Page 30 of The Uncrowned Prince

“I believe my answer to that question has changed too many times to count.”

Across the room, the off-duty guardsmen seemed to be growing progressively louder.

“And what do you say now?”

His answer seemed to matter to her for some reason.

“I believe that, as in all things, there is a balance that must be maintained. If we are too focused on the greater good, we risk losing ourselves, and thereby lose whatever enables us to identify the good that we fight for. And yet, if we are too inwardly focused, we can see only our own desires, and lose sight of the broader perspective.”

“You make it sound impossible.”

Vaniell shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I’ve concluded that it issupposedto be impossible. That we will forever be wobbling along an invisible tightrope, always falling off one side or another, and then getting back up to try again. And the only way we truly fail…”

“Is not to get back up.” Karreya spoke slowly, thoughtfully, as if she were chewing over the idea. “You do not wish to get back up this time, do you?”

For a woman who behaved as though she’d been raised with little knowledge of the world, she saw with a deeply discerning eye. Her conversation style was like a knife to the heart with every sentence, and yet, perhaps it was exactly what he needed.

“I don’t,” he said, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. “I want to lie on the ground and cry out that I’ve paid too high a price already. That I can see only more pain ahead, and why must I shoulder it alone? But then I also want to weep because I have caused even more pain than I’ve borne, and my suffering will never be enough.”

He had never said that out loud before to anyone. What was it about this woman—a near total stranger who ought to be deemed his enemy—that made him want to tell the truth?

“Hmmm.” She was thinking again. “I have never considered fully which of the paths before me would be the greater good. Perhaps through my own sacrifice I could spare others, but I have not determined whether Ishould.”

“And what have you been asked to sacrifice?” he murmured, doubting she would answer, yet wanting her to trust him enough to tell him.

But she didn’t have a chance to either admit the truth or tell him to mind his own business.

Jarek crossed to their table with food and drink, offering crispy fried fish with herbed potatoes and glazed carrots alongside a bottle of burgundy and two mugs for drinking.

As he placed the plates on the table, he leaned closer to Vaniell, keeping his voice low. “The man in the booth at the back is drunk, and he knows who you are. Just thought you might want to know, in case you were hoping to keep that quiet.”

Vaniell locked eyes with Jarek, every sense on alert. Despite the fact that the two of them could not be more different, Jarek had become a friend, of sorts. And yet, if he’d figured out Vaniell’s true identity, that friendship might be at an end.

No one had ever been a genuine friend to the Wastrel Prince of Garimore.

“I see,” he said flatly. “Thank you, Jarek.”

The bar owner raised an eyebrow at his grim tone. “And before you go getting your knickers in a twist, I’ve been a lot of places and seen more than most, but I don’t sell what I know. No one has ever learned of your identity from me, nor will they.”

Beside him, Vaniell felt Karreya relax a trifle, though beneath the table, one hand still held a dagger he hadn’t seen her draw.

As if she were preparing to kill the man just because he was a threat to Vaniell.

He was going to have to remind her again that they needed to keep murders to a minimum, but it was oddly heart-warming to know that she was prepared to defend him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it occurred to him that stabbing shouldn’t be considered a meaningful expression of affection, however…

Coming from Karreya, it was probably the equivalent of a friendly hug.

But the real question was, how much did he trust Jarek?

More than he should, he decided. He’d always felt safe at the Hook and Trident, and he would hate to lose one of the few havens he had in the world. And as for the drunk man at the back table?

Perhaps he should simply go have a chat with him.

But first… Food. Jarek’s cooking was excellent, so for the next few minutes, Vaniell applied himself to polishing his plate.

Karreya ate as she did everything else—neatly and swiftly, while her eyes roamed the surroundings, one hand never leaving the dagger beneath the table. Occasionally she shot him a sharp glance when his elbow brushed her side, but for the most part it was a quiet, almost companionable meal.

When every bite was gone, Vaniell let out a sigh and pushed back his plate. “I think,” he said regretfully, “that I must interrupt our thus far peaceful evening.”

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