“I-It’s you,” the prince stammers.

I glare at him. “Yes, it’s me,” I snap. He reaches a hand down to help me up, but I swat it away and get to my feet. I scoop up the hat and tuck my hair back under it. I turn to leave.

“Wait, wait, where are you going?” he asks. He tries to grab me by the arm, and I whirl out of his grasp.

“Don’t touch me,” I growl. He recoils, clearly not expecting my response. He eyes my cloak, the hat pulled low to hide my face. Realization flashes across his face. He’s grown an untidy, pale beard since I saw him last, and his hair is dirty and mussed.

“Are you running away?” he asks.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I say. I turn to go, heading toward the north gate again.

“Wait!” he hisses. I ignore him and continue along the side street, turning a corner.

The prince drags me backward as a guard comes into view. I begin to wrench away from him, but he tilts his chin toward the street where the guard pauses. The soldier peers down the street, and then moves on. Jasper releases me wordlessly.

“You want to get out of the city—so do I,” he says quietly. “I know the patrol patterns of the guards at the gate. I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” I say.

“That guard that almost caught you would disagree,” he replies. “Do you want to get out of Highcaster alive, or not?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. The bloody prick is right. If he hadn’t grabbed me, the guard would have seen me, and I’d likely been given a fate worse than the pleasure house and Madame Camilla.

“Fine,” I snap.

Jasper glances around the corner to make sure the side street is clear, and gestures me along to follow him. We hurry along, and the prince stops us every few blocks, checking for guards and continuing on. He’s meticulous, counting the seconds that pass, his lips soundlessly mouthing the words. I follow him closely, listening for any footsteps against the cobblestones.

Finally we make it to the north gates of the city. I pull my cloak tight around my body.

“How do we get through the gate?” I ask.

“It’s got to be the middle of the night,” he says, glancing up at the moon, high in its arc in the sky. “There will only be a couple guards on duty. We should be able to slip right through.”

He waits a few more seconds, watching the guards’ patrols in front of the gate. When it clears, he gestures me to follow close. We sprint to the gate and hurry through, hauling the heavy wooden doors open.

I hear faint shouts go up as we run away. The guards have spotted us. “Hurry up, prince!” I call to Jasper as he begins to lag behind. The tree line is only maybe seventy paces away; if we can get there, we will have some cover. We can disappear there.

I hear the prince shout behind me. I skid to a stop, and turn to see him fall on his stomach in the dirt with a yell. I haul him up, snarling at him to hurry, and we race to the boundary of the forest.

We crash into the underbrush. Tall grass and brambles scratch at my sandaled feet. My legs ache and I can hardly breathe—I haven’t had to run like this since I first came to Highcaster months ago.

Once we’re under the cover of the trees, I slow. My breathing is labored as I pace back and forth, trying to slow my pulse. Jasper pants, leaning against a tree. His cloak has fallen off in our sprint to the forest.

“Hey,” he mutters between breaths. “Some… something’s wrong.” I look over at him. He looks fine, if not sweaty and a bit pale.

“What?” I ask.

His left arm hangs loosely at his side. He clutches his left shoulder with his right hand, and his fingers are dark red where they dig into his shirt.

“Shit,” I mutter. I approach him where he leans against the tree. “Let me see.”

He removes his hand shakily, and I see the damage. His shirt is ripped and stained dark red. Underneath, the meat of his shoulder is shredded and steadily bleeding.