Page 16 of The Crownless Prince

Marcus barely managed not to stab himself in the mouth with his fork as his hand jolted.

“So you casually admit to murder?” Edwin asked.

The assassin shrugged. “Is it murder if the king commands it or merely a private execution?”

“For what crime?” Marcus demanded, immediately wishing he hadn’t said anything. “I understand this prince has been imprisoned for years. How could he have wronged our new king while behind bars?”

Darius swallowed a large bite of eggs. “Existing? The king dislikes loose threads, I suppose. It’s my job to do my king’s bidding, not to ask questions.” He met Marcus’s gaze. “Why do you care, Gerald?”

Marcus focused on the remaining egg on his plate. “I’d like to think now that Aedyllan has a king again at last, he will be a just one.”

“What I don’t understand,” Edwin said, “is why now? I heard Prince Arlius was killed five days ago. Why only now?”

“As I said, not my place to ask questions.” The assassin took another large bite before adding, “Perhaps he forgot. He returned to his own castle, and then the next day, he sent me to take care of the last Alimer.”

The furrow between Edwin’s eyebrows mirrored Marcus’s confusion. Had Adriana asked about him, and that had prompted her father to send an assassin after him? A worse thought churned his stomach. Or did she hate him so much for disappearing without a word that she also wanted him dead? No, Adriana would never do that, not intentionally.

Darius finished his eggs and stood. “Well. It was a pleasure conversing with you, Marcus.”

Absently, Marcus grunted, then froze. “I’m—it’s Gerald.”

But it was too late.

As Darius drew a knife with a wicked grin, Edwin flipped the table over on its side. Grabbing a fistful of Marcus’s tunic, Edwin yanked him behind the makeshift barrier so quickly, Marcus nearly slammed his head against the single support in the middle of the table.

“Don’t be foolish, princeling.” Darius chuckled. “You can’t escape, and you aren’t armed. If you come out now, I’ll make it quick.”

Marcus gritted his teeth. He hadn’t escaped the tower alive to die in an inn before he even found out if Adriana was all right. Still, tables and chairs and perhaps the utensils scattered out of reach made poor weapons against knives and a sword. He peered around the edge of the table at the front door, far across the room and with the assassin blocking the way.

“The kitchen,” Edwin whispered. “There must be a back entrance. On three, run.”

Despite wanting to argue or demand to know the plan, Marcus nodded. They didn’t have time for discussion, and he trusted Edwin.

“One…two…three.”

Marcus sprang up while Edwin grabbed the table leg and shoved the table toward the assassin. As Marcus sprinted toward the kitchen, the male innkeeper emerged, a large rolling pin in hand.

“What’s this racket—oy!” The innkeeper broke into a run. “What’re ya doin’, pullin’ weapons in my inn?”

“Marcus!” Edwin cried out, just as something flashed in the corner of Marcus’s vision.

Marcus turned, and his eyes widened as a knife flew through the air directly toward his chest. He dove to the side, but not fast enough. The knife grazed his temple, and a fiery pain blossomed near his left eyebrow. Momentarily stunned, he fell and the side of his head slammed into the wood floor.

The dining room blurred as a throb hammered his skull. He moaned and tried to get up. The last thing he saw before passing out was Edwin shoving a chair into Darius while the innkeeper cracked the rolling pin against the assassin’s head.

Marcus jolted awake and immediately regretted the movement as his aching head spun. Something sticky pulled at his left eye, and he wiped at something tacky and wet. Forcing his eyes open, he gaped down at the blood smeared over his hand.

“You’re awake.” Crouching next to him, Edwin slumped in relief, then cast a nervous glance to the side.

His mind cleared and his surroundings came back into focus. Marcus sat on the dirt, slumped against an exterior wall. Warm aircrept out of the open door to his left.

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Not long. You woke up for a few moments as I was dragging you through the kitchen, then passed out again briefly.” Edwin stood and offered his hand. “We need to get moving. I doubt that assassin will be out long, either.”

Marcus accepted Edwin’s help to get to his feet. The world tilted and spots danced in Marcus’s vision for a moment. He wiped more blood away from his eye. “Need to stitch that cut,” he mumbled.

“Soon,” Edwin agreed as he gripped Marcus’s arm and led him away. “The innkeeper confiscated the assassin’s weapons and was tying him up while I was pulling you out. He was furious about the blood all over his floor, but once the assassin wakes up and explains he’s on a mission from the king, the innkeeper will probably let him go.”

---