Page 12 of Traitor Son

“This,” she said, almost stuttering in fright. Why was he angry? Her voice died under that black glare, but she nudged the parcel and forced the words out. “Azelma gave it to me. To share with you. Your Grace. If you want.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“I see.” He sounded skeptical. “We’ll be stopping to eat in a few hours.”

He probably thought she was going to poison him. Ophele lowered her eyes, bumping along in his lap with his arms on either side of her like two walls closing in. The shoes dangling off her feet were tidy slippers of the sort worn inside the house, forest green with dangling gold tassels and vastly oversized.

They were Julot’s.

* * *

If Remin had wanted to be married the same day they left Aldeburke, it wouldn’t have been impossible. There were three small villages within a few hours of the estate, and at least one of them would’ve had a cleric available. But the Duke of Andelin would be married with the same thoroughness he did everything else: inarguably, irrevocably, smashing through all resistance to stamp the act on the pages of history, so even scholars in generations to come could not contest his will.

To that end, they were going to Celderline. It was a large town with a temple and a Prior, three days from Aldeburke. As much as he hated to waste the time, he would have smoke sent up from the Temple, call forth the town criers, and cram as many witnesses as possible into the temple. Songs would be sung. Oaths taken. The marriage certificate would be notarized in triplicate and then locked in the same casket where he kept proof of the princess’s identity and parentage.

Even in the chaos of his departure from Aldeburke, Remin had collected every page of the records belonging to Lady Rache Pavot. His abrupt departure had served him well; the lord was too surprised to have time to conceal anything, and too rattled to lie convincingly.

From Celderline they would go straight to the Andelin Valley, a much longer journey and large portions of it through rough country. He had already decided that he and his new bride wouldn’t have children right away, not until he had a respectable home in which to install them. But he meant to have a brood, as a hedge against the calamity that had plagued him all his life. The Emperor had wiped out his House down to the last infant. Remin was all that remained. And he would protect his children from suffering that fate even before they were born.

His eyes went to the princess, sitting alone by a fire and entirely ignorant of these plans. She looked tiny, huddling in her cloak, but according to the records of her birth, she had been born in 808 and would be eighteen this year. Old enough.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t been much trouble so far. Remin had watched her carefully at lunch and only ate the things she ate, after she took the first bite. Sitting with her wasn’t like sitting with his men and he frankly wasn’t sure what to do with her. They ate silently and didn’t make eye contact, an eternity of chewing.

“The bread is good,” he had finally offered. The words fell into the silence like a stone dropping down a well.

“Azelma made it,” she said, her eyes flicking up to him and quickly away. Her voice was so soft, he had to lean forward to hear her.

Their only other interaction that day had been when he caught her sidling away from the group during a short break in the afternoon, as if she thought she might slip off unnoticed. He had collared her before she got five paces.

“I’m just…to the bushes,” she had explained, without meeting his eyes. The tips of her ears were scarlet. Accustomed though he was to his men doing any number of unspeakable things on the march, Remin released her at once.

“Very well,” he said stiffly. “If I have to come find you, you’ll never go without an escort again.”

She nodded and sped out of his sight, and in the five minutes she was gone he hovered, for the first time uncertain. Suddenly it dawned on him that even if she wasn’t actively trying to escape, the world was a dangerous place. There might be snakes in the underbrush; a red-mouthed adder could kill with a single bite. Badgers. Foxes with foaming sickness. Even a rabbit would bite, if startled; bites could turn septic even with treatment. It wasn’t quite spring, and the nights were still cold, what if she did actually get sick?

He had commanded whole armies and ordered thousands of men to march to their deaths, but he had never been responsible for anything as fragile as a girl.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, the princess rubbed her hands together and held them out to the fire, scooting closer.

Remin went to take a look at the supply wagon.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Lord Hurrell that there were no roads where they were going. The supply wagon rode high off the ground on two iron-shod wheels, so it could bounce along over the roughest terrain. Remin had no fondness for the Emperor’s daughter, but he wasn’t cruel enough to make her ride in that. She’d bite off her own tongue before noon. But as a bed, it might be better than sleeping on the ground.

After he ordered the load shifted off the front of the wagon and commandeered several large fur-lined cloaks from his grumbling men, Remin returned to collect the girl. She was sitting in exactly the same place by the fire, hunched in a little ball.

“Princess,” he said gruffly, crouching beside her. Her eyes were closed, thick dark lashes curling over her cheeks, with her small chin propped on her knees and a half-empty mug of wine staining the hem of her cloak. If it had been one of his men, he would’ve administered a gentle kick, but he sensed that would not be appropriate. He shook her shoulder instead. “Princess. Wake up.”

“Wha—huh?” She blinked up at him and instantly retreated, clutching the remains of her supper. Remin huffed with irritation.

“Come. If you want to sleep, do it somewhere safe,” he said, pulling her up by her elbow and reaching for the bread. “Are you done with this?”

She muttered something.

“Speak up.”

“F-for the morning,” she said, clutching it closer.

“Give it to me, it’ll attract vermin. We’ll have breakfast before we leave, I don’t starve my men,” he added, irritated. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that there were such rumors about him. “Come, you’re sleeping here.”

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