Page 13 of Winter's Fate

If that man were a fool. Callum cursed himself, and the fatigue of the road, for even allowing the thought to pass through his mind.

There was no need to lust after the woman, beautiful though she was. Though he did allow himself to entertain a brief notion of throttling whoever was responsible for the nasty cut on her cheek.

He hadn’t helped her because of her looks, nor because ofthe fresh scent she brought with her. Sea air and fresh soil, with a hint of something floral. Lavender, maybe.

“I’ll escort you to your sister in case of another incident,” he said. “Though I suppose you’ll have to show me the way.”

She regarded him coolly. She might be dressed like a farmer, but her bearing was that of a royal. Make no mistake. “What about the guard?”

“We’ll get it sorted.” Hawk probably wouldn’t appreciate him breaking a rule within his first ten minutes in Etra, but then Hawk hadn’t wanted to send him on this mission in the first place. He’d have other things to scold Callum about when the party returned.

As for Callum, he didn’t much care for idiotic rules. If Etra’s palace guards hadn’t been trained to recognize their own princess—abdicated from the throne or not—then they ought to learn. Even if their own commanders hadn’t bothered to educate them. Not to mention the would-be queen.

Luckily, Princess Laena didn’t seem to be much for rules either. She gave a curt nod and shouldered her satchel with a conviction that suggested she would not appreciate an offer to carry it for her.

Callum followed her into the palace entry, where the guards allowed him to pass without comment, darting quick looks at his companion before returning to their posts. They’d been informed ofhisidentity, at least. And perhaps some of thesedidrecognize her. They ought to educate their colleague at the gates.

She cleared her throat. “I suppose if you know who I am, you’re aware of why they don’t?”

He wondered if she would prefer for him to pretend he had not heard the story. But gossip was gossip, and the story of the Etran queen’s abdication had been the central subject of conversation for months. Bards still sang of it, in the form of love epics and bawdy drinking songs.

He would not have been surprised to learn that Aglye had been more entranced with the story than her home country.

Callum suspected any attempt to deny his knowledge would earn him a scowl. After all, this woman was trained to see straight through a lie. “I pay no heed to rumors,” he said.

She let out a laugh, bitter and short. “Rumors, they were not.”

“Gossip then. The identity of the man in your bed is no concern of mine, my lady.”

Unless it happened to be him. The thought came unbidden, and he shook his head, trying to dispel the notion. He was travel weary; that was all.

She tipped her chin a little higher. “Just Laena, please.”

He knew the story, of course. In truth, he’d thought her brave to leave her life in the palace the way she had. What a foolish law, prohibiting princesses from marrying commoners. Callum had often thought a good farmer might make an excellent king. And in a country like Etra, where they claimed to understand and love their people so fully, it seemed particularly hypocritical. Not that he paid much heed to politics, but one couldn’t live in the palace without picking up an opinion or five.

She’d left for love. Who could fault her for that?

Then again, he’d always been inclined to cheer for one who balked against the restrictions of a royal existence. If anything, he faulted her only for failing to change the law. As far as anyone knew, she hadn’t even bothered to try.

That question was far less common, at least in Aglye. People preferred the romantic story over the practical one.

He’d allowed the silence to stretch for far too long as she led him along corridors lined in salmon-pink and white stones. “I apologize for my fatigue,” he said. “I’m Callum Farrow, captain of the Aglyean King’s Guard.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised, “yes, I know who you are. Apologies, Captain Farrow. I appreciate the intervention.”

Of course she knew who he was. She could probably recite his family tree—sparse as it was—and Hawk’s to boot, which was much more complex. She could probably give him an entire political history of his realm before they reached their destination.

Which, he realized, was one she was leading him toward, rather than the other way around. She was striding through a maze-like collection of corridors, each exactly like the others. Where Vunmore’s fortress was made of graying stone and frowning busts, dark corners and candlelit sconces, the Etran palace took every opportunity to allow in the light. The ceiling was made almost entirely of clear glass, showcasing the crystal-blue sky. How did it fare against the seaside storms? He would have expected constant leaks if not breakages.

It was a security risk, too.

His mind truly felt in a fog. The journey had been a long one, true, particularly since he’d pressed the soldiers rather quickly to prevent Moore from catching up with them. He needed a drink—or several, come to that—and a good long rest in a decent bed. Too many nights sleeping beside campfires and trading horses for ships and then horses again.

He’d no doubt missed whatever official welcome had been prepared for the party in the courtyard, though perhaps that was best left for Edmun to handle.

Laena glanced at him, a slight frown on her face, and he realized he still had not answered her thanks.

He cleared his throat. “Of course. I’m happy to help.”

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