Page 20 of The Crownless Prince

To marry Adriana, Marcus had only two options. First, he could run away with her, right at the start of winter with no money and nowhere to live, likely irreparably damaging her relationship with the father she loved, potentially throwing all of Aedyllan into chaos, and spending every day waiting for another assassin to appear. That was assuming she even agreed. She might choose her betrothed, whoever he was, because that marriage was free of such risks. A wealthy lord could provide for Adriana and protect her in a way Marcus couldn’t.

Second, he could reveal himself to King Mortimer and—in the event he wasn’t killed the moment he revealed his identity—attempt to convince the king to not only let him live but also grant him Adriana’s hand in marriage and a holding so he could be worthy of her and provide for her. Why would Mortimer do that when Adriana had already agreed to a far more advantageous marriage?

Either course of action had an uncomfortably high chance ofending with Marcus’s death.

“So it’s better for her if I leave her alone?” That didn’t feel right at all, and yet…it would be safer and easier. He wouldn’t have to risk hearing Adriana tell him she didn’t love him anymore. If he didn’t try, he couldn’t be executed for his failure.

Best to stay out of Adriana’s way. As his father had said, that was all he was good at.

“Let her be happy,” Edwin said. “And make the choice that keeps you alive.”

Marcus nodded. It shattered his heart, but he cut the last thread that connected him to who he had been as Prince Marcus Alimer.

No family.

No home.

No crown.

And no lover waiting for his return.

“Will you come eat now?” Edwin prodded. “You didn’t finish your supper, so you must be hungry.”

Marcus didn’t want to eat, but if he said that, Edwin would argue that his body needed food, even if he was too dejected to pay attention. He sighed. “If I must.”

His friend stood. “You must.”

Marcus groaned and threw his legs over the side of the bed, but his shoulders slumped as he searched for the motivation to move farther than that. “Sorry. I must seem pathetic.”

“Yes.” Edwin smirked when Marcus looked up in shock. “Your hair’s a tangled mess. Half the braids are falling out. Absolutely patheticappearance.” His expression softened. “But it’s not pathetic to have a broken heart. I’d be more worried about you if you didn’t care.”

Before they went down to breakfast, Edwin insisted on doing Marcus’s braids “so they aren’t lopsided again.” As that was a fair criticism, Marcus let him. After changing into their cleanest outfits, they went to the dining room on the ground floor. There were many empty tables despite how busy the inn had been the night before and how many of the beds had been occupied in the large, shared room where they’d slept. They turned in their breakfast tokens and placed their order—the barkeep muttered something under his breath about late-comers—and settled in at a table near the fireplace.

“How does one look for work?” Marcus thrummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

“It’s better than sitting here weeping all day, right?” Truthfully, if he didn’t find a new path for his life soon, he might lose the will to do so.

“Inns and taverns are places where news is exchanged.” Edwin shrugged. “Maybe the barkeep will know of anyone who is hiring.”

Unfortunately, the barkeep didn’t have any leads. Worse, he warned that they might have difficulty finding an open position, especially a high-paying one. Many servants and workers had been released in the aftermath of the fighting, as the conflict had caused a slow in farming production, the onset of winter was rarely a time anyone was looking to hire, and many lesser noble households had lost men and thus had to reduce their staff.

So Marcus and Edwin moved to the market, where they spent two cold hours being told no one was hiring or only one-time tasks were available. Stops at two small taverns turned up only employment that afforded no housing. As they tromped across Glenborough through dirty slush to the other, more expensive inn, Marcus was preparing to resign himself to a difficult winter of living meal-to-meal and hoping they could afford to live at an inn.

Another reason to be grateful Adriana was marrying someone capable of providing for her, even if it still hurt like frostbite.

The harried-looking innkeeper at the White Swan inn and tavern gave them an appraising look when they inquired if he knew of anyone hiring, especially hiring servants. He directed them to a finely dressed man sitting in the back corner of the tavern, his forehead scrunched as he made notes in a ledger.

“Pardon me.” Marcus bowed.

The man looked up and blinked at them for several moments. He shook his head, his brown hair catching on the velvet of his overtunic. “Yes?”

“We were told you’re hiring household servants?”

“Ah, good; yes!” The man looked them up and down with a critical eye, and Marcus was glad he’d let Edwin do his hair and had put on a tunic that wasn’t completely mud-splattered. “I’m Steward Talwen, manager of Lord Lucien Thorne’s household.”

The name wasn’t familiar, but he’d never kept up with all of the nobility, especially not outside of Alimer Principality.

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