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We press on.

Less than an hour after passing into the wildlands, the temperature has dropped noticeably. The wind howls around anything it can find. Where the hills rise to a point, strange, pale stone structures are silhouetted against the gray sky. Are these monuments made by nature, or some other force? What do they mean? What have they been used for?

People used to live out here, before the temperatures dropped and it became too difficult for even the hardiest to survive. Perhaps the stone structures—like huge squares of rock cut out and then stacked on top of one another—were used as places of worship?

The solid body of my horse shifts reassuringly beneath me, hooves clip-clopping across the uneven ground. It’s barren out here. The only trees are solitary, their limbsbare, their trunks bent against the harsh, cold winds that tear across the moorland. We can’t even trust the ground beneath our feet. Too often, it looks as though it’s just another moss-covered piece of land, only for the horse to take another step, and its front legs vanish into several feet of bog.

There are so many things out here that could kill us. If not the land itself, then the wild animals that fight for survival upon it, or the gangs of outcasts who have been convicted of some heinous crime or another and banished from the kingdom. If they were to see the kingdom’s flag flying, they’d surely try to cut us down. It occurs to me that I’d believed Prince Ruarok to have been living this way all these years. Why hadn’t I ever questioned it?

A pang of guilt stabs through me. I didn’t speak up for him, not once. I just allowed the king to make his decision to banish his only son and stood by and said nothing. My mother didn’t fight for him either. How could we have done that? Just been okay with believing the prince had been sent out here for the rest of his days? We’d taken the king at his word that Ruarok had planned to kill us, and never questioned it, even though there was no proof other than the king’s word.

I tell myself that I was young—and who questions the king’s decision, anyway?—but that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Does Ruarok hate me for not fighting for him? Perhaps he has every right to. I won’t even try to put myself in his place because I can’t, even for a second, begin to understand the kind of suffering he’s experienced over the past ten years.

I think of how passionately he kissed me, of how histouch sent bolts of electricity shooting through me. My emotions war within me. He seems to desire me, but how does he not want to wrap his hand around my throat instead?

I’m ashamed of myself.

After a couple of hours, we stop to eat a simple meal of bread, cheese, and cured pork, and allow the horses to rest. We can’t stop for long, though. Time isn’t on our side.

Though the wildlands are desolate, we don’t come across anything that is threatening. The biggest danger is in the very land itself—in hobbling a horse or sucking one of us into a bog. That danger only grows as the light starts to bleed from the sky.

“We need to stop here for the night,” Balthorne says. “It’s soon going to be too dark to see the way, and we need enough light to put up the tents.”

We pull the horses to a halt. There is nothing around that can offer us any shelter, and it feels horribly exposed up here.

Balthorne turns to the other guards. “Princess Taelyn’s tent will be in the center of ours. Position ourselves around her so nothing can get past without us hearing it.”

I shiver at the thought of lying alone in the tent, straining my ears for any creatures that might come sniffing around in search of an easy meal during the night.

Balthorne continues. “We’ll start a fire to cook food and heat water, but we’ll need to put it out before it gets fully dark, or the flames will make us easily visible to any marauders.”

Though I want the comfort of the warmth and light of the fire, I realize he’s right. We don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.

Night seems to fall on us like a curtain, with sudden finality. One minute, I can make out the faces of the men around me. The next, I can only see from the light of the fire. We huddle around it, and eat and drink, and try to warm ourselves the best we can.

Each of us is aware we’ll need to put it out soon. The longer we allow the fire to burn, the more likely we’ll be spotted. But none of us wants to sit here in the dark and the cold, unaware of who or what might be moving in the darkness around us.

The rhythmical clop of horses’ hooves comes from a distance away, drawing my attention. The others have heard it, too, and we fall silent, craning our necks in that direction. Balthorne and the other guards get to their feet.

It’s not coming from the direction where we’ve tied up our own animals. It seems to be getting closer. My stomach lurches.

“Someone is coming,” I hiss, standing as well.

Balthorne immediately places himself in front of me.

“Who goes there?” he calls.

My heart thuds against the inside of my ribs. I hold my breath. Every muscle in my body is tense with anticipation about who or what is going to emerge from the dark.

Now all I can hear is heavy breathing, and, in the dark, I make out white plumes on the freezing air.

“Princess,” a familiar voice comes out of the dark. “It’s only me, Prince Ruarok. Please don’t be afraid.”

My shoulders sag, and I huff out a frustrated breath, and push past Balthorne. Ruarok has followed us here. How long has he been behind us? The entire way, I guess. No wonder he wasn’t there to say goodbye. He must haveleft the castle earlier and positioned himself somewhere along the route so he could follow when we’d passed.

“What are you doing here, Ruarok? I told you not to come.”