Rhys woke with sticky skin and puffy eyes from crying. He did not remember returning to his quarters, which meant he had either been so exhausted that he’d forgotten, or he had fallen asleep in Alaric’s chambers and been carried back. For his own sanity and dignity, Rhys would firmly deny the latter.

He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. As he braided it, his thoughts inevitably returned to the night before. Asking Alaric to hold him had been humiliating enough. Weeping into the commander’s shoulder for nearly half an hour was something Rhys hoped never to remember again. Yet the strangest part was that he had felt safe. It was such an odd feeling, to be held by your supposed captor. To feel safe in the arms of the man who had taken his family and home from him. Regardless of what Alaric had said last night, Rhys still found it difficult to wrap his mind around.

A knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in.”

Penelope entered with her usual restrained smile. “You look beautiful, Rhys.”

The name still sounded strange coming from her. Rhys had insisted that she and Isla call him by his name rather than his title, if only because he desperately needed something resembling friendship.

“His Majesty has beckoned for you, dear. You have a long trip ahead of you.”

Rhys frowned. “What trip?”

Penelope only shook her head. “It was not my place to pry.”

Soon after, Rhys found Alaric waiting beside a carriage beyond the castle gates.

His heart stuttered at the sight of him, stomach tightening uncomfortably. He did not like the fact that Alaric had seen him so vulnerable.Rhys immediately looked away.

“I know this is sudden,” Alaric said, the whip beside him adjusting the reins, “but I’ve discovered that the victims found at the bridge may have been assassins originating from further north.”

“Have you confirmed this with King Fallon?”

“I have not.”

“Then why are you jumping to conclusions?”

Alaric looked toward the road ahead. “Regardless of who committed the murders, four people were found dead in my territory. I have an obligation to investigate. If I find nothing, so be it. I would rather be wrong than risk never knowing.”

Rhys studied him for a moment.

Well. He could respect that. He had yet to send his letter to Fallon’s scholar, if only because he wasn’t sure how Alaric would react. Alaric had made no move to harm him yet, well, not after the night the Castle burned down, but one could never be too cautious.

“Then why am I going?”

“You would be a liability here. I do not have enough information to guarantee your safety while I am away.”

Rhys disliked being called a liability, but he could not argue with the logic. So they left.

The mountains came slowly into view as the carriage climbed north, snow beginning to fall despite autumn having barely arrived. The ride was awkward, and silent enough for Rhys to hear his heartbeat. Rhys remembered these mountains from childhood. His father had once built a cabin there with Aris, taking great pride in showing the rest of their family how strong the future king was.

“We should stay at my family’s cabin.”

“Where is it located?”

“In the mountains further north.”

“Very well.”

Snow collected along Rhys’ braid and eyelashes, and he curled his fingers into his lap to keep them warm as Alaric informed the whip of their new destination. Rhys gave more precise directions as they grew nearer.

Alaric leaned back once more and held out a pair of black leather gloves. “They may be too large,” he said, “but they will keep your hands warm.”

Rhys hesitated before taking them. “Thank you.”

When they finally stepped out from the carriage, Rhys breathed in deeply.

The air was cold and clean, crisp enough to burn his lungs. There was no smoke. No scent of burning wood. No reminders of the war.

Only glittery, glistening, beautiful snow. He smiled the first genuine smile he could remember giving in what felt like months. “Wow.” The young prince breathed in awe, taking in the sight of the mountains standing tall and proud despite the wreckage about them.

The grass crunched beneath his boots where frost had already formed. Evening had nearly settled by the time Alaric gathered their luggage and started toward the narrow path leading deeper into the mountains. Rhys followed excitedly.

The cabin appeared between the trees. And for a moment, he simply stared. It was smaller than he remembered. Older, too.

The place where, for a handful of childhood summers, Rhys had been nothing more than a son and a little brother. He hurried forward, snow crunching beneath his feet.

He glanced out at the mountains once more, “They’re beautiful.” 

“Yes.” Alaric agreed. Rhys could not see where he was looking, too entranced by the scenery before him. “They are.”