The Liberian

Chapter 57

Halle stared in shock and then started laughing. “Risks are something the prince has no qualms taking,” she assured them—it seemed to adequately sum up their entire relationship.

“Why did you tell us this?” Fot asked. “I can’t imagine the prince would be pleased.”

Halle honestly hadn’t considered that. “Because you both are my friends. I trust you, and I want you to know I do. What are friends if you cannot share your secrets with them?”

“I won’t tell a soul.” Fritz grabbed her hand, and she smiled at his kind eyes.

“You know you have my silence,” Fot affirmed with a nod.

“But you know I’m going to be asking you about it, right?” Fritz grinned his goofy toothy grin.

Halle couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll answer as best I can,” Halle promised. “Talking about it may even be nice.”

Fritz left shortly after. He squeezed Halle and Fot both tightly, and Halle wished he could stay with them. She selfishly wanted to spend the night tucked between him and Fot. But Halle didn’t make any demands. At best she’d just wake him with thrashing from nightmares.

FRITZ RETURNED Halle’S armor the next morning, leaving Halle conflicted and uncertain once more. The prince was a strange creature. At times, he seemed like he worried for her above all else, like when Elecia made her cheap shot. Other times, like the entire day’s ride, it seemed as though he didn’t even want her around.

If he was trying to avoid her, then he was destined for failure. Derek saw her each night when they trained together and maybe that fact frustrated him, because the prince pushed his three pupils beyond tired and into levels of exhaustion that Halle had never known before. The second day of training was harder than the first, and the third was harder than the second. The fourth morning Halle was certain that she couldn’t get out of bed; it took almost being late for her to be coaxed into the saddle.

Derek had the sense to not pair Halle and Elecia together again; they were kept at other ends of the makeshift rings they worked in. Halle was thankful that she had the opportunity to work with Fritz, but felt sorry for Fot for having to endure the other Western woman’s jabs and sneers. If Derek was upset with Elecia, he didn’t show it. He still rode with her during the day and never sent her away from the training.

In all, it made Halle feel worse. She still remembered what Elecia had said about her birth, her questions of why Derek was spending any time with Halle. It made Halle doubt everything, and then she felt guilty for second-guessing Derek after all he had done for her. But she didn’t know how to feel, and Derek wasn’t helping her sort it out.

So during the day she’d taken to riding with the Golden Guard. Farel and Craig were always welcoming, and even Prince Baldair seemed to be more amused than put off by Halle’s persistence around them. Raylynn was even beginning to thaw. It was an odd routine that Halle fell into; she wouldn’t call it peaceful, but with time everything became easier. Even her dreams had begun to lose their edge.

Or so she had thought.

A month into the march, Halle woke up one night shivering and shaking, despite the warming temperatures as the host grew closer to the Western Waste. Fear clawed and bit its way through her, but she had somehow not woken Fot. Halle quickly gulped in breaths of air. She stared down at her wrists.

The dream was just as vivid as her memories of the Night of Fire and Wind. Her mind told her she had felt these feelings before. The noises, smells, and touch were all familiar. And yet, Halle had never seen or done anything like it.

She’d stood in an opulent room, dark with oppressive gloom. A thunderstorm raged against the glass windows, and she’d been soaking wet. Halle shivered, grabbing her arms to ward against the phantom chill. And then she’d taken a knife to her own flesh.

Halle was looking at her forearms again.

The crimson blood that had stained pale skin and white carpeting was not what was most prominent in her memory. It was the fear, the overwhelming guilt she had felt and—most notably—when she had caught her eyes in the reflection of the blade—they had not been her eyes.

Halle covered her face with her palms. It was just a dream, she repeated over and over again. But she could still feel the blade cutting into the pale skin. She could see the palace handmaiden rushing in, horrified and desperate.

Halle was up and out of the tent.

It was still a good hour before dawn and the world was yet dark. Halle ran through the silent camp, barefoot and in sweat-damp clothes. Her heart raced, and her mind didn’t allow her to calm, not until she knew he was all right. She didn’t care if Derek was still cross with her. She had to see him.

Knocking on the crown prince’s tent pole before dawn had to be foolish, but that didn’t stop her. Halle brought her hands together, fidgeting in the eternity that seemed to follow as she waited. “My prince?” Her voice was strained with tension. Halle fought down a whimper. “Derek?”

To her relief, she heard a faint stirring come from inside the tent. The canvas shifted as ties on the inside were undone. Derek opened the flap in annoyance. With his other hand he pulled on the hem of a shirt, situating it over his chest.

“Halle?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as if he wasn’t seeing properly, his temper quickly vanishing.