Page 114 of The Arrow and the Alder

Yours for all eternity,

Alder

Alder was not ignorant about the power of first impressions, and the impression he was about to make might doom them all to hell, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. It wasn’t like he’d had time to stop at an inn and bathe.

So here he was, covered from head to toe in depraved blood, looking arguably worse than he had the day he’d met Josephine.

But that had worked out all right. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

“You’re nervous,” Rian said.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re pacing.”

“We’ve been standing here for nearly an hour. I’m restless. There’s a difference.”

Rian didn’t look like he agreed, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He, too, was covered in depraved blood. They all were, but Alder was just thankful it wasn’t their own. They’d intercepted two depraved nests along their way here. Actually three if he counted the group that’d been hanging beneath the Southland Bridge. Rabid bats. Needless to say, the journey to Gorsich had not been as uneventful as Alder had hoped, and the mist was thicker than ever.

It made him acutely aware of how much his mother’s power had held back the curse and how quickly Weald was succumbing without her. Even without Abecka’s vision, Alder would’ve known they were running out of time.

Still, he and his party had looked so horrendous upon arrival that Gorsich’s guards almost shot them on sight. Thankfully, one of them recognized Alder from an instance when Alder had been caught with the guard’s sister, which then inclined the guard to want to shoot for an entirely different reason. Still, by a twist of the Fates, his past transgressions had saved them. And Alder suspected the only thing that had held the guard back was the expectation that Alder’s uncle would punish Alder appropriately and this guard wanted to see that.

So here he was, pacing in the atrium of his uncle’s study, waiting to be seen.

Alder hated waiting.

Clearly. Impatience was his fatal flaw and the crux of all his past issues.

He stopped and raked a hand through his hair.

“Would you calm down?” Rian said. “You’re makingmenervous.”

“How unfortunate,” Alder drawled.

“I thought you said the two of you were on good terms?”

“We are.” A beat. “Well, wewere.”

He could practically feel Rian’s mounting irritation. “Don’t tell me you compromised a member of his staff.”

“Two, actually.”

The door opened, and a slight woman with silver hair stepped through. Her gaze slid over Alder with no small amount of disdain, and Alder suspected it ran much deeper than his outward appearance.

Not a good sign.

“Lord Hammerfell will see you now,” she said stiffly.

He and Rian started forward.

“OnlyPrince Alder.”

Alder glanced back at Rian, whose expression turned grim. He was going to get an earful later, he was certain.

Assuming his uncle didn’t have him flogged first.

Alder strode through the doorway and into a magnificent study that pricked at him in an odd way. It’d been years since Alder set foot in this tomb full of old texts, and he’d been a very different person then. He remembered a handful of old arguments with his uncle, and this present Alder felt the sharp pains of embarrassment for each one of them.

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