Page 38 of The Twisted Throne

Felt something for the wrong prince.

Ahnna drowned in her terror, in the wild hammer of her heart and the roar of her pulse, breathing so rapidly the room spun around her. Then, bit by bit, she pulled herself back from the edge.

“He might not tell,” she whispered. “It was his mistake, too.”

Not only are you not wanted in Harendell, but this kingdom is going to eat you alive if you stay.James’s voice echoed in her thoughts, but this time, the sentiment didn’t fill her with hurt. It filled her with defiance.

Because she fully intended to prove him wrong.

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t evenbothered trying, for James had known his mind would give him not an ounce of peace after what he’d done.

His father’s voice filled his head:Your brother gets to make mistakes, but not you. William is Alexandra’s son, heir to the throne, and that means the only individual who will ever question him, ever judge him, is me. Whereas you were born out of wedlock to a Cardiffian woman whom half the kingdom believed to be a witch, so everyone questions you. Everyone judges you. If you are perfect, they will see only my son. But the moment you err, all they will see is your mother’s eyes staring out of your face, and they will turn on you, sure and true. If that happens, everything your mother dreamed and fought and died for will be lost.

Last night had been one error piled on the next, culminating with his mad decision to kiss AhnnafuckingKertell.

In the light of day, James did not understand why he had done it or what he’d been thinking, only that the compulsion to make Ahnnahishad overwhelmed every drop of common sense in his body.

Ask yourself whether this is a matter of me not being wanted, or of you wanting something well beyond your reach,Ahnna’s voice whispered, and James turned his face to the misting sky, the words striking truer than she’d known because the answer wasboth.

“Good morning, Your Highness.”

James jerked, finding Ahnna descending the steps of Fernleigh toward the waiting carriage. Her hair was woven into a tight coronet of braids that emphasized the hard lines of her face. Regal. Fierce.

Beautiful.

But not his. Never his.

“Good morning,” he said, opening the door of the coach. “We’ll need to travel all through the day to reach the inn at Willowford, where we will stay the night.”

“I look forward to seeing the country,” she said, then climbed into the coach. It rocked again as her guardsman, Jor, climbed onto the buckboard, the old man pressing his sleeve to his mouth as he coughed violently.

“Flux?” the coachman asked.

“Your shitty weather,” Jor responded, then broke into another bout of coughing.

Bronwyn and Taryn appeared, and James watched their faces closely for any sign that Ahnna had told them what had happened the prior night, but their expressions showed nothing as they greeted him and climbed in next to Ahnna. Hazel was the last member of the party to join them, the young maid carrying a picnic basket, which she set on the floor of the coach before climbing inside.

Taking the reins of a horse from a footman, James mounted and pulled the hood of his cloak forward, nodding at the coachman to proceed, the twelve soldiers accompanying them forming up ahead and behind.

They rode through the dawn streets of Sableton, but as they reached the edge of the city, James saw a familiar figure standing on a street corner, soldiers passing him by without a second glance. His uncle Cormac wore Harendellian clothes, but how anyone could mistake him as anything but Cardiffian—with his height and breadth andwildness—James didn’t know. His uncle’s eyes locked on his, and James heard the message as surely as if his uncle had screamed the words.

Get rid of her.

The journey passed without incident, which, unfortunately, meant endless hours with little respite from her own thoughts. It became swiftly apparent that James’s solution to what had happened between them was avoidance, for he rode through the ceaseless drizzle with his hood up, and he took dinner at the inn in Willowford in his room while she ate with Bronwyn and Taryn in the one they shared.

Which was perhaps for the best. To pretend that it had never happened. And to keep their distance from each other lest it happen again. Not that she wanted it to happen again after he’d been such a prick about it.

Her companions continued to hunt for more information on thenew marketthat James had alluded to that could compete with the bridge, but beyond confirming that the rise of negativity toward Ithicana was not limited to Sableton, they discovered nothing. Debating the possibilities was impossible, for Hazel rode in the carriage with them, which meant that Ahnna was left to stew over the puzzle.

It couldn’t be Amarid, given recent aggressions. Nor Cardiff, for that border was closed to travel. There were many other nations farther north, but they were all tiny, and even combined, they were nothing compared with accessing Maridrina and Valcotta. Picking at a scab on her bruised knuckles, Ahnna considered the possibility James hadn’t meant a new market, but rather anew wayof accessing existing markets. Which meant transport using ships rather than the bridge.

Shipping had always been the bridge’s greatest competition, but while the Amaridians, and occasionally the Cardiffians, risked the Tempest Seas to avoid the tolls, Harendell had historically only done so during the calm season. They could afford to pay, so there was no need to lose lives and vessels to the storms. Except what if that had changed? What if the Harendellians were investing in a fleet capable of weathering high seas? What if they saw the inevitable losses as acceptable in the face of the bridge’s tolls?

Questions Ahnna couldn’t hope to answer in a coach trundling down a muddy road, unless she went to the source himself. Leaning her head against the window, Ahnna watched James riding his horse, his eyes on the trees surrounding them. Unbidden, the feel of his lips against hers came rushing back, along with the hard press of his fingers against her back, nothing about him hesitant.

Nothing about him afraid.

An ache formed low in her belly, and more to punish herself than out of any interest, she asked, “Hazel, how would you describe Prince William?”

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