Paige led Dara down rows of stalls, introducing each horse in turn.

“This is Raisin,” Paige said, patting the head of a large, black horse as it leant over the stall door to greet her. “He’s our errand horse, so if you need to go somewhere, take him. Just remember to tie him up as soon as you dismount, or he’ll just go home without you the second you turn your back on him. He’s a fine horse, but I can’t sell the bastard because he just finds some way to get free and come home.”

“At least he would be difficult to steal.”

“Not a huge concern around here, but you’re not wrong.”

“Yenkarth are impossible to steal. They’ll kill you just for trying.” Danya patted Raisin’s head. “I still don’t know how the prince managed to earn Farah’s trust. He said he found her, but yenkarth will usually sooner turn wild than take to a new person. Especially since he doesn’t know how to command her. It’s impressive.”

“Oh, yes. You use whistles, don’t you?”

Dara nodded. “The sound carries better than shouted commands up in the mountains. I think I can still do all of them. Not that it matters here, ma’am, since your horses aren’t trained to respond to them.”

She made a face and shook her head. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sir?” Dara offered, and then winced. That probably hadn’t been what she’d meant. “Sorry.”

But Paige was smiling. “I actually don’t mind the sound of that. But no, Paige is fine, or nothing at all. I find formalities get in the way of saying what you actually mean and I don’t have time for that when I’m working.”

“That’s probably for the best. I do forget myself quite a lot, unfortunately. Nobody really cared how I spoke at the barracks as long as I did my work.”

“Working for the prince must have been a hell of a change of pace.”

Dara smiled. “It was a miracle I didn’t get myself executed, really.”

“That man didn’t look like he had execution on his mind when you were saying goodbye.”

That smile slowly fell from Dara’s face. “Mm.”

“It’s okay. I married a stablehand. These things happen when the heart gets involved.”

“Let’s not get carried away. I think we were both just lonely, and when you’re lonely any connection can feel profound. I’m sure now that he’s recognised that need in himself, he’ll be able to find someone more appropriate to fill it.”

“And you?”

“I like horses. Maybe working here will give me what I’ve been looking for.”

“I like horses a hell of a lot too, Dara. But I still married a stablehand.”

#

They were supposed to meet with Lord Hobbs after dropping Dara off, but near the end of the ride, Maric had announced that he wanted to meet with the starving peasants instead. The situation was a bit less predictable than Brayan preferred, but if Lord Hobbs’ display last night was anything to go by, the peasants were less likely to give him reason to reach for his sword.

The peasants who tended the fields lived in tiny, makeshift houses, cobbled together along the banks of the river that cut through the far end of the city. Brayan didn’t enjoy the energy as they rode in, women pulling their children inside and men levelling wary gazes in their direction.

If Maric noticed, he wasn’t letting it bother him. He found a clearing large enough to hold all of their men, dismounted, and turned to address a young man leaning against a wall. “Who’s in charge here?”

The young man had been trying to look tough and unconcerned, but he hadn’t been prepared to attract the prince’s attention. He unfolded and refolded his arms over his chest. “Uh. No one.”

“No one’s in charge?”

“Well, I mean, uh. No?”

“Quint!” a woman called out from a nearby doorway and the guilty look on the young man’s face and the hunching of his shoulders revealed just how young he really was. “You get inside, now.”

Quint tensed, ready to move, torn between disobeying his mother and walking away from a prince.

“I’m looking for someone in charge to talk to,” Maric called out to the woman.

“That’ll be Nicol. If you just wait there, someone’ll be getting him for you.” She beckoned to Quint. “My son can come inside now, yeah?”

“Mm,” Maric said and turned his back to them, stroking Farah’s head as he waited.

Maric seemed at ease, but the same wasn’t true for his men. They were tense, ready to act. None of these people were treating Maric appropriately, and if Maric cared to challenge that, it would be their job to educate them on how a prince ought to be addressed. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time. In the military, there were always people who wanted to push boundaries, and because Maric was young there were those who thought they could get away with ignoring his status. They did not get away with it. Brayan made sure of that.

But these were peasants. They were ignorant, not malicious. There was no point even educating them in how to properly address a prince because they would likely never have the opportunity to do it again.

A few minutes later, a man with wispy, thinning brown hair hurried into the clearing. He looked at each of them in turn before his eyes finally settled on Maric. “Ah. You’re the prince.”

Maric stared back at him, expression closed off and unreadable. “I am the prince.”

The man bowed, or at least he attempted to. It involved curving his back more than anything and wasn’t remotely proper form, but it at least seemed like a genuine attempt. “I’m Nicol.”

“You’re in charge here?”

Nicol scratched the back of his neck. “Much as anyone is, I s’ppose.”

“I was hoping to get your side of this whole food situation.”

“Well, we ain’t got a side of it, and that’s the whole problem right there. We’ve got a few weeks worth of food meant to last us months. And not even good food, mind. We don’t get anything that’s not at least a little nibbled on or already halfway rotted.”

“Hm.” Farah was shifting at Maric’s side, agitated by the increasing emotion in the man’s voice. Maric reached a hand up to stroke her head to settle her. “Do you have a plan for how to deal with the situation?”

“I don’t know, your majesty. Guess I’ll decide which one of my kids I love the least.”

“He’s a prince,” Brayan interjected.

“Huh?” Nicol said.

“Your majesty is what you call a king or a queen. Maric is a prince. Your highness is the correct form of address.”

Nicol just stared at Brayan for a long moment. His head slowly tilted to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake.” He turned back to Maric. “I think it’ll be my newborn son, your highness. Maybe I should go home right now and tell my wife to stop feeding him.”

“Watch yourself,” Brayan warned. “I know you’re upset, but that only buys you so much good will. I almost drew my sword on Lord Hobbs last night for less disrespect than this.”

“Settle down, Brayan,” Maric said, his gaze holding on Brayan for a moment and then passing over each of his men in turn, making sure they weren’t about to act without his order. “I’m far less offended by this man. Not offended at all, in fact.”

“Yes, sir,” Brayan said and then bit down on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t without sympathy for the man, but he wasn’t enthusiastic about letting anyone speak to Maric like that for any reason.

“Any healthy leadership role is a two way street,” Maric said. “It must benefit both the person who leads and the people who follow them. Right now, you feel you are not benefiting. The relationship breaks down and you lose your respect for those above you. I understand this.”

“I’d’ve said I’m just fuckin’ hungry and angry and a bit stupid, but sure,” Nicol said. “It’s prob’ly a bit of what you said, too. Lord Hobbs own the land because his father owned the land, and I don’t even know how he fuckin’ came to own it. Seems to just happen that some people come to own things and I ain’t never met one of them who earned it. Then there’s us, working ourselves half to death all season only to be left with nothing but scraps because some man who did none of the work wants more money.”

“He said there was a contract,” Maric said. “You get a certain percentage of the yield, which benefits you when harvests are plentiful but is disadvantageous when times are tough.”

“Did he tell you that was the only deal on offer if we wanted work? Or that a normal year ain’t enough to keep us fed proper, and we only get to not feel hungry most of the time when we get the biggest harvests?”

“No, but this information doesn’t surprise me because he’s a terrible person.”

“Oh,” Nicol said. “Yeah. I don’t like him.”

Maric nodded. “Thank you. This was a good talk. You keep your back straight and bend at the waist when you bow, by the way. Practise that, because if I see you again, I’m going to expect you to do it properly because I’m going to have earned it.”

“Huh,” was all Nicol said as Maric mounted Farah and indicated to Brayan with a slight tilt of his head that he was ready to leave.

Brayan organised the men and they rode out of there, back towards the heart of the city.

Once they were back on the main road, Brayan rode up beside Maric. “I apologise for my behaviour back there. I realise I stepped out of line with what you were trying to achieve and that wasn’t my intention.”

“Your intention is always to defend me. I appreciate that. I was grateful for that passion last night when Lord Hobbs touched Dara and I was too distracted by Dara’s reaction to respond appropriately. But a man who is upset about his starving children is perhaps not someone we need to threaten into obsequence, hm?”

Brayan winced. “Yes, sir. Again, I apologise. I will do better in the future.”

“I’m not cross, Brayan. These are not problems that I’m used to dealing with, and I’m having to decide who I am, who I want to be, as I go. And maybe Dara has just put me in a strange mood, but right now I feel like what I want to be above all else is just. If I’m respected, I want to know it’s because I deserve to be and not because there’s a man standing beside me with his hand on the hilt of his sword.”

“Understood, sir. Where are we going now?”

“Back to the palace. There are some things I’d like to discuss with Lord Hobbs. And Brayan?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I might need a man with his hand on the hilt of his sword for this one.”