The Exile Prince

by Isabelle Adler

  It was doubtful that somebody had managed to track them down all the way south to Segor, but without unequivocal proof, Stephan had to admit it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. They’d been careful, but if their pursuers had managed to tie their assumed names to their real identities, it wouldn’t be that hard to find them in Varta.

  But Stephan still had a hard time coming to terms with the idea that Robert would invest so much effort (and no doubt a considerable amount of money) into chasing his wayward little brother. Not because Robert hadn’t tried to do away with him before, but because it was pointless now that Stephan had fled, effectively renouncing his right of succession. And before, Stephan had never given Robert any indication of being interested in entering the political arena in any capacity. The rift with his family following his father’s death had made him a dangerous person to be associated with at the royal court; aside from Warren, he had no friends and no allies to speak of. Stephan was reasonably sure there was now a price on his head in Seveihar, complete with charges of whatever treason his brother and uncle had come up with. He couldn’t return home from his exile even if he wanted to—which he most emphatically did not. No royal title and privilege of birth was worth living a lie for, denying his own identity for the sake of those who thought it made him unworthy of their love.

  How deeply did you have to hate someone to be willing to hunt them to the ends of the earth? And what had Stephan done to deserve such hatred, apart from being the odd bird among his closed-minded kin? They said blood was thicker than water, but the cold depths of the Zenna River by which he’d made his escape had been kinder to him than his own family.

  The front door opened with a loud bang that made both Stephan and Mala jump, and Warren burst inside, breathing hard, as though he’d run a race. His wild expression softened when his gaze landed on Stephan—but only for a moment. He blanched as he took in Stephan’s bloodied appearance.

  “I’m all right,” Stephan hastened to say, speaking in Segati for Mala’s benefit. Seeing Warren alive and whole made him slump in relief. He didn’t mind being stabbed as long as Warren was unharmed. “Truly. It appears worse than it is.”

  “What happened?” Warren asked, visibly reining himself in. Without waiting for an answer, he came over to Stephan’s side and, with Mala’s help, removed his tunic. Stephan winced, averting his eyes as fresh warm blood welled up along the gash. Mala pressed the ruined tunic against the wound, and Warren took Stephan’s right hand in his, circling his thumb over the palm in soothing motions. “A city guard found me just as I was about to leave the courthouse. He wasn’t very clear on the details.”

  “Mala and I were waylaid,” Stephan said and then dutifully explained everything that had befallen him that morning, starting with the alarming message and ending with relaying Otis’s words. There was no hiding his injury and the ruffled state of Mala’s clothing, but he did his best to gloss over exactly how close he’d been to having his throat cut.

  “Damn it. I knew your brother wouldn’t leave you alone.” Warren bit his lip. If anything, he was more agitated than before Stephan explained what’d happened. “How did they know where to find you to give you the message?”

  “I thought I caught a glimpse of someone following us yesterday near the docks,” Stephan said reluctantly. “Turns out it was Otis stalking me.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

  “I thought I was imagining it.”

  Warren huffed in frustration. “Apparently, you weren’t.”

  “I gathered as much when he and his goons attacked us, and it became clear they weren’t after our shopping money.”

  “He tried to protect me against those miscreants. He was very brave,” Mala piped in.

  Stephan shook his head. “Not as brave as you. I should have never let my guard down and allow them to corner us like that.”

  “You both did what you could,” Warren said dryly. “But right now you need…how do you say it? Seams?”

  “Stitches. I’ll fetch my sewing kit. In the meanwhile, wash your hands and clean him up,” Mala told Warren in a no-nonsense tone. “We don’t want any dirt getting in his blood.”

  After a short pause, Warren nodded, and she slipped out of the door.

  “I’ve never seen you being ordered around by someone so young before.” Stephan chuckled in a clumsy attempt to lighten the mood. “Present company excluded.”

  “She knows what she’s doing,” Warren said.

  Stephan imagined the words unlike you tingling on his tongue, but whether Warren conjured them in his mind or not, they remained unspoken. Instead, he pulled Stephan closer against his chest, holding him so tightly the embrace verged on pain. Stephan let out a shaky breath that came dangerously close to a sob and buried his face in the folds of Warren’s sweat-soaked shirt.

  “If I’d lost you…” Warren’s voice was raw, and he didn’t finish the sentence. The silence was punctuated only by the sound of the window shutters rattling with the powerful gusts blowing outside.

  “We were lucky this time,” Stephan said after the moment it took him to compose himself. “We’re both still here.”

  “But not for long.” Warren withdrew, looking into Stephan’s eyes with consternation. “They won’t stop there, not when they know where to find us. We must leave as soon as possible.”

  Stephan nodded wearily. It seemed the quiet little life he held so dear was over after all, regardless of his wants and wishes.

  Warren cleaned Stephan’s arm in silence with water from the pitcher, wiping the dried blood and the grime off his skin. Otis’s blade had been razor-sharp, so the cut was thin, but deep. As much as Stephan hated the idea (and the possibility of ending up with a nasty scar), he had to admit stitching was necessary.

  “Can we hide somewhere until the Seveiharian delegation leaves?” he asked. “I’d prefer not to leave Varta if I can help it. There’s too much keeping us here.”

  Warren shook his head.

  “We don’t know when that would be,” he said apologetically. “Robert might have instructed Otis not to return until he’d done what he came here to do. Besides, Otis hired local thugs to help him, and they have the advantage over us, this being their home ground. As untimely and inconvenient as it would be, I believe it’d be expedient to leave Varta, or Segor, altogether—at least for the time being.”

  “We have most of our money tied up in shipments,” Stephan said quietly. “There’s the one we’re still waiting for to arrive, and now this new venture with Yotein…”

  “Yes.” Warren frowned. “I’m aware our money is currently scarce. There’s not much to go on, but we can manage. I can take on odd jobs along the way, if necessary. Once we are safe and certain we’re not being pursued, we can collect our profits through an intermediary. We might not be able to travel with the same level of comfort as we did before, but we have no other choice. Perhaps it’s for the best; people pay much less attention to poor folk on the roads than they do to rich travelers.”

  Stephan nodded. He hated to have to leave, but complaining about it seemed childishly petulant, especially after everything Warren had done to keep them both alive through this ordeal, and everything he was yet prepared to do. But this time, Stephan was determined not to let him shoulder the entire burden alone. Asking Warren to stop calling him “Highness” wasn’t enough to prove camaraderie; he’d have to start pulling his own weight in their partnership.

  “Where shall we go?” he asked. “If Otis managed to find us here… We’re running out of options.”

  Warren opened his mouth to say something, but Mala came in carrying a sewing kit with a long needle and a spool of silk thread.

  The glass of wine Warren had brought him did very little to numb the repeating sensation of a needle going through his skin. By the time Mala was finished, Stephan was trembling, covered in sweat, and ready to pass out from the pain. Only Warren’s firm grip on his hand prevented him from doing just that—al
ong with the realization they were direly pressed for time. But he couldn’t deny she did a fine job, working quickly, the sutures small and neat.

  “Thank you,” Warren said when she was finished. “You have as steady a hand as any surgeon I’ve known.”

  Mala shrugged, though Stephan could tell she was pleased by the praise. She finished her handiwork by tightly bandaging Stephan’s arm with strips of clean linen.

  “It’s a small thing. My father was an oyster diver. It’s a dangerous job. I often tended to his and his friends’ injuries while he was still alive.”

  “We should get going.” Warren brought a clean shirt for Stephan to put on and helped him with his injured arm. He then went into the bedroom to fetch the travel bags that were tucked under the bed. “It would be best if we travel light this time. Take only what you need.”

  Stephan longingly eyed the heavy oak chest in the corner of the room that stored the court gowns he’d worn in Esnia. The corseted velvet dresses were hopelessly inadequate for the local climate, but he sometimes missed the feel of their luxurious elegance. Those, undoubtedly and sadly, would have to stay behind.

  “We could spend the night at an inn until we decide where to go next,” Warren continued while packing their essentials. “Somewhere on the outskirts of town, where they won’t ask too many questions—though it could still be risky. We might need time to book a passage on a ship or with a caravan headed inland.”

  “You could hide at the docks,” Mala suggested suddenly. She put all the sewing notions back into their box and looked up at Warren. “My father owned a warehouse there, where he stored his fishing nets and boat equipment. My mother rents it out sometimes, but now it’s empty. It’s small, but you can find shelter there for the night. You’ll be safe there.”

  She took a key ring out of her pocket and removed a small brass key, which she handed to Stephan.

  “Don’t worry about supplies. I’ll bring you some food and whatever else I can after nightfall, when it’s cooler.”

  Stephan took the key she proffered with something close to dismay.

  “You’ve already done so much for me, Mala. Too much. How can I repay you?”

  “You have always been kind to me and my mother. You’re my friend. Both of you are.” She smiled at Stephan with a hint of sadness. “I hate to see you go, but I’d rather know that you are alive.”

  Stephan swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t deserve such friendship, such selfless display of loyalty, but here it was, a gift as precious as it was unexpected. It made the utter wretchedness of knowing your own family wished you dead just a little bit easier to bear.

  “I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen for you to take with you. It wouldn’t do for you to starve. You’re too thin as it is.”

  She winked at him and was out the door before he could say anything else.

  “Do you trust her?” Warren asked in a low voice, nodding to the key Stephan was still holding in his hand.

  “Yes,” Stephan said without hesitation. In other circumstances, he’d be offended at such a question on Mala’s behalf, but Warren had spent much less time around her and had not reached quite the same level of confidence. “All the rush judgments I made in the past have taught me to be discerning in whom to place my trust, though you might not believe it. She was there for me today, and I know she’ll be there for us later.”

  “I believe you’re being cautious,” Warren said, his tone softening somewhat. “And I like her too. She’s competent and smart, and she’s your friend. But it’s your life you’re placing in her hands—along with mine.”

  Stephan rose from the chair and stood in front of Warren. He took his hand with his good one and clasped it between their chests.

  “There’s nothing more important to me than your life, War. Nothing. I don’t care what you think of my age or my constancy. It can’t change how I feel about you. If our hearts were fused together, we couldn’t be any closer than we are now. Our lives are one; and I trust her with it.”

  Warren’s brown eyes darkened with emotion. He brought Stephan’s hand to his mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers, the touch of his chapped lips burning like sandpaper against Stephan’s skin. The moment of contact stretched, suspended in their breath between heartbeats, etched in their minds as if encased in amber.

  Their gazes still locked, they froze as the sound of heavy footsteps thudding up the staircase broke the silence.

  Chapter Five

  STEPHAN’S PULSE GALLOPED like a frightened horse as his eyes widened in horror, mirroring Warren’s. That definitely wasn’t Mala or her mother coming up the stairs.

  “Fuck.” Warren tore away from Stephan’s grip and hurried to the door, bolting it just as it shook under a heavy thud. A muffled curse came from beyond, and somebody slammed into the door again, making the old wood creak pitifully.

  “Come on, help me!” Warren said, and together they pushed the heavy oak chest to block the door. It wouldn’t stop whoever was on the other side, but it would give them a few precious minutes to rally.

  Warren ran to the window. Stephan followed, chiding himself for tarrying so long. He hadn’t expected his attackers to come after him again quite so soon, or that they’d actually be bold enough to do it in broad daylight. At least Mala was away this time, hopefully hiding somewhere safe—or he hoped she was. He just hoped—prayed—she wouldn’t try to interfere.

  A wave of hot air, as if from an open oven, hit their faces when Warren unlatched the shutters. The curtains flapped violently. It was a two-story drop to the cobbled street below, but that wasn’t what made Stephan grit his teeth in frustration. A man was standing there, his back to the house, peering up and down the street, no doubt a lookout. There was no way for them to jump or scale the wall from the window without him noticing and raising an alarm.

  The door shuddered under another heavy impact, its hinges squeaking in protest as if somebody was trying to break it in by ramming their shoulder or foot against it. The chest still blocked it, but it wouldn’t be long before the unknown assailants got past that particular hurdle.

  Warren hesitated, squinting against the dust blowing in as he looked down, probably gauging their ability to take on the man below. Stephan could tell it wasn’t a good option. He searched the empty street, finding nothing until his gaze rested on the house across the way, which was like their own in that it had two stories and a flat terraced roof.

  “The roof,” he said.

  “What?”

  “We could climb out to the roof.”

  Warren leaned out the window and looked up. Stephan glanced back nervously at yet another loud bang.

  “You’re right. It’s not that high. Come on, I’ll give you a boost.” Warren turned back to him.

  “What about our bags?”

  “There’s no time. Leave them.”

  Stephan climbed out onto the windowsill, wincing as every movement sent a jolt of red-hot agony through his arm and shoulder. Long strands of hair whipped about his face, getting in his eyes and mouth. He clutched the top of the swinging shutter and hoisted himself up, trying his best not to look down. Warren, leaning over the sill, laced his hands together, forming a step for him to spring off from.

  The eave was only about two feet above the window, but despite it being Stephan’s idea to climb up there, it seemed impossible to reach. He grunted and flung his good arm up, pushing himself off Warren’s hands and leaning on the long-suffering shutter, which threatened to give under his weight. His fingers grazed the plaster on the raised edge of the roof just a shout came up from below, the man on the lookout undoubtedly noticing Stephan’s attempt to escape.

  Spurred by desperation, Stephan tightened his grip on the roof edge and heaved himself with every ounce of strength he could muster. For a second, his feet dangled in the air as he scrambled for purchase, his heart plummeting, the wind tearing at his clothes and hair, but finally he managed to dig his toes in th
e wall and shove hard enough to land awkwardly on the roof. The raised stone border dug into his stomach, and his injured arm screamed in protest, but all he cared about was the solid flat surface beneath him.

  Breathing heavily, Stephan crawled across the searing hot roof and then turned around, crouching just above the window, peering down. The man was still shouting and gesturing wildly to someone hidden by the front door, which had swung open.

  Warren got up onto the windowsill much more nimbly than Stephan had done. He was taller, but without help, he was facing a harder challenge. He stuck his foot between the rails of the shutter, using it as a step to push himself upward, and reached for the roof, but the shutter hinges had had enough of this abuse. The rails broke under Warren’s weight with a loud crack , and the top hinge tore away from the wall, sending bits of plaster scattering on the wind.

  Without thinking, Stephan flung himself forward and grabbed Warren’s outstretched hand in both of his. Pain lanced through him as the stitches pulled, digging into skin, setting every nerve in his arm, shoulder, and back aflame, but he held on.

  He could see his face mirrored in Warren’s widened eyes. Down below, two more men spilled into the street from the house, heads tilted up and searching, dashing Stephan’s feeble hope of escaping unnoticed. A loud crash came from within the house, which meant that whoever was on the other side of the door had finally succeeded in breaking it down.

  Warren’s fingernails scraped the plaster as he desperately clawed at the trim on the roof edge with the other hand. Finally, he managed to grab on to it and push himself off the wall. Stephan pulled with all the strength he had left, and they both tumbled onto the windswept roof in a jumble of limbs.

  Stephan rolled over on his back, panting. The colorless sky above seemed to weigh him down, like a snare net of dust and sand, as he forced himself to get up on shaky legs. His entire body was a mess of aches, but there was no time to stop to examine them.