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J aoven reluctantly accepted Emell’s invitation to remain at her house until his countrymen arrived. As they shared a meal at a table that suddenly seemed too large and empty, he studied her.

He swallowed a bite of stew-dipped bread and asked, “You knew who Iona was?”

The woman smiled. “She has traveled through most of Wessett. Never here to Straithmill, but she was in Aikwood last year for much of the summer, and we caught regular glimpses of her there whenever we made the trip to town.”

“And do you know who I am?”

A wan smile touched her lips, but she did not answer.

Irritated, he switched tactics. “Why did you let us keep up our pretense, then?”

She reached across the table and patted his hand, a gesture that reminded him so strongly of his mother that a lump stuck in his throat. “You meant it for the safety of her reputation, and it put you both at ease. You don’t have to worry. We know not to spread rumors here. ”

The reassurance only spiked his curiosity. What other rumors did they keep close?

“Has word of an alliance with Capria reached this part of the kingdom?”

Her faint smile returned. “Yes.”

“And do you support it?”

The smile turned into a chuckle. “Oh, yes.”

“Why? And why is it so funny?”

“Would you expect me to answer otherwise? Even if I hadn’t surmised you to be a party to that alliance, the young marquess revealed as much when he arrived. I would never speak ill of Capria to a Caprian’s face.”

Disgruntled, he slouched into his chair. “But behind my back it might be otherwise.”

Emell clucked. “You did our princess a great service, protecting her when no one else could. Whether you hail from Capria or Wessett, you are welcome here in Straithmill.”

His sojourn there, as it turned out, did not last much longer. Near dark, a cry went up in the street, and his ears registered the approach of horses. He caught up his coat and descended to the yard.

Elouan and Neven reined in, with Denoela and Clervie close behind. Further up the road, four Wessettan royal guards in their red cloaks rode along with a riderless horse for Jaoven’s use in their return trip.

Boots hit the dirt, and four bodies crowded him. Elouan, with a cry of triumph, clapped his arms around him, nearly lifting him from the ground. A flurry of back-slapping and pushing followed, chastisement mingled with gratitude that he was still alive.

“Riok stayed in the capital in case the treaty negotiations resume,” Denoela said when the reunion hit a minor lull. Her expression became tentative. “Did Yanna…?”

The unfinished question effectively killed their high spirits, four faces growing suddenly tense .

“She’s fine,” Jaoven said, his voice clipped. They peered past him toward Emell’s house, as though expecting the missing princess to emerge. He twisted, following their gazes. “Oh, no, she’s not here. We got separated. But she’s definitely alive.”

Clervie regarded him with narrowed eyes. When his attention shifted past her to the Wessettan guards, now within hearing range, she said only, “That’s good news.”

“What were you thinking, jumping into a river like that?” Elouan asked. “It was heroic, certainly, but you might have died.”

“I didn’t think. There wasn’t time. What happened after I went under?”

“Lisenn screamed loud enough to pierce an eardrum. Neven and I spent two hours tromping downriver to look for you while the girls tried to console her. Is it true that Yanna jumped?”

The question caught Jaoven unaware. He eyed his entourage, unsure how to respond.

Denoela glanced toward the listening guards and then lowered her voice almost to a whisper. “Did Yanna say something different?”

“She didn’t say what happened, only that it wasn’t on purpose.”

“She must’ve slipped then,” Clervie said, “and Lisenn assumed the worst. How did you get separated?”

The proximity of the guards made him leery of talking too much. “Where are we headed from here? Do we ride all night, or…?”

Neven cast a hand back the way they had come. “There’s a town on the other side of that foothill, Aikwood. If you’re well enough to ride, we’ll go as far as there, and then head back in the morning.”

“I’m well enough,” Jaoven said grimly. He shrugged into his coat, but before he started across the road to where the royal guards waited, he cast a wistful glance back toward the house. Emell, in the doorway, waved a quiet hand in farewell.

Leaving like this didn’t sit right. “Does anyone have any money?” he asked his friends.

Elouan produced a handful of coins. The prince grabbed them all and trotted back to the woman .

She saw him coming, saw his intent, and raised her hands with a backward step. “I cannot receive anything from you.”

He caught her wrist and pressed the money to her palm. “Please,” he said, the request low and fervent, “and share it with the others who helped you care for us. We would be dead if not for you.”

A conflicted expression crossed her face but she did not fight against him further. He pondered that look as he strode back to his entourage. What made her so squeamish? What code of honor demanded she refuse payment for service given?

Something was missing, some piece of a larger puzzle he had not yet discerned. And until he was safe behind closed doors with the people he trusted most in the world, he would not be able to suss it out.

They rode into the falling night, a cold wind at their backs as they crossed from meadowland to forest. The road pitched upward, with shadows thick around them. After nearly an hour, light shone through the trees, and the town of Aikwood became visible.

Had Iona stopped here as well, or had her cousin pushed them to a further destination? In the darkness, with no one’s scrutiny upon him, he allowed himself a dangerous thought: he shouldn’t have let her leave.

He should have insisted they stay together, and let the rumors follow as they may. And he might have, too, but for that moment with her on the porch steps.

“ No one wants that. ” She had said it with such conviction, her profile to him, swathed in the same cold, untouchable air she’d always worn. Deep down, he’d wanted her to contradict him, to tell him that, should fate tie them together, it might not be such a bad thing.

He’d been deluding himself, that if he could only attain forgiveness it might blossom into friendship, or even into something more. He was nothing but a source of bad memories to her.

And yet, when she had left on her cousin’s arm, she had favored him with the most expressive glance, so expressive that he had almost snatched her back into his keeping .

In the dark, cold night, he could admit as much. But he could also box away that burning impulse and the feelings attached to it.

They rented rooms from an inn at the center of town, with the men in one and the women in another, and their contingent of royal guards in a third with a schedule for trading hall duty through the night. No sooner had the door shut behind Jaoven than a tap on the window sounded. They opened the shutters to Clervie, who swung over the sill and landed catlike in the room.

“Denoela’s keeping the guards distracted,” she said without preamble. “What really happened?”

Jaoven surveyed his audience, people he had fought alongside, whom he trusted implicitly. “We were together until this afternoon. Her cousin came ahead of you and took her away.”

“The marquess?” She tapped her lower lip. “That explains why he vanished so early this morning. But how did he know where to find you?”

“Because the messenger I sent you took word to him first. The note you received was written in his hand, not mine.”

Curious, she pulled a letter from her sleeve and unfolded it. “We knew it wasn’t yours. We thought it came from one of the villagers where you were.”

Jaoven snatched the page from her, perusing its contents. The message was roughly the same minus any mention of Iona, but it had been reworded as though written by a third party, as though Jaoven himself had been too incapacitated to write.

“Clever.” He crumpled the paper and cast it aside. “So I take it the marquess evaded the men you set to follow him?”

She nodded. “But I think he knew all along he was being watched. He spent most of his time in the merchant district, chattering a lot and buying nothing. After we returned without you, he paid a long visit to the castle and then holed up in his family’s townhome, where no one saw him come or go again. We only learned of his disappearance this morning because one of his servants let slip that the young master had flown the coup. ”

Nausea pulsed in Jaoven’s stomach, that he had unwittingly consigned Iona into the hands of a nefarious conspirator. “Will she be safe with him?”

Clervie’s brows arched. “You think he’s plotting against her rather than alongside her?”

“I don’t know. Those villagers knew to go to him when their princess turned up among them—not to her father or the nearest royal garrison, but to a young marquess.” He paused, her question belatedly registering. “Wait. You think he is plotting?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Against the crown?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know the nature of the plot, but he’s too alert of his surroundings for an innocent man. He’s heir to a duchy here, so our treaty won’t affect his rank much, if at all, but that doesn’t mean he supports it. Or maybe he opposes a woman on the throne. He might have half a dozen motives.”

Jaoven combed one hand through his hair and paced away from them. Almost he spoke his fears aloud, that he had placed Iona in harm’s way after rescuing her, but he recalled himself before the words could leave his tongue.

His concern was supposed to lie with the beautiful Lisenn, not with her captivating sister.

And, ultimately, Iona had a strong instinct to survive. He could only trust that instinct to support her well where he could not.

Iona and Aedan spent the night at a guesthouse along the southern highway, in a suite with a pair of rooms and an adjoining parlor that overlooked the road.

Besseta’s father owned the place and had recommended it as a good stopping point for a pair of young nobles who didn’t want to be seen. While it was private and well-kept, it catered to the merchant class, beneath the touch of titled patrons. They arrived late at night, with the suite already reserved by Aedan on his way out of the capital.

When Iona joined her cousin in the parlor the following morning, she found him breakfasting from a tray of pastries.

He offered her one. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.”

“Shall we spend the morning watching the highway?”

She frowned at the open window and the stretch of road that cut through their view. “What for?”

“For a pack of Caprians. I don’t want you arriving back at the castle before them. Lisenn needs to be on her best behavior when you show up. Let her sweat a little, worrying about whether you’re going to rat her out, but make sure she has to keep up her pleasant facade.”

Iona had the distinct impression that they were playing with fire. Even so, she agreed with the premise. If the Caprians returned ahead of her, Lisenn would of necessity focus on them. Accordingly, the younger princess settled in with Aedan, tucked in the shadows of the room but with a full view of travelers along the road.

The Caprians passed near noon, an unmistakable column that included four of her father’s royal guards. She picked out Jaoven in their midst, clean-shaven again and looking barely worse for wear, though his coat had certainly seen better days.

“I knew they would tell your father about the message,” Aedan muttered.

Iona looked sharply to him. “Is it wrong for my father to know?”

He slid her a sidelong glance. “If he knows, Lisenn knows. And if she had known you were there, she might have slipped someone loyal to her in that group, and who knows what kind of accident would have befallen you on the way home.”

“They probably had to tell him,” she reasoned. “As foreign diplomats, they can’t ride off into the countryside as they please. And of course he would send guards along to make certain the prince of Capria returns in safety. ”

Aedan plastered on a fake smile. “Would that he’d bothered to guard his own daughter as well.”

She could say nothing to this. There had been guards with them at Sorrow’s Linn, of course, but they never interfered with Lisenn, and Iona might as well not exist in their eyes.

The cousins waited for half an hour after the Caprians had vanished from sight before packing their own meager supplies and wandering down to the unmarked carriage. It belonged to the guesthouse, as it turned out, a vehicle Aedan had hired after riding breakneck from the capital. They tied his own horse, well-rested now, to the back of the coach and set off at a pace slow enough to avoid catching up with the foreign delegation.

When the capital and the castle slid into view, it was late afternoon. Iona wanted nothing more than a hot bath and a long sleep in her own bed. She could only imagine Bina’s dismay at her disheveled appearance.

They changed carriages in the city, to a sleek vehicle with Aedan’s family crest upon the door. He sent word ahead as well of Iona’s return, so that when they rolled into the courtyard, a crowd of servants and nobles alike had gathered upon the castle steps, fanning out into a crescent to observe her arrival. When Iona descended amid cheers for her safe return home, she glimpsed Jaoven among the Caprian delegates. Something akin to relief flashed across his face.

Lisenn, hanging on his arm, looked like her eyes might burn a hole through Iona’s head. The younger princess instantly averted her gaze.

Queen Marget started forward from the center of the crowd, but King Gawen waylaid her. “Decorum, my dear,” he said.

Straight-backed, she resumed her proper place beside him. Her hands, clasped in front of her, squeezed so tight that her knuckles shone white.

Iona, in all her tattered, wrinkled glory, with her face wan and her hair hanging lank to her waist, dropped into a curtsey before them .

“Rise,” her father said. Awkwardly she obeyed, conscious of a hundred eyes and ears trained upon her. The king, seemingly heedless of their audience, continued. “Let’s not have such dramatics in the future, Iona. Your clumsiness placed a foreign ally in mortal peril, and you both were lucky to survive. Fate might not be so kind if there’s a next time.”

“Yes, sire,” she meekly said.

“And you,” he said to Aedan. “How is it you came to know the whereabouts of my missing child before I did?”

The marquess adopted an artless smile. “Dumb luck, Your Majesty. I know I should have sent you word immediately, but I wanted to confirm the report of her whereabouts first instead of getting your hopes up.”

King Gawen grunted. Without another word he spun and walked into the castle. Queen Marget, after a speaking look to her daughter, followed him.

The instant the royal pair had vanished, before Lisenn or the Caprians could even consider approaching, Bina swept down upon her and led her away, fussing with every step. Aedan dogged their footsteps all the way to Iona’s room, determined to see her safe within her own quarters before he abandoned her.

He dropped a kiss on her cheek before he left, and then Bina pulled her in and spent the evening correcting the damage a river and a hike through the woods had caused.

The charcoal-colored dress and cloak she discarded for rags.

As she tended to her mistress, she gave an account of how Prince Jaoven had ridden into the courtyard earlier that afternoon, and how Lisenn had fallen, weeping, on his neck. He had held her on the castle steps until she stopped crying, and the spectacle had set the castle and the city both abuzz with rumors of more than a merely political marriage.

All the while, Iona fought a rising sense of nausea. She needed him to marry Lisenn, now more than ever. If the treaty fell through, there was no telling what new course Aedan and his fellow conspirators might enact. She suspected, from her cousin’s vehemence, that outright rebellion against the crown would follow, and Capria provided a stark example of the destruction that might emerge.

Her kingdom was barreling headlong toward a war, but this treaty would at least forestall it. The marriage had to occur.

Even if Jaoven entered into it deceived. Even if he deserved better.

At long last she was washed, dried, and clothed, with her hair braided into a low knot. As though it were any other day.

A knock on the door signaled the arrival of her evening meal—or so they assumed. When Bina opened the portal, a royal page stood in the hall.

“Princess Iona’s presence is required in the dining hall. The king and queen await her with their other guests.”

Iona’s stomach dropped into her knees. Why had she assumed they would leave her alone for the night? But of course her father would want to show the castle in its normal rhythms as quick as possible after the calamity of the past few days.

Bina had dressed her in a dove-colored gown, the red embroidery on its sleeves and hem the only decoration that separated it from a mourning dress. She fingered the stitching at one wrist as she followed the page. Usually she avoided such a bright color, even in ornamentation and especially when she might cross paths with Lisenn. The gray of the dress itself could cause no complaint, but that red might earn her a few bruises.

Or another attempt on her life. She didn’t know anymore.

The company had already been seated, the Caprian delegates intermingled with a handful of Wessettan nobility and the royal family. The men stood as Iona arrived on the threshold to the dining hall. With a deepening blush, she crossed to the only open chair, exactly the same position she had occupied at her last state dinner. Across from her, Prince Jaoven regarded her with thinly veiled concern. She avoided his gaze and Lisenn’s as she dropped into her high-backed chair .

The men of the company sat. Beneath the cover of the table, a hand grasped hers in her lap. She looked to her right, to her mother, who gazed upon the royal couple across the table, a tranquil expression fixed upon her face. The hand squeezed Iona’s and retracted, the movement hardly noticeable to any other guests, had they bothered to look.

As the castle servants carried in the first course, King Gawen cleared his throat. “I think, given the events of the past few days, we should perhaps resolve the terms of our treaty sooner rather than later—providing that Capria is still willing to align with Wessett after the difficulties you’ve encountered here.”

Jaoven sat up a fraction straighter. “My personal difficulties have no bearing on Capria’s intent. And, even if they did, the generosity of the people of Wessett in coming to my assistance has only heightened my esteem.”

A smile touched the king’s face. “I’m glad to hear it. If you are amenable to working out the last details quickly, I propose to hold a royal ball in three days’ time, with an official announcement of the treaty and its more public provisions.” He punctuated this with a significant look at Jaoven and Lisenn.

“I have no objections,” the raven-haired princess said, and she shifted an adoring gaze upon her prince.

“Nor I,” he agreed, though with a far more neutral mien.

Iona’s insides twisted. They meant to announce their engagement to the nation, and the wedding would no doubt follow shortly thereafter.

And then she would be free—of Lisenn, if not this crippling guilt.