Page 9 of The Crownless Prince

Edwin still crouched at his side, his countenance somber as he offered quiet support. And perhaps Adriana—

Marcus jerked around and clutched Edwin’s arm. “Adriana…do you think—if…” He shook his head, trying to clear his racing thoughts. “Did Uldrich and Mortimer join forces against my father? Or did they all fight each other? Is the war over, with one victor? And if only one prince is left…which one is it?” His fingers dug into the folds of Edwin’s cloak. “What if it was Uldrich? What if he did this to Mortimer’s castle, too, and Adriana is—”

“Easy, Your Highness. Slow down.”

“Alimer Principality is overthrown.” He released Edwin’s arm and turned away. “I’m not a prince any longer.”

Edwin stood with a sigh. “Our best course of action is to continue to town. We need supplies, and perhaps the residents will have heard whether Faine Principality stands.”

Reluctantly, Marcus nodded and let Edwin help him to his feet. He frowned at the mud caking the front of his overtunic and trousers. Oh well. Maybe the mud would help him look less like a former prince.

“Considering we don’t know the situation or the mood of the populace, I think we should keep my parentage secret.” Marcus wasn’t sure if he wanted to claim the association, anyway, after his father caused him and others so much hurt and suffering.

“Agreed,” Edwin said. “So close to the castle and the tower, perhaps we should use false names.”

Marcus set about coming up with their story so they wouldn’t give conflicting answers. It helped distract him from the smoke on the horizon and what it meant.

By the time they reached the village around midafternoon, Marcus’s stomach was gnawing at him. The town consisted of a mere dozen or so homes and a few shops near the central market plaza. A sign engraved with bread and a bed hung from an uneven building of plaster and wood, so they headed there.

Warm air from a roaring fire and the savory scent of food greeted them inside. Conversations fell silent as the few occupants of the inn’s tavern looked over at them, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

A wiry woman with her graying brown hair pulled back in a loose bun approached them, drying her hands on the apron about her waist. “Can I help you, sirs?”

“We’re looking for some food and perhaps a place to stay for the night.” Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t have coin, but we have some valuables to trade.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking them both up and down before shrugging. “What do you have?”

Edwin pulled off his makeshift pack and withdrew a silver candlestick.

The innkeeper leaned forward. “Tarnished, but is it solid silver?”

“Yes,” Marcus said.

She held her hand out, and Edwin handed over the precious metal. A faint yellow shimmer glittered from her fingertips as she stroked the metal, her brow furrowed in concentration. Marcus stepped closer, fascinated. Alimer Castle’s head cook had been an enchanter with a skill for herbs and food, but Marcus had never been allowed to watch him work.

Aedyllan had many enchanters compared to other kingdoms, although they still weren’t common. Scholars suspected it was related to the unusually high fae activity within Aedyllan. It didn’t particularly matter. Many enchanters had only a small amount of magic, and all suffered some kind of negative side effect from using it—most commonly fatigue, from what little Marcus knew about magic. Besides, few with the gift had the time or money to support the years of study and practice necessary to master their power, so some enchanters ignored their magic as mostly useless. Others pretended their magic didn’t exist out of fear they’d be tempted by witchcraft, the casting of dark curses.

The candlestick gave a tiny shiver, and the tarnish fell from the metal in a fine dust.

With a satisfied smile, the innkeeper tapped a finger against her chin. “This will get ya both one meal an’ one night in a shared room with other guests.”

“We’ll take it,” Marcus said. He’d have preferred a private room, but he wasn’t in the mood to haggle, and they needed to conserve their few valuables until they had a plan for the rest of their lives as commoners.

Planning for the rest of his life was hopelessly overwhelming, so he pushed that aside. One thing at a time, and for now, they needed food.

The innkeeper showed them to a small table in the corner with two chairs that creaked every time they moved. Nicks and gouges marked the worn surface of the tabletop, and when Marcus rested his forearm on the edge, the table wobbled. The only food on offer was a beef andvegetable stew with a slice of bread, which at least sounded decent. They settled back in their chairs as the innkeeper bustled away through a door in the back.

A man with streaks of silver through his long brown hair, which he wore out of his way in a topknot, shuffled over to their table. Dried mud splattered his trousers, short tunic, and the knobby cane he leaned on.

“You more of the king’s men? Thought you’d all moved on.”

Marcus started. “King?”

The man’s brow scrunched. “Whaddya mean, ‘king’? How could you have missed the news? It’s posted in the marketplace.” His gaze swept over them. “You don’t look like men what ne’er learned to read.”

They’d been too intent on food and in shock to even consider checking the marketplace for postings. Although he’d never had to learn news from a town crier or marketplace before.

He sat up and tilted toward the older man. “We’ve been in isolation for some time, as penance and for self-reflection.”

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