Lochlan tosses his old clothes onto the bed beside my jacket, then looks at the new bundle, still tied and bound with twine. His expression turns peeved, and he calls out to me before I closemyself into the washroom. “You couldn’t unwrap the clothes, you idiot?”
He’s right. I probably should have done that. It would have been better than poking at an old wooden table and torturing myself.
“Unwrap them yourself.” I close the door in his face.
The water is very hot, and the soaps smell like oranges, but I hold myself under the water for far longer than I probably should. I soak away the sweat and filth and aches of a week of sleeping on the ground, holding my breath until I can’t bear it anymore. I barely recognize my face when I look in the small mirror over the washbasin. My skin is a shade darker, and I’ve earned a lot more freckles from my time in the sun. The pinkish-white scar over my eyebrow—courtesy of Lochlan’s mob—is much more evident now. Brown stubble coats my jaw, too. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without shaving. No one would mistake me for royalty now.
You’re not Prince Corrick here.
It feels oddly rebellious. The shaving razor is in my hand, but I set it back down without using it. I tie my own towel in place and go to fetch my own clothes.
Lochlan is fully dressed, sitting in the same chair I abandoned. He’s in an oatmeal-colored tunic and simple dark brown trousers that fit well enough. He doesn’t even look over when I emerge.
I grab what’s left of the clothes. “Was Ford Cheeke’s name on the list of people they gave us?”
He hesitates, his eyes on the window, then shrugs. “I don’t know.”
I roll my eyes. I guess we can both be useless. I affect his tone from when he mocked me about the wrapped clothes. “You couldn’t read the list, you idiot?”
“No, Your Highness.” He finally looks at me, then takes anapple from the bowl on the table. His eyes bore right into mine. “I couldn’t.”
I freeze.Oh.
An odd weight settles over the room as I realize the impact of what he’s telling me. I know there are a lot of people in the poorer parts of the sectors who never learn to read, especially in the Wilds, but I’ve never been confronted with it before. It’s never really seemed tomatterbefore. I was only echoing his words about the clothes, but now mine seem arrogant and soaked in privilege.
You couldn’t read the list, you idiot?
A flush has surely crawled up my neck, and I’m glad I’m clutching the new clothes against my chest, because it’s likely thatallof me is turning red. Despite everything I’ve done, I’m not usually cruel in this way. After all that’s happened between me and Lochlan, I shouldn’t care. A few words are the least of the injuries we’ve offered each other.
But a wash of shame has swelled in my gut anyway. “Lochlan,” I say roughly. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—”
“Whatever you’re going to say, I don’t want to listen to it from a naked King’s Justice.” He takes a bite of the apple. “Go put your clothes on.”
That makes my flush deepen, but I’m grateful for the chance to hide in the washroom. I pull the clothes on, then lean back against the small table with the basin.
When Lochlan came to the palace to meet with me and Harristan, I remember his belligerence when he sat at the table, glaring at everyone. He kept snapping at Quint, which I found particularly annoying, because Quint isn’t just a close friend, he’s one of the most considerate men I know. It made me want to punch Lochlan in the face.
But just now, I considerwhatLochlan was saying when he was being so surly.
What is he writing?he was demanding.What are you doing?
Quint was recording the details of the meeting so there would be a record of what was said. He turned the papers around for Lochlan to see, because . . . ?well, because he’s Quint. I’m pretty sure he even offered to have a copy of his notes made right then and there.
But now I evaluate that moment differently. Quint could have been writing anything he wanted, and Lochlan wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. Later, during that same meeting, I wrote a small note to Tessa in my own folio. It was nothing, just a few words between me and her, but I wonder how that looked to Lochlan—that we could speak privately, of sorts, but he could not.
He already didn’t trust us. He already thought we were trying to trick him out of the medicine we’d promised.
Without knowing, we likely made it worse.
I finally open the door. He’s still sitting there, eating the apple, his eyes on the window. But the slip of paper from the shopkeeper is beside the fruit bowl now, still folded neatly.
I move to the table and stop there. “May I join you?”
He snorts a laugh, but not like anything is really funny. “We’re not in the palace. You can do whatever you want. Did someone have to drill these manners into you?”
“Yes.” I drop into the chair and take an orange from the bowl. “A governess with a switch.”
That jerks his attention away from the window. “Really?”
