Ian sat tall on Rowena, his heart racing. He felt as though he was pretending to be someone else, when in reality the only part he had to play was just that of himself, Ian Sirilian, Crown Prince of Iseldis.
Rowena stood at perfect attention beneath him, pawing the sandy ground near the entrance of the monastery.
Ulli—dressed as a member of the royal guard of Iseldis—approached the closed gate to the courtyard ahead and knocked loudly.
Most of the soldiers who had been traveling to the shore in preparation for the upcoming Return of the Majis had been camping further down the southern beach. With the influx of Chendas soldiers, the Iseldan camp was now far outnumbered.
The monastery turned fortress could only house about fifty men, and it had been reserved for the captains and logistical leaders.
Nele had confirmed that morning that most of the soldiers from the monastery had indeed traveled down to the shoreside camps to train with their soldiers.
Ahead of Ian, the large gate of the monastery opened just enough to reveal a Chendas man in purple livery. Ulli had a shortconversation with the man, but Ian was too far back to hear what was said. He tried to appear imposing and unimpressed when Ulli gestured back toward him.
After a few more words, the gate closed and Ulli returned. He gave Ian a quick smirk and a light nod before stationing himself at the head of his own horse to the side of Rowena.
On Ian’s other side, Jette also wore the colors of the Iseldan guard. She dismounted as well, grabbing Rowena’s reins to free Ian.
Ian waited until the gate reopened, and two familiar figures strode out followed by six soldiers. That was not as many as he had hoped. The more soldiers that came outside, the fewer Robin would have to deal with inside.
Ian wanted to slide from Rowena’s back and meet the two generals halfway, but he forced himself to stay seated as long as possible, to lure them further out. To project as much power—perceived or otherwise—as possible. Perhaps he was playing a part. This was not how he or his father conducted their affairs at all.
“Prince Ian,” General Zimri called out as he approached. “It is good to see you.”
Ian believed the older man’s words, hoping that this conversation would not turn his old friend and mentor into an enemy.
“General Zimri,” he replied, adding warmth to his voice but keeping his face passive. “General Gautho.” He nodded to the other man before finally sliding lithely from Rowena’s back.
Zimri watched Ian, confusion on his face, and then turned hesitantly toward General Gautho.
Ian noted the wordless exchange between the two, the way that Zimri looked to Gautho. Clearly the Chendas general had more power here, even though they were on Iseldis land. While this did not surprise Ian, he was disappointed to see it.
General Gautho stared at Ian with open hostility. He was of a similar age as Zimri and had been leading Gareth’s armies since before the young king had taken the throne. “Your Highness,” Gautho said, finally offering a greeting. “I have orders to detain you on sight, so I am sure you will forgive me...” He held up his hand, and the soldiers behind him stepped forward to create a ring around Ian, Ulli, and Jette.
Ian hoped that he appeared unconcerned, though that was entirely not how he felt. He reminded himself that every soldier surrounding him was one less that Robin had to deal with inside. And true to her word, Robin had devised a plan for Ian to escape if—when—the situation got dangerous. “I am aware of King Gareth’s denouncement,” he said. “Which is precisely why I am here. I need to speak with both of you.”
Zimri took a half step forward, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of arresting Ian. “Perhaps we should discuss this inside.”
“No.” Ian shook his head. “I would prefer to speak here, as I am sure you will understand.” He let his words hang in the air, insinuating that at least here in the open he had an escape route. But he had to keep this conversation going as long as possible. Robin should be entering the monastery at this moment. He felt a cold sweat begin to drip down his torso and hoped that it was not visible on his face.
Gautho’s jaw tightened. “Your Highness, you must understand that your arrival here puts us in a difficult position. King Gareth has made his stance clear—”
“I understand the position perfectly, General.” Ian kept his voice level, diplomatic. “I am asking only for a conversation. Surely that is not too much to request, given my years of service to Iseldis and my relationship with both of you.”
“Relationships that you have denounced by abandoning your post,” Gautho countered.
“We can at least hear him out,” Zimri said. “There is nothing he can do against us here and now. He is surrounded.”
Ian was grateful for the indication of trust, however small. He slid from his horse in an attempt to give his next words more weight. “I came here, willingly putting myself into a dangerous position, because I need counsel from men I trust.”
It was a manipulative appeal, and Ian watched its effect carefully. He had Zimri’s full attention.
Gautho’s hand hovered over the pommel of his sword while he stared at Ian for several seconds. “What kind of counsel?” he finally asked.
“The battle formation,” Ian said. “The positioning of our joint armies does not seem as strong as it could be.”
Gautho’s eyes narrowed. “So you have come to provide counsel,” he said, “not seek it.”
Ian clasped his hands behind his back, something he had seen his father do. It made him feel vulnerable and exposed, but he needed to exude confidence and power even if he did not feel it. “I have been watching the preparation and formations along the shore these last few days. I believe we are making a tactical error. As you are the wisest and most experienced soldiers I know, I am seeking your counsel against that tactical error.”
