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“Not usually,” Leif said, and managed to keep his tone light. “But these aren’t usual times, and the enemy has therefore found a host of manors and chateaux to inhabit, without any resistance. If you cultivate a prosperous land,” he said, Erik’s old words about the South returning to him, a boyhood lesson taught amidst rounds in the training yard, “you should be prepared to defend it, because others will covet it, and come for it, and try to claim it.”

Reginald’s handsome, delicately-featured face twisted, and he didn’t answer.

Connor said, “Obviously.” Older, wiser, less obviously hostile toward them, his tone was mild, though Leif could see his unwillingness to trust in his posture, and in the way he still held his son back. “But, as you yourself heard in the meeting: we won’t have to dig in trenches and defend this place. We’ll be on the march as soon as we’re able.”

As soon asyou’reable, he meant. It didn’t feel like an insult, not really, though Ragnar shifted beside him, bristling.

Leif bumped the side of his boot with his own.Don’t. He met the Southern lords’ gazes, each in turn, and said, formally, “I haven’t had the chance yet to thank you both for your aid on the road. It was chaos, and I was fast losing blood, but I remember you distinctly, my lords, rushing to my aid with your swords drawn. Thank you.”

To his surprise, Ragnar said, without a trace of mockery, “Yes, thank you. Again.”

Connor’s brows lifted a fraction.

Reginald’s face smoothed with more obvious surprise.

After a moment, Connor said, “It’s what you do, in that situation. Every man on his feet helps where he can.”

“We couldn’t very well let a prince be killed in action, could we?” Reginald said, but some of the heat had left his voice. His stance eased – which meant his hand fell away from the boy’s mouth, and the lad sucked in a huge, indignant breath, and said, “I wanted to talk to the prince!”

“Liam,” Connor said.

“No, it’s all right. We were headed back for the manor. We can talk on the way.”

They fell into a sort of formation, Leif and Ragnar in the lead, which put Connor and Reginald at their backs. Leif didn’t like having men he didn’t know well behind him, but that was his wolf talking.You already got what you wanted,he told it, firmly, with a flash of heated memory, and so he walked along at a reasonable pace, and ignored the men behind him, and tried to keep up with Liam’s rapid-fire questioning.

“Where’s your crown? I thought princes wore crowns. Did you forget yours at home? And where are your horses? I know all the horses in the stable and on the lines, and there aren’t any new ones. A prince should have a horse, don’t you think? Probably the biggest and the finest, like Shadow. Have you seen Shadow? Everyone told me not to touch him, but I take him apples, and he likes me…”

By the time they reached the outskirts of the formal garden, Leif found that he was smiling.

~*~

“Go to bed, dear.”

Amelia jerked at sound of the words, and found that her eyes had closed, and her head had dipped forward on her neck, and that, for a moment, she’d forgotten where she was, and who she was with, and panic fluttered before she blinked the library, the fireplace, and Leda in the chair opposite back into clarity. She glanced then at her hand, fearful she’d spilled wine when she’d slumped, but found that her cup had been taken from her, and placed on the table beside her chair. Her cheeks heated. She’d had only three sips before she nodded off.

Leda’s smile was warm, and maternal, and Amelia chafed beneath it; she wanted a friend, not a mother. She turned away from it, and rubbed the grit from her eyes, and attempted to rouse herself fully. “Sorry. What were we talking about?” She reached for her wine, though that doubtless wouldn’t help with her falling-asleep-mid-sentence problem.

Leda chuckled, and that felt maternal – and unwelcome – as well. “We were talking about all that moving the entire camp would entail. The procurement of enough wagons, for instance. But I’ve just said you ought to go to bed.”

Amelia shook her head and had another sip of wine. The sugar in it would provide a little energy, if nothing else. Short-term. “I’m fine.” She stifled a yawn and muttered a curse afterward; at least Leda’s resulting laugh sounded less like that of a parent. “I don’t know why I did that. We’ve been sitting on our laurels the last three days.”

“Well, let’s see: you’ve been recovering from a battle.”

“A skirmish,” Amelia corrected.

“Abattle. And then you’ve hardly slept worrying over the prince.”

Amelia didn’t like the glint that came into Leda’s eyes when she saidthe prince. The unsubtle suggestion there, the obvious relish, as though she had a bit of salacious gossip. “Everyone should have been worrying over the prince,” she said. “Can you imagine finally meeting the king of Aeretoll and having to tell him that we got his heir killed in a silly roadway fight?”

Leda sighed, and grew serious. “You can wave it away and call it whatever you like, but what happened on the road that day wasbad, Amelia. Men died. Men were seriously wounded.” She swirled the wine in her cup and gave her a level look. “You do a remarkable job of holding yourself with dignity in front of the others – but it’s okay to be rattled, darling.”

Amelia made a face.

“We won’t talk of that now, though.” Leda took a sip, and when she lowered her cup, her wine-red lips curved upward in a devious smile. “We’ll talk of the prince.”

Amelia groaned. “No, stop saying it like that.”

“Like what?”