I raise my hand to stop him. “Order the inquisitor to cease his duties. I will speak to the boys myself.” I narrow my eyes. “I can be very persuasive.”
The servant bows toward me. “Yes, Your Highness.” Still bowing his head, he backs four steps away from me. “The royal chamber will soon be prepared.” He snaps his fingers and two footman rush forward to join us. “Take Crown Prince Tynan’s bags to the Royal Chambers.”
Scenarios race through my mind. I don’t want to lose track of my saddle bags. What if I need to leave in a hurry?
“I will keep my bags on my person,” I tell the servant, who must be the former king’s valet or marshal. Everyone’s uniforms seem the same so it’s difficult to guess ranks or positions.
“My bags contain sensitive documents that must not leave my possession. Also, before being shown to my room, I will require a tour of the castle and grounds. I will report my findings to the King—and the Prime Klerick.” I add the latter to put even more weight on my request, although I’ve never been near the Prime Klerick, who resides in Catha.
“Certainly, Your Highness.” He sweeps his hand to the side. “Perhaps we should begin in the dining room. I’ve sent orders. Cook can quickly lay a feast of venison and piglet. But if there is something else you’d prefer.”
“My belly can wait.” Although it grumbles at the mention of food. “Show me the chapel. The Prime Klerick will be most displeased if it does not meet his standards.”
I remember few parts of this castle from when I stayed here, the night before Rosomon was meant to marry my grandfather. But I do remember, in great detail, the story she told me of how she escaped through a tunnel under the chapel.
“After I inspect the chapel, I will feast. Then, I will interrogate the former princes. I shall bring them food to trick them in to believing I’m an ally.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
The malleable man leads me toward the chapel, and I memorize the route. Once inside, I hope to see features to trigger more details of Rosomon’s daring escape.
Needing my wits about me, I drink little wine with my dinner. My belly full, I request two bundles of food to take to the keep. Rosomon’s father is dead, but if I’m going to rescue her brothers and sneak them with me to camp, we’ll need additional provisions beyond these small bundles.
Perhaps I can find the route to the servants’ quarters. I went there once with the two boys. There, I’ll surely find more food, and based on my reception, thus far, no one will stop me. At leastif I can rid myself of this marshal who’s been stuck to me like glue since my arrival.
Based on my reception in Achotia, I should be safe to wear my royal garments on the remainder of our travels. If anyone dares question me, I’ll claim the boys are my prisoners.
The bundles of food arrive, and I rise from my chair at the dining table where I ate alone. While I dined, Marshal stood at attention behind me the entire time, and my every instinct screams that I should shed myself of my shadow, and soon.
I order him to take me to the Keep and turn toward him at the bottom of the winding stone stairs. “Leave me,” I tell him. “I will speak to the former princes alone.”
Marshal frowns. “But Your Highness?—”
I raise my hand to stop him. “Are they housed together?”
He nods.
“Give me the key.” I reach out my hand. “During my stay in the castle, I will keep this key on my person, so I can question the boys, day or night.” Marshal takes the key from a guard, and I glare at him as he hands it to me.
“It’s imperative that I question the former princes—alone. The King’s orders.” I say this loudly, so all the nearby guards and footmen can hear me.
Clearly these people know I’m heir to the throne, so I may as well use that to its full advantage. No one here need know that as soon as my father realizes I’ve fled my upcoming wedding, he’ll send assassins to chop off my head—just as he killed my brothers and grandfather.
Key in hand, I climb the stairs, thrilled to discover no further guards at the top.
I open the door, and the young men, boys really, are sitting together in a corner. The smaller one, Olifer, if I recall, is in his older brother’s arms.
The older one, Alfryd, leaps to his feet. “Who’s there?”
Like most castle keeps, the round room has thick stone walls, and the only light comes from narrow slits meant for archers to fire through. Seeing no chair, I take the one sitting outside.
I carry it into the room and close the heavy door behind me.
“I am Prince Tynan of Khotor. Do you remember me? We shared a few glasses of wine the night before your sister’s wedding.”
“It’s the dragon rider!” Olifer, the younger one says, his eyes wide as he gets to his feet.
Alfryd’s stance firms. “We refuse to bend the knee. Not to your father, not to you. Not even if you chop off our heads.”
