Page 41 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

I’m not Robin Hood anymore. I haven’t been for five years. Stepping back into his shoes is daunting, like they’re bigger than before. I’m not sure if I still deserve them. Even though the hood was forced off my head, I was planning on giving it up anyway, and that guilt has followed me ever since.

But now it’s back on, and I have the chance to make things right. I have to do this for the people of Nottingham. For my people in Sherwood Forest.

The prince has reigned with tyranny long enough, and his time is up.

Of course, this plan doesn’t come without its risks. I tried to warn Henry about that, but I don’t think he ever accepted it.

I know he’s in this as much as I am. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have made the trip back here when he never wanted to return. He wouldn’t have been the one to come up with this plan. He wouldn’t be risking his own life to pull this off.

I only hope he can pull it off.

As we ride through the town of Nottingham, eyes turn our way, and whispers follow us. I’m not surprised considering, as far as they all know, we’ve both been gone for months.

Cart salesmen freeze mid-sale, loaves of bread forgotten in outstretched hands.

A blacksmith falls still with his hammer in the air, its ringing echo swallowed by the unusual quiet.

Children stop their games in the mud to gape while their mothers clutch them closer, murmuring our names.

Near the edge of the square, an old woman scattering grain for her chickens stops mid-throw, seeds spilling from her apron.

The birds flutter and peck around her feet as she stands frozen, jaw slack, as if she’s seen ghosts.

Henry ignores them all, his body tense and rigid behind me. He leans forward, pressing into me with his mouth close to my ear. His tone is harsh and mean, a contrast to the words he speaks, like he’s putting on a show for the onlookers while keeping his voice low so only I can hear.

“Only I get to hurt you, Robin. Just remember when I do that I love you.”

Hearing those words in the Sheriff’s cruel voice puts a smirk on my face. It’s a good thing the Hood was always a defiant and mischievous rebel.

“I love you too,” I say back, moving my lips as little as possible.

So I suppose that’s the plan he came up with? He thinks if he hurts me enough, then the prince won’t order his own guards to do it instead? I guess I’m okay with that. I’d prefer he hurt me than one of those soulless soldiers who definitely wouldn’t hold back.

Let’s just hope I don’t pop a boner in the middle of the throne room.

When we approach the main gate to the castle, we’re stopped by the guards flanking each side as they cross their poleaxes to block the entrance.

“Sheriff?” one of them asks, his brows drawn as he peers up at us. “Is that really you?”

“It is,” Henry answers with a gruff voice. “I’ve brought the prince a present. Are you going to let us through?”

They both share a look, hesitating.

“I’m not sure if we should do that, Sheriff,” the other guard says. “You’ve been gone an awfully long time. Where have you been?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Henry snaps as he brings his hand to the top of my head, throwing off my hood.

I grunt as he grips my hair tight by the roots and angles my head to give the guards a clear view of my face.

“I was hunting this little thief to the ends of the earth, and now I’m here to deliver his head to the prince on a silver platter. Or a spike, if he’d rather.”

“Is that Robin Hood?”

I grin through the grimace from the pain radiating through my scalp. “The one and only, gentlemen.”

“Shut up,” Henry snarls as he lets go of my hair and shoves my head away.

I barely resist the urge to crack a joke about him making me.

At least he’s playing the role of Sheriff well, if the ache in my head is any indicator. If it wasn’t for his reminder a few minutes ago, I might be worried that he’d realize he misses it.

“Do you two want to be responsible for disappointing the prince?”

At the Sheriff’s question, they both share another look, a flash of fear in their eyes. Coming to some sort of silent agreement, they move their poleaxes and allow us through.

Henry taps his legs against the horse, and we ride past the open gate into the courtyard. Again, all eyes are on us.

We stop at the bottom of the steps that lead into the main hall, and Henry lowers himself onto the ground first. He grabs me by the arm and roughly yanks me off the horse violently enough that I stumble into him and he’s forced to steady me.

Hauling me up the steps, he doesn’t seem to care when I trip and sway. I’m reminded of the time he dragged me through the woods of the park with my hands cuffed behind my back.

I may have a thing for him manhandling me, but, unfortunately, this isn’t leading to anything fun like it was last time.

In fact, my nerves are starting to ratchet up a few notches.

Just like at the main gate, there are two men standing outside the large double doors of the hall. They hold swords instead of poleaxes, and they don’t immediately block our path like the previous ones.

Henry forces me to a stop in front of them. “I demand an audience with the prince.”

This time, one of the guards takes one look at both of us before recognition flares in his eyes. He gives us a curt nod and says, “Of course, Sheriff. Follow me.”

The man leads us through the main hall while Henry continues dragging me along without mercy. On the other side of the hall, we enter a wide corridor with another set of thick double doors at the end. Our steps echo off the stone walls as we approach the throne room.

There are yet more guards posted here, and it’s starting to feel like a maze of obstacles to get to where we need to be.

Right now, Alan, Will, and a few of the other men from our camp should be well on their way to sneaking into the castle through the kitchens.

I hope their path is causing them less anxiety than ours is causing me.

After the first guard orders us to stay put, he mutters something to the second. That one pushes open the door for him, and he walks through. We only have to wait a couple of minutes before he returns and ushers us inside.

“So the rumors are true!”

Prince John’s voice echoes off the high ceilings and wide columns lining the edges of the throne room as we walk inside.

Colored pools of light shine on the polished stone floor from the tall, stained-glass windows.

Murmuring voices come from lords and ladies of his court, clinking armor from about a dozen armored knights standing around like statues.

At the far end, the prince reclines lazily on the throne that sits on a raised platform, a goblet of wine in his hand and the crown sitting a little askew on his head.

He’s a small man, a little gangly, and would probably lose in a physical fight to most of the people in this room.

But that doesn’t keep him from sneering at me as we come to a stop several feet in front of him.

“The Sheriff truly has returned, and he’s brought me a gift.”

Henry kicks the back of my legs, causing my knees to buckle and crash painfully to the floor. “Kneel before your prince, you thieving filth.”

Fuck me. He really wasn’t kidding about hurting me.

The prince takes a sip of his wine and smirks, clearly entertained by the show. After handing his goblet over to a young servant, he leans forward to get a better look at me, hands gripping the arms of the throne.

“Well, if it isn’t the Hood himself, dragged back like a wayward dog.” He tilts his head, an evil glint in his eyes that’s pure venom. “Still clinging to that tired legend the peasants tell around their fires?”

“Tired? You should tell that to your crown before it tips right off your head.”

A ripple of quiet laughter and shocked gasps passes through the court.

The prince’s jaw tightens, and his knuckles whiten around the arms of his chair as his voice drops to a dangerous purr. “Careful, Hood. I could have you silenced before you draw your next breath. But, no, I think I got it right the first time. You’ve aged, Robin.”

For some reason, that pisses me off more than it should. Maybe because the ache in my knees from the stone floor and the one in my shoulders from my hands being tied behind my back are proof of that.

I return his smirk. “And I still have a prettier face than yours.”

Henry coughs.

Fortunately, it goes unnoticed as rage flashes across the prince’s features, his lips curling in a scowl.

He leans back again, and his angry gaze remains locked on me as he says, “Do me a favor, Sheriff, and kill him now.”

“If that is your order, Your Highness, I will of course obey.” Henry grips the back of my collar as though worried I’ll attempt to flee, but my trust in him doesn’t waver.

As he speaks, he does so slowly, buying us time.

“However, if you can forgive me, I’d like to make a suggestion.

Dead, he’s nothing but a martyr. Alive, he can answer for every theft, every insult, every drop of rebellion he’s sown.

You could let him rot in the dungeons, and the people will forget him.

Or, if you insist on his death, you could hang him at dawn for the entire town to witness the price of defying you. ”

Prince John shifts his narrowed eyes to Henry. “You abandoned your post and have been gone a long time, Sheriff. Should I worry about where your loyalties lie?”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” he answers with a slight bow of his head.

“Good. I want this done right here, right now. This outlaw that I’ve hunted for years—”

He’s hunted for years? Arrogant prick.

“—thrives only on attention. Without it, he’s nothing. Not even his death deserves a spectacle. Cut him down and let me watch the light leave his eyes.”

Shit.