“Who?” Brela asked.
“My old roommate from the sun temple,” he mumbled. He barely hid his flinch as she stepped forward. Closer to his fire. Unafraid.
“How much does he hate you?”
He forced a breath through his nose. “Less hate and more ‘go out of his way to humiliate me whenever he can’ thing.”
Brela pushed her shoulders back and met his gaze. “Would you like me to kill him for you?” Her lips twitched into a vicious smile as her tongue traced her flashing teeth. “Or hold him down while you do it?”
Now that was an idea…
“We’re not killing anyone,” Serill snapped, glancing between them with an incredulous look. “We stick to the plan. There’s no law that says we can’t be here.” He turned to Cason. “You are Captain of the Prince’s Guard and will follow my orders.” Serill’s head snapped to Brela. “Andyouare a soldier under his command, and therefore under mine.Behave.”
Cason could only stare at his friend—the prince, the futureking—who turned and marched toward their camp with his chin held high.
The King of Severina was right to worry about his son’s popularity in their kingdom. The prince saw things that no one else did, planned things almost as thoroughly as Brela, and wasn’t afraid of anything.
Serill was going to change the world.
Cason’s magic prickled as he glanced toward Brela who was staring after Serill. “You’re turned on again, aren’t you?”
She blinked, still watching the prince with surprise. “You aren’t?”
“Uh, no.”
“Bummer, but in related news, I need you to usethattone the next time we—”
He cut her off with a cough.
She hummed, both in amusement and disappointment, her pale gaze finally landing on him. “Are you going to be okay?” After a second, she added, “Captain.”
The way she said his title was so much different than in the past. Some deep-rooted part of his fire flickered in delight, the same way it responded when he heard her speak his name. He wished he had more time to admire the purr in her voice. He wished he hadn’t been forced to start counting everything around him.
Blades of grass, stones at his feet, Brela’s breaths.
“I don’t have any other choice,” he admitted, walking after Serill. “Just stay ready. His perception magic isn’t strong, but he still might notice you. One hand on a weapon at all times.” Her eyes showed no fear as she fell into step with him. “He’s not going to make it easy to control my fire, so please don’t make it worse.”
Cason expected a retort, some joke about the Empress of Chaos finding that methodboring, but she only glanced quickly to his hands and said, “Understood, Captain.”
He looked down to find her throwing knife mid-flip, caught between the flames that still wreathed his fingers despite his counting. The sudden stillness was like a jolt to his muscles. How long had he been twisting the blade? He doused the flame and shoved the knife back into his belt.
By the time he looked up, Brela had already peeled off, hands waving in patterns as she signaled something to Farrah and Elias. Under different circumstances, he’d wonder what, exactly, she was telling them. If he’d had time, he’d think about reiterating the orders they’d already established that morning—about who and what they were to the prince—but he didn’t have that luxury.
He was at the prince’s side by the time the patrol crossed the final perimeter that his senses had established, Farrah and Elias a step back but within arm’s reach of Serill’s other side.
Cason turned as Brela positioned herself just behind him, arms folded behind her rigid back, where he knew she had at least one knife in her grip and several others sheathed. Her eyes flicked to his and she softened, dipping her chin as she tossed her white-blonde braid over her shoulder. The perfect portrait of a soldier under his command… up until she winked and smiled at him.
Not cocky, he realized, but an attempt to calm him. He needed it as the man leading the patrol of seven stopped in front of them. Light red hair, tanned skin, and fierce green eyes narrowed on Serill.
“I don’t believe it,” Lyle said, sheathing his sword as he dismounted. “Severinians in Valisea, and not just anyone, but the prince himself. You’re a long way from the riches and your quiet auctions, Your Highness.”
That condescending voice filled Cason’s ears with roaring rage. Memories of cruel pranks and jokes over the years flashed to the surface, and he failed shove them down.
Serill offered a casual shrug. “I thought it was time I saw what all the fuss was about.”
“You’re not going to find books out here, little prince,” Lyle snorted, and a few of his party snickered.
“I never said I was looking for books.”
