The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 43

The rising sun bled pink over the encamped army as we emerged from the chasm in the cliffs. We all sagged in our saddles, but what worried me most was the princess slumped in front of me. In the watery light, the dark stain of Beatriz' blood leered ominously up at me through the bandages wound around her leg. Her arm fared no better.

"Come on, almost there," I leaned forward to whisper in her ear. It did not elicit a response. I tightened my arms around her, pushing my horse for what last of its strength remained.

Beside us, Nisha rode in silence. Her face was pale, her eyes ringed with shadows. She'd been lost in haunted thought since we'd stopped only long enough to re-bandage our wounds. We were all injured, but Beatriz fared the worst, with Nisha a close second. I hadn't trusted Nisha to be able to both support Beatriz and stay awake and strong long enough to make it back. Neither had protested when I'd insisted that Beatriz ride with me. In fact, neither had said much at all. There had been no time for talking, nor any time to delay, not while Dulciana's cavalry scoured the woods behind us. Not while the colonel stationed in Dulciana's fort was preparing messages for his queen.

Frederico jerked up out of his seat at the dining room table when the three of us stumbled into Genevieve's house. Breakfast was already laid out, but rather than rumble with hunger, my stomach simply twisted with nausea. The smell of food twined with the tang of dirt and blood that matted all of our clothes. Beatriz leaned heavily against me and it was all I could do to keep the both of us upright, even with Nisha helping on her other side.

"What happened?" Frederico demanded, shoving chairs out of his way in his haste to reach us. Nisha tugged one of them out and planted it before Beatriz, then collapsed into one herself.

Genevieve was humming contentedly to herself as she entered the room, only to freeze. The bowl of porridge she'd been carrying crashed to the floor. Her eyes swept over the lot of us before she turned and screamed towards the kitchen, "Fetch a healer! Now!"

At the noise of shattering porcelain, heavy footsteps sounded overhead, thundering towards the stairs. Frederico was kneeling in front of Beatriz, a horrified hand hovering over her bloodied bandages.

"What happened?" he demanded again, fire raging in his brown eyes as they hopped from Beatriz to Nisha to me.

"She knows." Nisha's voice was little more than a moan from where she rested her head against the table. "I couldn't stop him."

Frederico's head snapped back towards me, his eyes wide and wary at Nisha's cryptic words. Behind us, Rafael exploded into the room, sword drawn, chest heaving, until he realized who we were.

"Callum Winters. It was a trap." I managed as I lowered myself into a chair with a wince.

Frederico stilled. His lips parted with horror. His gaze turned inward as he leaned away from his sister, eyes darting back and forth as he connected the pieces together. The pieces I'd agonized over as we'd ridden through the night.

All our best laid plans, turned to dust.

"I'm sorry." Beatriz' voice broke as she lifted her head to meet her brother's worried gaze. She was so quiet I could barely hear her over Rafael's renewed shouts for a healer. Genevieve reappeared, clutching a healing kit much like Beatriz'.

Frederico laid a hand gingerly on her shoulder, ripping his attention from his thoughts back to her. "It's not your fault," he said, with more conviction than I would have believed possible, given the circumstances. "Better that we know now than later."

Bottles tinkled as Genevieve dumped the healing kit on the table and yanked it open. "What do you need? Do you need a bowl? Shall I boil some water?" she demanded no one in particular. Her fingers shook.