Page 13 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
Neither of us should have been royal champions.
Chapter Five
Stuck in the carriage again, I tried focusing on the well-read pages of a book. The words blurred together, and my stomach gurgled like it wanted to digest what my brain couldn’t. Giving up, I sighed and leaned my head back, closing my eyes. Did I need another nap? No. Would I get anything done while everyone else snoozed? Also no. At least a nap would pass the time faster.
With a few deep breaths, I drifted closer to sleep …
Craaaaaaack.
Wham!
Thump.
Pain split through the back of my head. The outriders called to each other, their words a muffled mess in my ringing ears.
“Trey? Are you alright?”
I tried to open my eyes, but only one of them cooperated. Something was wrong with my body. My limbs were all out of order, my head half-a-mile away.
Hands grasped my shoulders and helped me upright, and I realized part of the problem was that I’d ended up on the carriage floor. I finally got the other eye open, but the world remained blurry and confusing, wood and shapes in all the wrong places.
“You’ve hit your head. Drink this,” Dad ordered, holding a bottle to my lips.
I swallowed obediently and, after a few seconds, my vision cleared and the pain in my head eased away. The cinnamon taste of a health potion lingered on my tongue. “What happened?”
The carriage was at a sharp angle, and I was half-sitting, half-leaning against the closed door. The other door was open, revealing the tops of trees, blue sky, and one lazily spinning wheel. Somewhere outside, Father was talking with the outriders.
“A tree fell and blocked the road. The coachman swerved to avoid it and ended up crashing into adifferenttree,” Dad explained, his expression grim as he hoisted me out of the carriage. I crawled over the edge and landed roughly on the ground.
Dad followed quickly and helped me stand up. Even after I was upright, he held on, his grip firm and his hand faintly trembling.
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
“Only thanks to your father’s foresight.”
“Foresight I have because you’re always injuring yourself,” Father replied, coming back into view. He took my face between his hands and peered into both of my eyes, then tilted my head down to check the back. When he let go, blood stained his fingertips.
I reached up to investigate the same area but couldn’t even feel a bump.
Dad handed me a handkerchief to clean up the mess.
On the side of the road, Delilah crouched on all fours. At some point, she’d put the collar back on, so her ears and tail were both on display. The ears pressed low against her head and the tail puffed up to three times its size. Her lips curled back, exposing sharper incisors—apparently, Dad couldn’t resist fiddling with the enchantment—and she hissed a low, guttural warning.
“Use your words,” Dad scolded.
Delilah hissed again before pointing into the woods. “Someone’s over there!”
I froze, eyes widening.Did someone cut that tree down on purpose? Is this my old man’s doing? Was he trying to hurt us or delay us?
“How far away is the next town?” Father asked the coachman.
Blood spotted the man’s clothes and face. He must have been injured in the accident as well, but only a few stains remained. “Two hours by horse. If we’re walking … six or seven?”
“A few of us could ride ahead,” Father suggested. “See if we can hire another carriage in town, then return for everyone else and the luggage.”
“Traveling there and back could take as long as walking,” Dad pointed out. “Either way, it’ll be nightfall before we all reach the town.” He surveyed the outriders’ mounts and the horses that had been pulling the carriage. “I say we double up on the horses and find an inn for the night. We can worry about the luggage tomorrow.”
“No!” Delilah cried. “That’s what they want us to do!”
