Garrin’s declaration did not have the effect he’d expected. He figured Arya would laugh, or maybe try to talk him out of it, but she just frowned and said, “You already know how to fight.”

“With a sword,” Garrin said. “Against an opponent who wouldn’t dare hurt me. We see how well that knowledge served me today.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “What do you think I can do about it? Fighting is not a skill the Architects gave me.”

“But they gave you knowledge. You know who might teach me.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Arya said. She pulled her cloak tight and started back for the gate. “We should return to the castle. I have what I came for.”

“That’s it?” Garrin asked.

“You’re upset that you were bested by four men,” Arya said, rolling her eyes. “Now you think you need to get stronger. For what, exactly? Do you plan on being threatened by Thiyaan sailors again?”

“I didn’t plan on it this time,” Garrin said.

She swept into the street ahead of him, leading the way back toward the main road. “Fair point.”

“I’m not overreacting,” Garrin said. “I’m just trying to be prepared.”

Arya slowed and looked up at him as he joined her. “What exactly do you want to learn?”

“How to defend myself against real threats,” Garrin said. “I need someone who won’t hold back just because I’m the prince.”

“And in return, you’ll help me look into Anarya Ellysen?”

“Yes,” Garrin said.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll think of someone who can help you.”

Garrin grinned, and she looked away with a short huff. “Let’s go. It’s getting colder.”

The return journey was, thankfully, less eventful than their time in Gillesport. Arya led him back into the castle through the servants’ entrance, which Garrin marked for future use. Without Arya, preferably. She’d barely spoken to him since they left Gillesport, and he was beginning to wonder whether he’d done something to offend her.

He couldn’t imagine what. The whole thing had been her idea in the first place, and she’d gotten to see her gravestone. She’d even gotten to rescue him from a fight. What was there to be upset about?

“Do you think—?” Garrin started, hoping to steer the conversation back to Anarya Ellysen to bribe Arya into talking. Before he could finish, the echo of oncoming footsteps announced the presence of someone around the corner, and he cut himself off and straightened his spine. His cloak was filthy, but at least the pain in his ribs had softened from a shooting throb to a dull ache. Hopefully whoever was coming toward them would be too polite to mention his appearance.

He groaned when Renton turned the corner. The man paused to give his customary sneer, but when he took in Garrin’s disheveled clothes, his eyes widened and he stopped short. “Goddess,” he muttered. “What happened, Your Highness?”

Did he really look that terrible? “It’s nothing,” Garrin said, smoothing out his shirt. “A misunderstanding in town.”

“In town?” Renton repeated. “Surely you don’t mean Gillesport?”

“That would be the nearest town,” Garrin said.

Renton blinked as if he didn’t understand. “You went into town, my lord? When? And without telling anybody?”

“Just now,” Garrin said. He started forward, but Renton blocked his path.

“Your Highness, what happened?”

Renton stood a few inches taller than Garrin, but he summoned what height he had and tilted up his chin to stare into the military adviser’s eyes. “I went into town. Now I am back. You can see for yourself that other than a dirty cloak, I am perfectly fine. Now excuse me, Lord Renton, I must change before I invite any further questions about my appearance.”

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“You should not leave the castle grounds without an escort,” Renton said, undeterred.

He certainly wouldn’t be leaving unarmed again. But he wasn’t about to tell Renton that, so he just moved past the man and beckoned for Arya to follow him. “Thank you for your concern, councilman. I will take it into consideration.”

“Your Highness, really—”

“Princess?” Garrin interrupted. “Are you coming?”

Garrin twisted to get past Renton and winced as the movement jarred his ribs, but Arya came up beside him and blocked Renton’s view of his expression. “It was a lovely day for a walk,” Garrin said, pitching his voice to carry through the hall. “We will have to do it again soon. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I would love to, my lord,” Arya smiled.

“Perhaps later in the week we can explore the forest.”

“I have never been. Is it beautiful in the winter?”

“The paths are a little cool under the trees, but when the branches are filled with snow, they’re wonderful to see.”

By then they’d turned a corner, and Garrin abandoned the topic and rubbed at his sore side. “Why is it always Renton? Why can’t we run into anybody else?”

Arya sent a worried glance over her shoulder. “I don’t think you should be so dismissive of him. A man like that isn’t used to being disregarded. Who knows what he might do?”

“What can he do?” Garrin asked. “He doesn’t hold any power over me.”

“I just think you should be cautious,” Arya said.

He hitched one shoulder. “I will be.”

Arya’s eyes fell to his ribs, a small frown forming on her lips. “That would be wise. I’m going to see what I can find out about Anarya.”

She swept away before he could say anything else. That was just as well—after the long, eventful morning and his run-in with Renton, Garrin wasn’t in the mood for any more arguing. He made his way slowly back to his room, feeling the jar of each step in his aching body. It wasn’t just his ribs now; the muscles in his legs reminded him that he hadn’t been particularly active in recent months, and the long walk had taken its toll on him. His feet were sore and his lower back throbbed more harshly with every step. Maybe he could take a nap before the servants came to summon him for whatever duties he’d forgotten to do that day.

Part of him hoped he’d find Jakin in his room so he could order a bath, but other than the freshly stoked fire, there were no signs that anyone had been in his room since that morning. Garrin sighed and let his cloak slip off his shoulders, leaving it on the floor for Jakin to find later. Then he gingerly removed his shirt, breathing through clenched teeth, and twisted to see the damage.

A large bruise stretched across his side, pulsing with pain as he tried to examine it. Garrin let out a breath and dropped into the chair beside the fire. There was nothing to be done; one of the guards had broken his ribs in training a few months ago, and Garrin had overheard the servants saying that the only treatment was rest. It didn’t pay to go to the healers for a bruise they could do nothing about, so Garrin tipped his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, prepared to take the servants’ advice.

Until a knock on the door pulled him back to consciousness. He groaned, ready to tell whoever it was to come back later, but either way he’d have to get up eventually. It was probably Jakin summoning him for his next assignment.

Slowly, he stood and made his way across the room. “Sorry, Jakin,” he said, pulling open the door. “I’m afraid I might have permanently damaged my...”

It wasn’t Jakin. It was Lliane, who gave him a startled look that reminded him he was not wearing a shirt.

“Your ribs?” she said.

He stayed where he was in the doorway, staring at her in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Lliane’s eyes hadn’t left his side or the bruise marring it. “Princess Arya said you’d been hurt and that you might need some help.”

“I...” He trailed off, not knowing what else to say. He didn’t need help, and he couldn’t understand why Arya would tell Lliane that he did. It was just a bruise. But she was looking at him like it wasn’t “just” anything. Like he was new and fragile and uncertain; like he needed help. Like she wanted to help him.

“The princess said you were attacked,” Lliane said. She set her hand on the door and pushed it gently, waiting for him to resist. He didn’t.

“She said you protected her,” she went on. “That you were hurt because of it.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Garrin protested, but she opened the door far enough to move past him and went to stand beside the fire.

“Come here,” she said. “I brought some ointment. It will help with the pain.”

“I don’t need any—”

She put a hand on her hip and blew a sharp breath through her nose. “You’re going to make me say it? Fine. I feel bad that I was ignoring you for something that isn’t your fault. Happy? Now just let me help you.”

Stunned, Garrin followed her into the room and stood awkwardly while she opened a jar of ointment she produced from her pocket. “This was made by the best healers in Eiliad,” Lliane said.

“I can do it,” Garrin said uncomfortably.

“Stop talking,” Lliane sighed. She smeared a dab of ointment onto his skin and sent a shiver across his body. “I haven’t had much experience in apologies,” she went on without meeting his eyes. “Princesses rarely have to say they’re sorry.”

“Princes either,” Garrin said.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I thought you were giving up. You always talked about going adventuring, but that was all it ever was. Talk. Now you’ve done something like this...” She smoothed her fingertips over his bruise. “And I wonder what else I haven’t noticed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that.” She looked up at him, eyes bright beneath long lashes. “I’m going to be paying attention from now on.”

Garrin wanted to ask what she’d be paying attention to—and why—but before he could form the words, she set her hand on his shoulder, lifted herself to her tiptoes, and pressed a brief kiss to his cheek.

“There’s my apology,” she said. Then she turned on her heel and swept out of the room, leaving him gaping by the fireplace.