“Should I have told himyouwere Prince Corrick?”
“No, I just wish you’d given me some warning. It’s no wonder you were able to run in the Wilds as an outlaw for so long. You’ve got some balls, man.”
This time I’m the one startled into laughter, and he grins.
But it’s like we both realize we’re smiling at the same time, because we sober immediately.
Lochlan says, “There’s no way to be sure Rian will get us back. He could still trap you and hold you for ransom.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “And Oren could still kill me. The fever sickness could still decimate Kandala. Rebels could still swarm the Royal Sector and kill my brother while I’m gone. Shall we listeverythingthat could go wrong?”
“All this food could be poisoned.” He shoves the basket in my direction. “Have a pastry.”
I sigh and take one.
Lochlan does, too, then pours himself a glass of water. To my complete and utter surprise, he fills my glass as well.
“Don’t get used to it,” he says when he sees my look.
“I guarantee I will not.” What a weird truce we’ve formed. I consider what he said about Karri, turning his words around in my head. “And you’re not stupid. Your judgments have been sound at every turn.”
He sets the glass on the table, then sighs. “Noteveryturn, Cory.”
I scowl at the use of my nickname again. Of course he’s going to ruin it.
He smiles a little deviously. “Sorry. I’ve been calling you that for so long it’s not even on purpose anymore. Not every turn,Your Highness.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not sure your disdain is better.”
“Do you really hateCorythat much?”
“No. Of course not. It’s just—” I break off, digging my fingernail into the wood of the table.
It’s just what my brother calls me.
That sounds so juvenile. But he’s studying me curiously, so I quit squirming like a schoolboy and look at him. “No one ever calls me that but Harristan.”
“No one?”
“My parents. When I was a boy. But not often. Andneverpublicly.” I pause. “And Tessa, too, sometimes. But that’s . . . ?that’s not the same.” I feel a hint of warmth crawl up my neck at the memory of her quiet voice in those intimate moments. “Even still, it’s quite rare.”
Lochlan says nothing else. His eyes are picking me apart. I feel like a prisoner in the Hold, tense under his scrutiny, and it makes me keep talking.
“For what it’s worth,” I say evenly, “I know how you must envision the life of the ‘spoiled prince who everyone hates,’ and certainly some of it may be correct. But my role as King’s Justice hasn’t exactly inspired close friends and fond nicknames.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I expect him to mock me, because it sounds a little too pitiful, a little too self-indulgent, even for me.
But he doesn’t mock me. Instead he simply says, “I can tell.”
Somehow that’s worse, and I frown—especially since he didn’t say it cruelly.
“But noteveryonehates you,” he continues. He looks at the hearth as if this conversation is making him equally uncomfortable. “And you’re not even all that spoiled. I expected you to be a huge pain in the ass on the ship, but you weren’t. I thought you’d be ranting day and night about the food, or the beds, or the coarse talk from the sailors—”
“Oh, please. I spend hours in the Hold. The sailors can’t comecloseto the language hurled at me on a daily basis. You had a few choice phrases yourself.”
“I remember.”
“I’m certain you do.”
