Page 19 of The Prince and the Ice King

while he did cheer,

and swore to Emerald no longer

—a frozen arrow’s stronger—

the fletcher ever after and bow master!”

He stretched his arms wide with a final stomp, but then pulled one hand close to his mouth and whispered, “Just a pity it took a hundred years instead of any faster.”

The crowd cheered again with a smattering of laughter and applause.

“We all know whose bed that cloak’s on the end of now!” someone called, and the fletcher pulled his woman closer against his side.

Only when the laughter died, with Nigel bowing low to accept his accolades, did the fletcher speak.

“Fiveyears. It took five years before I surpassed the king’s master of arms with a bow.”

“It’s true!” Branwen called from the head table.

“And only twenty more to lose his good humor!” Nigel shouted back.

“Whose fault was that?” the fletcher responded.

“But!” Nigel cried to keep everyone’s attention on him as they laughed louder. “But. I say to you all now…here comes the night!” he cried, and then bent to speak directly to Reardon. “And on this night, sweet prince, how would you tell that tale?”

Reardon’s cheeks burned hot and his heart jumped into his throat. “I, um….”

“Go on. I’m curious what the Emerald stories say.”

“I-I thought… bards were supposed to sing.”

“It’s better this one doesn’t,” Shayla murmured.

“Free verse is allowed.” Nigel scowled as more snickers arose. “You want a song, give us one. How would you sing the tale of theEmerald Arrowfirst fired into the heart of this place?”

Reardon felt more on display than ever, with every table watching him, including that of the Ice King and his court. “I know a different version.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Nigel hopped down to the floor but remained standing. “Maybe a dozen or so? And what’s your favorite?”

“The story is similar but paints the slaver as a noble.”

“He was one,” the fletcher chimed in, eyes hard again and smile thin. “He was both, but history is sung by the victors.”

There was a tense silence where Reardon wasn’t sure how to proceed, but then a clear, melodic voice rose up beside him.

“Beware the lure of passion’s ploy to take what’s not your own.”

Reardon turned to Barclay. They were both sitting, facing each other, and Reardon smiled as he jumped in to join him on the verse.

“By king and country, you’ll be caught and exiled from your home.

As once a thief in dark of night did rob a noble’s horse

And run when he was chased off road beyond a noble course.

“And the thief ran on,” Reardon sang powerfully on the chorus, with Barclay falling to harmony as they had done many times before.

“Swallowed up by greed,

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