletcher here thinks I should take extra precautions, given recent events, so you will accompany us.’
Harlan was staring at Borin’s new haircut. The straight fringe made the prince look like a twelve-year-old boy. ‘Of course, Your Highness. I’ll have a horse saddled and meet you at the gate.’ What he actually wanted was a wash and a few hours’ sleep before he reported for night duty, but that would have to wait.
Harlan returned the training weapons to the armoury and fetched his sword and daggers. After collecting a horse from the stables, he headed to the gate.
‘Sorry to throw you in it,’ Astin said when they were out of earshot of the prince. ‘He’s insisting on going into the merchant borough to ensure his people, and I quote, “do not feel abandoned during these troublesome times”.’
Harlan winced.
They walked their horses beneath the archway, the prince adjusting his cloak and brushing his hair forwards. Somehow, he had made that fringe of his even straighter.
‘Might have been better off on foot,’ Harlan said as they entered the square. ‘The merchants haven’t seen meat in some time. I wouldn’t blame them if they disembowelled our horses before we had a chance to dismount.’
‘As long as they don’t eat the prince,’ Astin whispered. ‘Or your father will havemedisembowelled.’
Harlan bit back a grin.
Men stood talking in groups. Women gathered around the well on the other side of the square, full pails at their feet. The conversation died when the merchants caught sight of the prince.
‘Good day to you,’ Borin called to one group of men as he passed by. His hand rested on his hip the way his father’s always did, but instead of looking powerful, he looked like a pompous fool.
The men said nothing as they lowered into a bow that barely passed as respectful.
They went by a group of children Harlan had given mussels to a few days earlier. Recognising the commander, they made a move towards him but stopped in their tracks when they caught sight of the prince. Harlan nodded at them as he passed.
As they reached the first street, merchants exited the timber-framed shops and congregated on creaky verandas. No one waved. No one spoke. They simply watched. The mud-splattered children playing gameball in their path ran to their beckoning mothers.
As the three men neared the end of the street, Harlan’s gaze drifted to the shop where Blake lived. He had watched the merchant carry her brother to the lazaretto borough with the help of her sisters. Their mother had trailed behind with an older couple he did not recognise. He was still not entirely sure why he had taken the corpse to her. Pity was never a good look on a defender. Nor was guilt.
His father had been right. He should never have broken the line to fetch that girl from the wall, should never have handed her over. Grief or no grief, she had broken the rules. Yet as he stood on that wall watching the family dig a grave, he could not bring himself to regret his actions.
Blake had popped into his mind several times since that day. That smart mouth with its ill-timed humour. Those intelligent eyes assessing him,judginghim. Even in her filthy, dishevelled state that day he had come across her in the forest, with water dripping from her face and lips purple from the cold, she had made him pause in a way he rarely did with women. Perhaps it was the novelty of conversation with a merchant woman who was not afraid of him or trying to sell him sex. There was something honest about her—even when she was lying straight to his face.
He was used to mingling with noblewomen who hid behind their expensive gowns and painted faces. Daughters of lords dumbed down by well-meaning mothers and governesses, highly trained in the art of husband catching. A defender was an adequate choice for any noblewoman, as long as another sibling had already secured someone with a title. The family only needed one advantageous marriage.
Whenever a bit of fun in bed threatened to turn serious, Harlan disappeared into his work. It was easier to find companionship in the port taverns than navigate the games played by nobility.
A woman exited the shop, pulling Harlan from his thoughts. It was one of Blake’s sisters, the blonde one.
‘Wait,’ Blake hissed, stepping out onto the veranda in pursuit of her sister. She stopped when she spotted Harlan.
‘This is no time for pride,’ the blonde called over her shoulder.
Blake did not move off the veranda, whereas her sister marched straight out into the middle of the road, forcing the horses to pull up.
Astin moved in front of the prince, hand going to the hilt of his sword. ‘Move aside, merchant.’
The girl ignored him entirely. ‘Your Highness, might I have a word?’
