The Errant Prince (8 page)

He remained where he was as Tamsen's magic slowly subsided and the light of the spell with it. Then he opened his eyes, and he really, really should have thought to ask
where
in the palace Tamsen intended to bring them. Myron didn't move as he took in the swords leveled at them, the King's office around them,
the king
sitting at his desk behind the guards, and because Myron's luck needed to balance itself out, his parents, sitting among a half-dozen other important-looking people before the king.

The
Errant
Prince

Tamsen stared down the length of the sword directed at him. He should have anticipated that response; strangers appearing suddenly in the king's offices were much more likely to be a threat than anything else. Never mind that only the king and the king's relatives were able to use magic in his offices.

He should say something, break the tense silence that seemed to be holding the room hostage, but all he could focus on was Hartley Whitwood, standing next to his brother's desk and looking almost exactly the same as he had seven years ago.

"You know,
your highness
," Myron said, emphasizing Tamsen's title, "when you said you'd shift us to the palace, I didn't think you meant you'd shift us to the king's offices."

It didn't make Tamsen's urge to throw up go away, but he was still fervently thankful that Myron had broken the silence. He glanced at Myron, glad to see that despite his words, Myron didn't seem too upset over the omission. He grinned at Tamsen, apparently unperturbed by the sword at this throat. He held his hands away from his sides—and his own sword, Tamsen realized belatedly.

Myron's words broke the shock paralyzing the room. "Stand down," Stirling ordered. He stood, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste to get around his desk. The guards moved, and Tamsen froze in surprise when Stirling dragged him into a rough embrace. "You couldn't use the door like a normal person, brat?"

Tamsen laughed, a little shakily, but returned the embrace. He'd expected anger, yelling, disappointment—not for Stirling to hug him. What had Hartley told Stirling? Stirling stepped back, holding Tamsen at arm's length as he scrutinized him. What did he see? Tamsen looked away, not wanting to see disappointment or worse, and noticed for the first time that there were more people than just Hartley and Stirling in the room.

It took him a moment to place Adalynn and Garrett Vere, heads of the Tower, though he didn't recognize the other woman seated before Stirling's desk. Tamsen snuck a glance at Myron, but if he cared that his parents were there, it didn't show on his face. Stirling followed his look, stepping back, and Tamsen could pinpoint the exact moment he switched from brother to king. 

"Guardsman Vere—" Stirling began, so obviously he was aware of who Myron was. Why hadn't he interceded on Myron's behalf when it came to his magic?

"It's just Myron, your majesty," Myron said, rudely interrupting Stirling. "I gave up the Vere name years ago."

Tamsen caught Garrett's flinch out of the corner of his eye and took some small satisfaction from it. It wouldn't look good for the Veres that their disowned son was the one who'd brought Tamsen home. Stirling looked surprised at that, but he recovered quickly.

"Guardsman Myron, then," Stirling said. "Thank you for bringing my brother home."

"It was my pleasure, your majesty," Myron replied, dipping a formal bow.

Stirling turned to the people gathered around his desk. Tamsen stoically refused to look at Hartley again, absolutely not wanting to meet Hartley's eyes. It was bad enough he was in the same room; Tamsen didn't want to invite any sort of conversation.

"We'll pick this up tomorrow," Stirling said, a firm dismissal. "Meet back here at third bell."

The unknown woman was the first to move, collecting together her portfolio. She rose from her seat, murmuring, "your majesty," with a nod. She headed toward the door, giving Tamsen a lingering, curious look, but not saying anything to him.

The Veres left next, Adalynn looking unhappy and Garrett impassive. Tamsen endured their stares, as well, sure that they would be the first of many. Adalynn seemed torn between staring at him and Myron, though if Myron noticed, he gave no indication of it. Tamsen couldn't help but shift restlessly, all too aware that Hartley was making no move to leave.

"That means you, too, Hartley," Stirling said, impatience bleeding into his voice. "We can discuss your proposal later." Tamsen's heart lurched at the word 'proposal,' but that couldn't be literal.

"Yes, your majesty," Hartley said, and even his voice sounded the same: calm, collected, no sign of feeling. He finally moved, and Tamsen made the mistake of looking at him. "I hope we'll have the chance to catch up soon, your highness."

Tamsen pointedly didn't reply, looking away and pretending Hartley wasn't there. It was petty and rude, but Tamsen didn't care. He didn't have to be polite. He wasn't staying, so he could be rude to Hartley or anyone else who pushed him. Hartley lingered but left when Stirling cleared his throat pointedly. The door clicked shut behind him, and Stirling sighed, frowning at Tamsen. Tamsen only scowled at him, too. Not even Stirling could make him be nice to Hartley.

"Guardsman, you're free to return to your barracks. You're granted leave until the rest of your regiment returns, and the prize money will be awarded with your pay," Stirling said, addressing Myron. The words 'prize money' sank in, and Tamsen wondered bitterly, cynically, if that had been Myron's only goal. It hadn't seemed that way, but Tamsen had a history of being easily fooled when it came to his heart.

"Prize money?" Myron repeated. He sounded utterly puzzled, and Tamsen wasn't sure whether to be relieved or to kick himself for jumping to conclusions. "I beg your pardon, your majesty, but what prize money?"

"Your regiment captain should have informed you," Stirling said. He gave Tamsen a scowl, as though it were somehow his fault that Myron wasn't fully informed. "I put a bounty on you."

"I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you," Tamsen said, crossing his arms. "You could have let me be."

"My regiment split up to cover more ground about a month back," Myron volunteered. "I haven't heard from Captain Farbirn since then."

Stirling's scowl deepened, but it softened when he turned back to Myron. "The bounty was a thousand gold. You're dismissed, but I want you back here at first bell tomorrow morning for a full report."

"Yes, your majesty," Myron said. If he was happy about the prize money, it didn't show, and Tamsen was definitely kicking himself for jumping to conclusions. Myron gave Stirling another bow. He turned to Tamsen, smiling in that infuriatingly pleasant way he had. "Your highness."

Tamsen made a face at Myron, though he couldn't exactly expect Myron to call him by name, given where they were. Myron only smiled wider at that, and Tamsen wished he could follow Myron out of the room, in no way looking forward to the conversation he was about to have.

"You all wait in the front office," Stirling said, gesturing to his guards who lurked nearby. They followed Myron out, leaving Tamsen and Stirling alone in his office.

"A bounty, really? And only a thousand gold?" Tamsen asked, because that was the easiest thing to focus on. A thousand gold wasn't really anything to sneer at, but it wasn't a prince's bounty, either.

Stirling laughed, shaking his head. He headed across the room toward his liquor cabinet, and Tamsen followed. "That was my lowball figure. I would have increased it next month if that didn't work." He poured them both a glass of whiskey. Everything from the glass to the alcohol was leagues above what he'd had at his little cottage the previous night, but Tamsen would much prefer to be there with his cheap whiskey and crooked cups.

"Why?" Tamsen asked, swirling the alcohol around his glass. "I mean, why now? You didn't seem to care much when I first ran off."

Stirling sighed again, looking tired. He waved Tamsen over to the nearby sofa. "I always wanted to find you, Tam. I admit, I wasn't trying as hard as I could, but that was partly because I didn't want to compromise your safety. Outside the palace, we've worked hard to ensure people think you're playing hermit, not run off. Certain events the past few months have forced my hand, however."

"Are you going to tell me what 'certain events' means?" Tamsen asked when Stirling didn't elaborate. He wasn't going to like it, whatever it was, but he didn't exactly want to prolong the torture. He sat down on the sofa, resting his glass of whiskey on his knee.

Stirling sat down on the sofa next to him, and he definitely looked older than Tamsen remembered. Tamsen had been born fourteen years after Stirling, an unexpected second child long after their parents had stopped trying for more. Stirling looked every bit his forty-one years; his hair was more gray than black, and solid lines were etched around his mouth and eyes.

"You've missed a lot while you were gone, Tamsen," Stirling said, which was a stall and a guilt trip all in one. "I don't know where you've been living…" Stirling paused, obviously expecting Tamsen to supply that information. Tamsen stayed quiet, even though it was likely in vain. Myron knew where he lived; all Stirling had to do was ask him.

"Takire is making moves that indicate we may soon be at war again," Stirling said, continuing after a moment. That wasn't surprising. Takire had always been hungry for more territory, particularly anything that would give them a port. They were landlocked, which gave them a disadvantage in trade. "I'm trying to secure an alliance with Sumira in case they try for one of our ports—"

Tamsen laughed bitterly. So Myron's rumors had been correct. "I'm not marrying anyone. I'm not a prince anymore, Stirling. I'm not supposed to be, given the abdication papers I signed before I left."

"You never could wait for me to finish my sentences," Stirling admonished, but he sounded more fond than annoyed by it. "I want an alliance with Sumira, not a war. Of course I'm not going to marry you to one of Ellewyn's daughters."

"I think I should be offended by that," Tamsen said, just to be contrary. The knot of anxiety in his stomach eased, but that begged the question, "So what does it have to do with me?"

"We burned your abdication," Stirling said bluntly. "We figured you'd come back in a few months, not…"

"That I really meant it," Tamsen said, scowling. He'd figured something of the sort had happened, given what Myron had told him. Considering he'd left those papers for Hartley to find—a final 'fuck you' to Hartley's deception—the 'we' Stirling referred to had to be him and Hartley, and Tamsen was not fond of that combination, even if logically he knew Stirling had to deal with Hartley with regard to the King's Wizards.

"You're still listed as a member of the royal family, and Ellewyn does prefer a marriage to you rather than waiting years for Lizaben to grow old enough for a formal marriage ceremony." Stirling rubbed at his forehead, sighing. "She knows you're a hermit, but that's all."

"Go back to the part where I'm
not
marrying a Sumiran princess," Tamsen said, his head spinning from too much information. That was yet another reason Tamsen made a terrible prince: he'd never dealt well with the complex politics between their country and their neighbors.

"You're not marrying a Sumiran princess," Stirling dutifully repeated, a small smile quirking up the corners of his mouth. "I'm aiming to have Lizaben engaged to Ellewyn's youngest daughter, since they're close in age. They're both ten years out from coming of age, but the engagement is just as binding as your marriage to Luriel would be. I just need to convince Ellewyn you're not a good prospect for marriage."

"So let me sign the abdication papers again, and I'll be on my way," Tamsen said, though he doubted it would be that simple.

Stirling shook his head. He looked pensive, confirming Tamsen's suspicions that that wasn't the whole of the problem. That Stirling wouldn't come out and say it just meant that Tamsen was going to hate whatever it was.

"Hartley," Stirling said, which definitely confirmed that Tamsen was going to hate it. "He may have said something to the effect of your engagement to him—"

"We were never engaged!" Tamsen snarled, setting his glass of whiskey aside before he gave into the urge to throw it.

"Tamsen," Stirling said, giving him a quelling look. Tamsen glared back but subsided. "It was an unfortunate remark—apparently he was quite riled. But now I'm in the position of telling Ellewyn that you're available to be married but are running away from it. A grave insult, as I'm sure you're aware."

"Or I can marry Hartley," Tamsen said bitterly, wishing Hartley were there so Tamsen
could
throw his glass of whiskey—straight at his head. It was a neat solution, by any estimation but his own. Stirling could get his daughter engaged, as he wanted, with no insult to the Sumiran Queen; Hartley would get the position he wanted.

"It would make my life easier, but I'm not going to force you to do anything, Tam," Stirling said. He smiled wryly. "I'm well aware you could be gone again in seconds if you wanted to be, and it's taken me seven years to get you home again."

Tamsen was quiet, not sure how to say the palace wasn't 'home' for him anymore. Home was a tiny, quiet, one-room cottage in the middle of nowhere with just him and his plants and his magic.

"At least give him a chance to convince you?"

"He told you about our relationship?" Tamsen asked. That didn't seem like Hartley, but he'd have had to tell Stirling something, given Tamsen had left and signed abdication papers to boot. Tamsen wasn't sure what had changed; he'd been positive Stirling would disapprove. Now he was pushing the idea, long after the relationship was dead. "Did he tell you why we fought? Why I ended it?"

"Not exactly," Stirling said, his lips flattening into a thin line. "He did admit he said a lot of stupid things—" Stirling stopped, frowning at Tamsen. "Do you have someone else? Is that it?"

"What? No," Tamsen denied, and then immediately regretted it. Saying yes would have saved him a lot of trouble, but he doubted Stirling would believe him now. Tamsen scowled, irritated at himself. And Hartley. He was going to strangle Hartley. Maybe hex him as Myron had suggested.