Page 21 of The Rebel's Prize

"I'd rather we stayed together," he said. "And I have things to see to."

He didn't offer any more explanation than that, and stretching her legs seemed a better option than sitting in a tent before spending the rest of the day sitting in a wagon, so she followed him.

The three of them didn't attract too much attention, though a few people glanced at Silya curiously. With her red-gold hair and ice green eyes, she stood out. The fact that she carried herself like someone used to having a path clear before her probably also helped. At least she wasn't carrying the staff of office she did in Andalyssia. That definitely would have attracted notice.

But curious looks didn't translate into any attempts to speak to them. Perhaps at a trading post, even Andalyssians weren't an unknown quantity. The conversations taking place around them were using quite a few languages. Illvyan still seemed to be the predominant one, but she caught snatches of Miseneian and Kharenian, and others she didn't recognize. No Anglion, which was hardly surprising. Sophie was opening her country's borders, but it would likely be a while before Anglions embraced the empire's trading routes.

Probably just as well. Aristides currently had enough on his hands with old enemies and plots without trying to shepherd his new alliance through the niceties of establishing diplomatic relations across the entire empire. That would require more than just a delegation of—

"Lady Margaretta," she blurted, coming to a stop.

Lucien twisted to look back, saw she'd stopped, and then turned on his heel to rejoin them. "What about her?"

"Were any of the Anglions hurt?" she asked, trying to pitch her voice as low as she could and still have him hear her. "Did they leave?"

"No," Lucien said. "Though when we left, how long they might stay was under discussion."

"I see," she said and fell back into silence, the enjoyment she'd been taking in the warmth of the sunshine and the prospect of travel fading as her brain started to chew on the likely ramifications if Margaretta decided she and her people should return to Anglion. Chloe wouldn't have blamed her. There had been two attacks in the capital since the Anglions had arrived. Anyone with half a brain might decide they would be safer at home.

Of course, the court in Kingswell had its own experience with the impact of political violence.

Hopefully Sophie wouldn't recall the delegation. The new queen was pushing the Anglions out of their temple-imposed exile as hard as she could. Admitting her first diplomatic attempts had been thwarted didn't seem like a path she'd choose. It would only make those resisting her change more entrenched.

Yet another reason to find Deandra and her friends and bring them down. Chloe bit her lip, thinking as Lucien set off again.

The wagon he led them to wasn't the same one that had brought them to the kharaevenia. It was perhaps half as large again. She hoped that didn't mean the three of them were expected to sleep inside it. It was large but hardly spacious. Especially when she would be sharing it with both her currently annoyed husband and an Andalyssian seer.

Though maybe sticking close to Silya wasn't such a bad idea. She wasn't yet ready to contemplate time alone with Lucien.

A young man dressed in dark breeches and boots, a long loose white linen shirt, and a broad-brimmed hat like most of the men they'd passed so far was standing in the shade cast by the wagon, next to a pile of familiar-looking luggage. His face was hidden by the hat, but something about his bearing was a shade too upright for her to believe he was one of the local caravan workers.

As they approached, he lifted his head, and she saw he was Illvyan. Or most likely so with his pale gold skin and green eyes.

And, Chloe realized, a member of the small troupe of Imperial guards who normally watched over Lucien's townhouse.

She forced herself to keep moving forward, stilling the instinctive flinch that passed through her, the desire to disappear back into the crowd just in case they were coming for her, despite Lucien's reassurances. She racked her brain for the young man's name. She didn't encounter the house guards that often, much as Lucien had promised the very first night she'd spent in the townhouse. They tended to stay outside, guarding the perimeter, when she and Lucien were home, and they did a very good job at being unobtrusive the rest of the time. Fortunately, her brain coughed up the name just as they reached the man.

"Corporal Chartres," she said briskly. "How nice to see you."

"My lady," he said, nodding politely.

Not a salute, she noticed, which technically, given that she was a lieutenant and outranked him, she was owed.

But then he didn't salute her at the house either, so maybe he was sticking to those protocols, treating her as Lady Castaigne rather than a lieutenant in the Imperial mages.

If indeed shewasstill a lieutenant in the mages.

Lucien greeted him with a brisk nod. "Corporal. I see our luggage was delivered safely."

"Yes, my lord. Not long ago. We'll load it up and get everything settled once the horses are harnessed and the rest of the load finalized. We weren't sure if there was anything breakable inside that might get damaged during the loading."

"We have all packed to travel, Corporal," Lucien said. "I don't think there's anything that is likely to be harmed. At least not any more than it would be from the journey itself." He cast a glance over his shoulder at Chloe and Silya. "Unless either of you are carrying something you're concerned about?"

"I have some medicines," Silya said. "But they are in a case designed for travel and should be safe enough."

Chloe stiffened slightly. What kind of medicines? The Andalyssians had something of a history when it came to herbs—both the healing and deadly kinds. Andalyssian firewort had nearly killed Lucien.

"Chloe?" Lucien prompted.

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