Page 69 of The Uncrowned Prince

Never once had he pictured himself in that position. But it seemed others had.

How Danric would laugh if he could see his brother now.

How Vaniell would laugh at himself, if it were not so terrifying to contemplate. When he chose to disappear on the road to Farhall, he’d left his title behind. It had never meant anything more to him than schemes and calculations and false smiles, so the loss had cost him little.

But now it seemed he must become Prince of Garimore once more, and not as an unwanted second son—as the potential Crown Prince and heir.

But how could anyone want an illegitimate wastrel and a failure as their hope for the future? How could he face the possibility of returning to a life where he had no choice but to be whoever his people needed, never truly himself?

The shadows of an Irian alleyway seemed an odd place to face his demons at last, but with Jarek watching him so intently, he did not have the option of hiding behind wit and sarcasm as he usually did.

“I am not your shining beacon of hope,” Vaniell said finally. “Nor am I half the man my brother is. My temperament is unsteady, and my useful skills nonexistent. I know nothing of wars or negotiation or managing a kingdom, only how to lie with a smile on my face and run from responsibility. So if you want me for this job…”

He swallowed and clenched his hands to keep them from shaking.

“You’ll have to take me as I am. I won’t ever play the game the way you expect. And I probably won’t sit back meekly and do what I’m told. I’ll take risks. I’ll infuriate you. And I’ll probably make you wonder whether you were insane to trust me.”

He expected Jarek to scowl or argue. He did not expect the man’s bearded face to break into a wide grin.

“Your Highness,” he said, and bowed slightly. “If you haven’t noticed, your brother could not beat his father at this game. Not one of the other Thrones has managed to outwit him, so it seems obvious that what we need isnotthe perfect, kingly example of honor and dignity.”

Because they weren’t fighting a man of honor and dignity.

“We needyou,” Jarek said fiercely. “Not because you are a villain, but because you are entirely yourself. Intelligent, wily, and willing to be outrageous. And yet also… a man of integrity.”

Vaniell laughed, a sound of disbelief rather than humor. “I don’t believe anyone has ever accused me of that before.”

“Then they weren’t paying attention.”

Only his mother had ever truly seen him, and she’d always believed in him. Would she be saying the same thing if she were here?

The sound of running footsteps echoed down the street, and Jarek’s head jerked around to listen.

“Guards,” he said. “I’ll distract them. You run for my place. I left it closed for the night, so you should be able to hide there until I get back. Just don’t let them catch you!”

With one final clap on the shoulder, he turned and jogged out of the alleyway. And when the guards caught sight of him and shouted for him to wait, he jumped and ran like a guilty man caught red-handed.

The guards gave chase, and Vaniell swore as he bolted the other direction down the alley.

Jarek was strong and canny. Surely, he could avoid being caught long enough for the guards to lose interest.

And if he did not? Well, Vaniell was now bound either way—bound to chase this futile dream to its end. To take up the hopes of so many and carry them with him on whatever road he chose.

He chose…

As he ran through the growing darkness in a deliberately circuitous route towards the waterfront, those words echoed through his mind.

He needed to choose. Thus far, he’d been chasing a ghost, looking for information, always reacting and retreating, never attacking. What would it be like to take the fight to the man he’d once called father? To strike where his enemy least expected, instead of running away?

A risk? Yes. But the idea of it awakened something within him, a deep sense of pride and purpose that had been missing all these months as he ran from the looming threat of discovery.

As he’d told Jarek, this was who he was. Risk and annoyance and surprise were his weapons, and he’d been allowing them to gather dust for far too long. The only way he could ever win was to engage on his own terms, and in order to do that…

He had to survive. To escape. To leave this place so he could take up the fight another day.

As Jarek had said, his tavern was shuttered and dark, with a sign on the door. Vaniell circled the building until he came to the rear and found the back door securely locked.

After rifling through his pockets for a moment, his right hand emerged holding a key, while a grin creased his lips. If anyone knew about this particular enchantment, they’d probably throw him in jail, even though the jail wasn’t likely to help.

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