Page 45 of The Prince's Curse

Haldric resheathed his sword and sat back down, an adorable blush coloring his cheeks. “I’m still far from an expert. I’ve read accounts of spellblades capable of effortlessly fusing their magic with their combat technique, channeling runeflame through their sword like it was an extension of their body. But that requires mastering both runeflame and your weapon to an extent I can only dream of. The best I can right now is apply basic elemental Evocations to my blade and a Protection ward to my armor.”

“Well, it seemed pretty Void-cursed impressive to me,” Benjin said. “I can barely manage basic Evocations and Conjurations, let alone the other disciplines.”

Haldric frowned. “You held your own during our contest.”

Benjin picked at his stew. “You went easy on me.”

“Oh, come on!” The force of Haldric’s reply caught Benjin by surprise. “Your Evocation gave me a run for my gallants, and your Conjuration beat me fair and square. And that Compulsion of yours was plenty strong.”

Benjin snorted, fixing Haldric with a lopsided smirk he knew would drive the prince insane. “Only because you’re particularly weak-willed.”

“Such impudence!” Haldric gasped, clutching at his breast in exaggerated horror. “How dare you speak to your crown prince in such an uncouth manner!”

Barely holding back laughter, Benjin gave a mock bow. “Apologies. I meant to say, ‘Only because you’re particularly weak-willed,Your Highness.’”

Haldric sniffed, his lips twitching. “Better. Now eat your stew before it gets cold. Your future king demands it.”

“At once, Your Supreme and Most Benevolent Eminence.”

Conversation flowed easily after that, and they spent another hour chatting about nothing in particular before retiring to their separate tents to rest. As Benjin settled down in his sleeping roll with a full belly and equally full spirits, he found himself smiling into the darkness, a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest.

Perhaps this trip away from the palace wouldn’t be so bad after all.

sixteen

Haldric

A foul mood hungover Haldric as he stormed down the path leading from Duke Westley’s estate back toward their camp.Void take that insufferable man!He flexed his clenched jaw, grinding his teeth together.

Dinner with the duke had proven about as unpleasant as he’d expected. Westley spent the entire time not so subtly hinting at his ‘requests’ for once Haldric assumed the throne. Not wanting to cause a diplomatic incident, Haldric had smiled and nodded, keeping his cool all the way until dessert.

But then Westley had had thegallto insult Melisie’s legacy right to Haldric’s face, implying it was her own carelessness that had gotten her killed. And that was one jab too much to bear.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” Fendrel called out as Haldric approached.

“I’m fine, Marshal,” Haldric snapped as he stalked past. Instant guilt curdled his gut, and he turned back, adding, “But thank you for your concern.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Fendrel said with a bow. “If you need anything, please let me or one of my soldiers know.”

Haldric nodded and continued deeper into camp, eager to escape the marshal’s watchful gaze. After that disaster of a dinner, he wanted nothing more than to hide in his tent and wait for dawn so they could be on their way.

He’d have avoided meeting Westley at all if he could, but their planned route took them straight through the duke’s lands in Zaros along the Tholan River. As much as Haldric disliked the man, he dared not needlessly antagonize him…though after tonight, he wished he had. It would be a relief to pass beyond Zaros’ borders through the heavily guarded checkpoint into Khordan tomorrow.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the shadowed figure sitting outside his tent until they spoke. “Rough night, huh?”

Haldric jerked to a halt and eyed Benjin, his pulse thrumming at the sight of the apprentice. “What are you still doing up?”

Benjin stood and dusted off his pants. “Waiting for you. With how stressed you looked when you left, I figured you might want someone to vent to when you returned.” Heat flooded Haldric’s neck when Benjin peered at his face, then smirked. “Looks like I was right.”

Scowling, Haldric crossed his arms over his dress tunic. Part of him wanted to snap at Benjin to mind his own Void-cursed business and shove past him into his tent. Instead, he found himself striding over to slump by their doused campfire.

Benjin settled down across from him, reviving the fire with a flash of runeflame. “All right, so spill,” Benjin prompted. “What’s so bad about this particular duke? I mean,Ihate him on principle for being a spoiled noble, but I assume your dislike runs deeper than that.”

Haldric stared into the crackling flames, gathering his thoughts. It was odd—simply sitting here with Benjin, he could already feel his earlier tension loosening. When the apprentice had first announced his intention to tag along on Haldric’s mission to Khordan, Haldric had feared they’d be ready to rip each other’s heads off long before they reached their destination. It wasn’t as if they had the best track record of getting along from their forced lessons.

But this past week on the road had proven surprisingly pleasant. Away from the palace, it seemed easier somehow to talk without the ever-present strain between them rearing its head. When Benjin wasn’t intentionally trying to antagonize him, Haldric found he actually enjoyed the apprentice’s company.

“It’s no one thing,” Haldric began. “It’s just how Duke Westley acts. Like…like every word he says is a cruel joke at someone else’s expense.”

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