Sleep was a tempting idea, but the buzzing in my mind warned me that it wouldn’t come to be even if I lay my head down on the softest of pillows. Instead, I clasped my hands together and smiled up at him. “I think I’ll stay up a while longer, Your Majesty. Besides, I wouldn’t want to take your bed from you. You need it more than me.”
He inclined his head to me. “As you wish.”
“Mind yourself there, young Valerian!” someone shouted, and all eyes fell on the young lord. “Turn that spit before half the meat is charcoal!”
Valerian shrank under the attention and hurried to resume his task. The king drifted off with a few of his lords at his side, including Secundus.
The sight of the lord brought a question to the forefront of my mind. I scooted closer to Carus and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Why did he trust me before I took the blood test? Most of the other guys with him wouldn’t have let me go with them without it.”
“You could ask him yourself,” he mused, still stirring the burning wood.
“He strikes me as someone who doesn’t tell people a lot of things.”
Carus threw back his head and laughed. “You have him read like an old book, Lady Holt.”
“Read who, Sir Carus?” Valerian spoke up as he turned and turned.
“Lady Holt has already read that His Majesty keeps his counsel to himself.”
I winced at the title. “You can call me Grace, Sir Carus. I’m not really a lady.”
“Then I insist you call me Titus.”
“His Majesty just likes to think a lot, doesn’t he?” Valerian wondered.
“A wise man knows when to keep his mouth shut and listen to others,” one of the other huntsmen spoke up. He was a man well past fifty with a grizzled beard speckled with gray. The defining feature was his long, crooked nose, bent out of shape at the middle by some powerful blow that had also left him with a dark scar. His attire was more primitive than the others, with a cape of rough leather and a stained shirt and pants.
Titus bowed his head to the grizzled man. “Very fine words of wisdom, Sir Varro.”
Varro sneered at him as he snatched a flask that hung from his hip. “None of that now, young pup.” He popped the tied cork and took a big swig. “Titles are as useless as an empty flask out here.”
“You might fill that flask with some water,” Titus countered.
Varro scoffed and replaced the cork. “What would I want with that stuff?”
Titus was all smiles as he leaned close to me and winked. “We have quite the motley crew, do we not, Grace?”
“Well, they’re all interesting,” I answered as I looked about them, though my gaze invariably rested on where the king had gone. “But you didn’t answer my question. About the king trusting me, that is.”
Titus looked me up and down. “Because His Highness is an excellent judge of character. I’ve never known him to fail in judging someone.”
“How long have you known him?”
“All twenty-eight winters of my life,” he revealed as he picked up a stick on the ground and studied the branch.
“And he’s that old?”
“That, and two years older.” He paused and wrinkled his nose. “It was a constant source of frustration that he would always be taller than me.”
I looked over his short person and tamped down a snort. “I’m sure he didn’t use it against you.”
“Every chance he got during our training sessions!” Titus countered as he stabbed the air in front of him. “His longer arms and legs meant I-” The man jumped to his feet, and the stick clattered to the ground. He dipped his hand into his coat, and his sharp eyes darted over the area.
The others in the party did likewise, and many drew their swords.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I shot up. “What is-”
“Quiet!” he hissed as he slowly drew out a dagger.
