LITMIR.BIZ

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the others. Just because they were promised to each other didn’t mean she should lose her head like a giddy girl at Summer’s Eve fest. Many had died that day, and she had to honor their memory. “Tell your army they’d best let the minstrels play the fanfare.”

      “’Tis not my army, Princess.”

      She yanked the reins and her horse swiveled back in his direction. Was this some sort of game? “You are Braxten Thoridian, are you not?”

      Ironic amusement passed through his eyes. “You are mistaken. I’m Lieutenant Nathaniel Blueborough, son of the late Alhearn Blueborough, the blacksmith of Shaletown. Queen Danika Thoridian and her husband adopted me. I’m Braxten’s brother, if not by blood, then by name.”

      He mounted his own horse and called over his shoulder. “Around the castle, I’m known as Nip.”

      Chapter 2

      Paintings

      Nathaniel rode to the front of the line distracted and intrigued by the princess of the House of Song. Had disappointment flickered in her gaze when he told her he wasn’t Brax? How could she not know he was the adopted son? Had she never left the resonant walls of the House of Song?

      He resisted the urge to turn back and study her large, silver eyes. She was Brax’s intended, and he had to remember his place. Even though he was the elder brother, he had no blood ties to the throne. Since Brax had achieved legendary warrior status, becoming even stronger than his father, Bron Thoridian, Nathaniel had no chance in commanding the army either.

      Guilt weighed him down. The king and queen had opened their hearts and adopted him, so he should have been grateful for any place in Ebonvale’s castle. Even as a scullion. They could have left him to die as a beggar in the ashes of Shaletown, and he might have turned into a raider himself.

      Grasping the reins, he reminded himself of his debt to the House of Thoridian. He’d served them well all his life, and he wasn’t about to squander his honor on one lovely girl.

      “Battle leave you with ill feelings, my lord?” Timber Rollins kicked his horse up beside him. Flecks of blood and earth painted his timeworn face. An old scar from his left forehead to the bottom of his right cheek shone white and fleshy in the sun.

      “Not battle. Fate.”

      “Ah, a vile beast. Fate can give you the world, then take it away.” The old man had been in battles long before Nathaniel could hold a sword. He’d served King Thoridian, and King Rubystone before him. He was one of the few men who’d seen the dead rise at the necromancer’s hand and lived to speak of it.

      Although Brax passed him off as an old fogey, Nathaniel listened to his council. “My life is the opposite. Fate took everything away, then dealt me a decent hand.”

      “Decent?”

      “Better than the one I had before. I was to become a blacksmith’s son, and now I’m second in command of the Royal Guard. So why am I not content?”

      The old man placed a hand on his armored shoulder. “Nothing can replace what you lost. No matter how illustrious or grand.”

      The minstrels’ fanfare picked up tempo as they crested a hill. Ebonvale’s stone ramparts claimed the horizon. Built around the remnants of Helena and Horred’s temple, the stone buildings piled up upon one another until lofty turrets poked from the mass, towering above the highest ramparts. Purple pennants waved in the breeze as soldiers patrolled the battlements.

      “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Timber goaded his horse forward.

      Nathaniel nodded, taking a moment to reflect upon the first time he’d ever seen the castle as boy. “She’s home.”

      They passed the orchards and the farmlands, reaching the city walls. Nathaniel rode ahead. He recognized the guard at duty, yet he still presented the Royal Seal.

      “Tough journey, my lord?” The guard ran his eyes up and down Nathaniel’s muddied armor.

      “Thank the gods we delivered the princess in one piece. We need medics immediately.”

      “I’ll send word.” The guard nodded, allowing the entire retinue through.

      Nathaniel led them through the courtyard, ignoring the other nobles’ stares. Minstrels weren’t to be trusted since one had stolen King Rubystone’s wife many years ago. Hopefully, having the House of Song’s princess would remedy those prejudices. He held their gazes as he dismounted and the minstrels’ fanfares resolved in a beautiful harmony his trumpeters could only dream about playing themselves. Medics rushed to the wounded as the carriage came to a halt.

      Nathaniel found the princess glancing nervously at the forming crowd. He walked to her and offered her his hand. “Princess. If you will, I’ll announce your arrival.”

      She took his hand, squeezing hard. Her fingers shook. “Please, by all means.”

      Nathaniel helped her down, then brought her before the crowd. “Come to us from the House of Song, the only daughter of King Valorian and the late Queen Mayweather, may I announce Princess Valoria.”

      Whispers filled the air. One person managed a meager clap. With Nathaniel’s insisting glare, light applause spread.

      “They do not trust me,” Valoria whispered, loud enough only he could hear.

      “Not yet.” Nathaniel turned toward her and gave her the reassuring look he usually gave to the troops before a battle. The way she’d chosen to ride instead of retreating to her carriage told him there was more to her than a simple minstrel’s daughter. “But in time, they will.”

      She surveyed the crowd with a tight-lipped smile, then turned to him. “Please, I must see my people’s wounds cared for.”

      “Of course. Medics usher them to the infirmary as we speak. You can stay there as long as you like. But, keep in mind the king and queen are waiting to receive you.”

      She pursed her lips as if weighing her personal needs with offending her new family. “I’ll stay only long enough to see them tended to.” She pulled her harp from her back and handed it to her handmaiden, a brown-haired girl with a fierce look about her.

      “Very well.” He offered his arm. Better to keep her beside him then have some hired assassin pull her into the crowd. Ebonvale’s hatred for the minstrels ran deep, even though they had helped them win the wyvern war. “Come with me.”

      The crowd parted before them. Her retinue followed as they walked the cobblestone from the main square to the apothecary, a stone building with vibrant stained glass windows. Various bottles, vials, and rolls of bandages lined the walls. Behind the counter, a backroom filled with beds took up the space of an old, attached barn. Patients from previous raider attacks filled half the beds. Hopefully they’d have enough room for Valoria’s people and the prisoners they’d captured.

      Guilt stung his chest as he saw one of the raiders chained to the bed. He’d have to interrogate him later on, a chore he never liked. But, if he let Brax get to the man, he’d be dead by morning.

      Valoria rushed to the bedside of the older man Nathaniel had helped her carry back to the carriage. The intricate embroidery on his overcoat labeled him as someone of high status in the House of Song. Perhaps a music teacher? His kind eyes reminded Nathaniel of Ludo, the baker in Shaletown who used to slip him sweet biscuits when his parents weren’t looking.

      She touched the medic’s arm with insistence. “Will he live?”

      “He’ll have an ugly scar, but yes, he’ll live to see another day.” The medic nodded curtly and rushed to the next bed where another minstrel clutched an arrow speared through his shoulder.

      Valoria leaned over the old man, and his eyes flickered open. “Did you hear that? A hideous battle scar. Your pupils will listen to you now.”

      “Anything to get them to practice.” He chuckled, then

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