our group was immediately surrounded by hard-faced men and women, many of them with light hair and skin. They wore loose white shirts and black and brown pants made of leather. Women tied back their hair, and almost all of the men were clean shaven. It was odd and captivating. In Medeisia, most men preferred facial hair, and women rarely wore their hair up except for special occasions. Only rebel women braided their hair, and only because long hair hindered them in a fight. Medeisians were olive-toned people with brown and green eyes. Height varied.
“What have you brought us, Madden?” the man who’d yelled earlier asked the captain before clapping him on the back.
The blue-cloaked Madden glanced at our group, his gaze pausing on Lochlen before moving away. The Sadeemian people stared mainly at the wolf, but they knew not what Lochlen was, and it seemed Madden had no desire to share our secret.
“Refugees, or so they say. They wish an audience with our king,” Madden answered.
Ryon’s eyes narrowed, renewed interest sparking in his gaze.
“Our king?” he asked.
Ryon and Madden’s gazes locked, and a look passed between them. Kye stiffened next to me, his jaw clenching.
“Is Cadeyrn within?” Captain Madden asked, his head inclined toward a large tent in the center of the camp. It was no different than the rest, white and billowing. But it was larger, and there were dark shapes moving within.
“He speaks now to his advisors,” Ryon answered.
Madden’s gaze moved to our solemn faces before sliding back to the soldier facing him.
“Tell him these Medeisans would like to see him about an urgent matter.”
Ryon’s mouth parted in surprise. “But, sir—”
Madden held up his hand, silencing him. “Now,” he ordered.
Ryon’s lips thinned, his gaze moving to mine before sliding to Lochlen. Among our group, we looked the most foreign; Lochlen with his reptilian eyes, and I with my supposed aqua pupils. I straightened.
Ryon bowed at the waist and backed away, his feet coming together in the sand before pivoting. His back was straight as he walked, his head high.
“We requested an audience with your king. Cadeyrn is not your king,” Kye remarked, his teeth clenched, his eyes on the captain.
Cadeyrn. That name was familiar to me. I stiffened.
“No,” I whispered. “He is not, but he is the king’s son.”
Madden’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “How would you know this?” the captain asked.
Kye’s green eyes met mine, and he nodded, sudden comprehension filling his gaze. It was Cadeyrn’s future wife Raemon intended to assassinate.
“What is this?” a man asked, the loud voice breaking through the tension. It was a deep voice, hard and commanding.
I looked up … and up, my eyes finally meeting the icy blue gaze of a large, rugged man. He had shoulder-length mahogany hair streaked with gold, high cheekbones, and full lips. A scowl marred his features. The people in the camp bowed.
Madden went down on one knee, risking a quick glance in our direction.
“Your Highness, I have brought you a group of refugees. We found them a day from the Medeisian border. They say they are seeking our king.”
So this was Cadeyrn. He was an intimidating man, young but old, as if his youth had been stripped away from him. There was nothing left but coldness. I wanted to reach out and take Kye’s hand, but our wrists were still tied behind our backs.
Prince Cadeyrn stepped forward, his eyes moving over our group, pausing as Ryon’s did, on first me and then Lochlen. He looked as if he might say something, but then thought better of it.
“Into my tent,” he ordered, pivoting on his heels before marching into the white interior beyond.
Our guards prodded us in the back, and we moved forward. I was weak and tired, but I walked as the other rebels did; with my head held high, my shoulder to Kye’s. I couldn’t hold his hand, but I still sought strength from him. He showed no
“What have you brought us, Madden?” the man who’d yelled earlier asked the captain before clapping him on the back.
The blue-cloaked Madden glanced at our group, his gaze pausing on Lochlen before moving away. The Sadeemian people stared mainly at the wolf, but they knew not what Lochlen was, and it seemed Madden had no desire to share our secret.
“Refugees, or so they say. They wish an audience with our king,” Madden answered.
Ryon’s eyes narrowed, renewed interest sparking in his gaze.
“Our king?” he asked.
Ryon and Madden’s gazes locked, and a look passed between them. Kye stiffened next to me, his jaw clenching.
“Is Cadeyrn within?” Captain Madden asked, his head inclined toward a large tent in the center of the camp. It was no different than the rest, white and billowing. But it was larger, and there were dark shapes moving within.
“He speaks now to his advisors,” Ryon answered.
Madden’s gaze moved to our solemn faces before sliding back to the soldier facing him.
“Tell him these Medeisans would like to see him about an urgent matter.”
Ryon’s mouth parted in surprise. “But, sir—”
Madden held up his hand, silencing him. “Now,” he ordered.
Ryon’s lips thinned, his gaze moving to mine before sliding to Lochlen. Among our group, we looked the most foreign; Lochlen with his reptilian eyes, and I with my supposed aqua pupils. I straightened.
Ryon bowed at the waist and backed away, his feet coming together in the sand before pivoting. His back was straight as he walked, his head high.
“We requested an audience with your king. Cadeyrn is not your king,” Kye remarked, his teeth clenched, his eyes on the captain.
Cadeyrn. That name was familiar to me. I stiffened.
“No,” I whispered. “He is not, but he is the king’s son.”
Madden’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “How would you know this?” the captain asked.
Kye’s green eyes met mine, and he nodded, sudden comprehension filling his gaze. It was Cadeyrn’s future wife Raemon intended to assassinate.
“What is this?” a man asked, the loud voice breaking through the tension. It was a deep voice, hard and commanding.
I looked up … and up, my eyes finally meeting the icy blue gaze of a large, rugged man. He had shoulder-length mahogany hair streaked with gold, high cheekbones, and full lips. A scowl marred his features. The people in the camp bowed.
Madden went down on one knee, risking a quick glance in our direction.
“Your Highness, I have brought you a group of refugees. We found them a day from the Medeisian border. They say they are seeking our king.”
So this was Cadeyrn. He was an intimidating man, young but old, as if his youth had been stripped away from him. There was nothing left but coldness. I wanted to reach out and take Kye’s hand, but our wrists were still tied behind our backs.
Prince Cadeyrn stepped forward, his eyes moving over our group, pausing as Ryon’s did, on first me and then Lochlen. He looked as if he might say something, but then thought better of it.
“Into my tent,” he ordered, pivoting on his heels before marching into the white interior beyond.
Our guards prodded us in the back, and we moved forward. I was weak and tired, but I walked as the other rebels did; with my head held high, my shoulder to Kye’s. I couldn’t hold his hand, but I still sought strength from him. He showed no
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