Ruenen wasn’t sure what that meant, but that expression made him nervous.
She must have seen him waver because she grasped his hand. “You can do this, Ruen. I’ll be right here beside you.”
Gathering up his courage, he took the first step towards Kellesar. Then another down the sloping hill from glen to highland grass, Marai at his side. They crossed the crunching, brittle grass, step by step.
The city wasn’t only what resided behind the protection of the main walls. Thatched cottages spattered the moor, huddled near the water. They passed a few Nevandian sheepherders, who gave suspicious glances; the bells on their livestock tingled as the herders shooed the animals away from Marai and Ruenen. Few others were out on the road. A man in patched clothing passed by with a beat-up old cart, carrying musty hay. His moves were sluggish, back and shoulders curling inwards, haggard and tired.
Step after step until they reached the stone bridge. They crossed over the nearly brackish Nydian, which stank of mold. Marai stepped in front of Ruenen as heavily armored, golden-clad guards came into view. Two approached, crossing spears to block the iron-gated entrance into the city.
“Names and business in Kellesar,” one said in a youthful voice.
“I bring Prince Ruenen Avsharian of Nevandia, son and heir of King Vanguarden Avsharian and Queen Larissa, home to you,” Marai announced in a clear and strong tone.
Ruenen nearly laughed. She’s so brazen.
Marai held out her arms, opening her cloak to reveal her weapons; a rare sign of submission from the Lady Butcher. “We’ve come to meet with the Steward and to announce the return of the rightful king.”
Ruenen had to hand it to her, Marai knew how to play courtier. She was, perhaps, as good of a performer as he was. For his part, Ruenen tried to stand straighter, to settle his face into an expression of stoicism and regality, though his chest heaved and palms grew clammy.
The guards and nearby citizens gaped from person to person. Another soldier with a large emerald plume on his helmet approached from behind the stone wall.
“I remember you both,” he said, stepping closer. “You were running from Tacorn when they captured you on the road between our two kingdoms in the Red Lands.”
Ruenen recognized this man’s deep voice. He was the Nevandian commander who’d found them on the moor. Ruenen had barely been conscious at the time, immobile in the dirt. The commander’s eyes lingered on Ruenen.
“We appreciate that you tried to protect us from Commander Boone and Tacorn,” said Ruenen, hoping to ease the tension.
“You claim to be King Vanguarden’s heir?” asked the commander. “What proof do you have?”
Ruenen bit his lower lip. “Other than my own resemblance to the late King and Queen, I also have this birthmark on my left wrist.” He lifted the sleeve of his shirt to show the commander the unique brown sunburst mark there. “If you’d let us speak with the Steward, I’m certain he can verify my identity.”
The commander narrowed his eyes. “How can we trust you aren’t Tacorn spies? You were captured by Rayghast. Perhaps you’re here at his behest.” Before Ruenen could reply, the commander gave a signal to his men. They grabbed hold of Ruenen and Marai, their grip firm. “Until we can verify that you are indeed not spies or assassins, you will come with us.”
Ruenen sighed loudly and glanced at Marai. Her countenance appeared ready to kill, the Butcher’s fearsome glare set in place. Her eyes dipped down to the male hands on her arms. She stiffened, but said nothing, and followed the commander through a nearby door.
They entered what appeared to be an office for the guards’ station at the gate. The guards quickly tied Ruenen and Marai’s wrists, then sat them into chairs. Through his visor, the commander stared them down as his men stood at the door, hands on their weapons.
“Why did Tacorn capture you?”
“Well, that’s obvious. I’m heir to the Nevandian throne,” Ruenen said with a huff. “Rayghast hoped to kill me so he could end the line and defeat Nevandia for good.”
“How did he know there was a lost prince of Nevandia when no one else, including us Nevandians, did not?”
Ruenen scowled. “It’s not surprising. Rayghast has many skilled spies and assassins in his employ. He’s known about me for twenty-two years.”
“You said your name is Ruenen, but who is this?” The commander gestured to Marai, who’d been sitting ram-rod straight in her chair.
“His guard,” she replied with a growl. “I’m duty-bound to protect him.”
Ruenen’s heart thumped. Marai might have felt obligated to protect him when he’d hired her, but she was there now by choice, because she believed in him. Ruenen knew this was difficult for her, to show her face to all these people, to be handled by a group of men.
“A female guard?” asked the commander, genuine surprise in his tone. His attention was fixed on Marai.
Can he tell what she is?
“My premier goal is to defeat Rayghast and return Nevandia to its former glory,” Ruenen told him.
“That’s a fairly substantial goal,” the commander said, a sliver of amusement in his voice. “My men will search you while I go to the castle and speak with the Steward. Any trouble, and you’ll be brought to the dungeon.”
The guards parted to allow the commander to exit the office, then they made Ruenen and Marai stand as they searched. The guards removed Marai’s sword and dagger, and Ruenen’s knife. They placed the weapons on the office desk and continued to pat down. Marai’s eyes closed tightly, face scrunched up in obvious discomfort.
“Stop, please,” Ruenen said to the young guard touching Marai’s thighs. “She’s a lady. She doesn’t deserve to be touched in such a brutish way.”
The guard, in fact, was being professional about the task. He didn’t take advantage of the situation, but it didn’t matter because Marai’s face was so pained that Ruenen couldn’t stand it. The guard glanced up at Marai.
“My apologies, lady—” he stammered.
“Get it over with,” Marai said through gritted teeth.
The guard finished the job quickly. He did find Marai’s knife in her boot and placed it with the other weapons. She sat down heavily in the chair, crossing both her arms and legs, closing herself off. That distant expression swept across her face.
They sat in silence for a while as the guards stood watch at the door. Marai picked at her magic-stained cuticles. Ruenen could barely keep still. His knees bounced, shifting in his chair. If they allowed him to play his lute, he might be able to keep calm, but the waiting was agonizing. Would the Steward believe him? Would they let Ruenen take the throne? Would they see him?
“Are you really the lost prince?” asked the young guard. He’d moved to the small window and had taken off his helmet. He had a round, innocent face, dark eyes of the Middle Kingdoms, which were currently wide as he stared at Ruenen.
“I am.”
“We’ve heard rumors for weeks, but we didn’t know it was true . . .” The guard trailed off when an older guard coughed loudly in warning. But Ruenen caught the young man smiling.
