Page 97 of The Prince's Sacrifice

He’d abandoned Tor and hadn’t thought about the fact that the first place Tor had taken him in the castle was to meet his baby niece, whom he clearly adored. He hadn’t thought about the number of times the other man had wrapped his arms around him and had held him close.

Pel had feltallthat significance, but in the moment in the throne room, he’d doubted everything. He’d feared that all those feelings, all those moments, had just been on his side.

And maybe… Pel grimaced. Maybe he’d been protecting himself, too, walking away before anyone could tell him hecouldn’t have the wonderful man he desperately wanted to keep, like it being his choice to leave would make it better somehow.

He could now definitively attest to the fact that wasn’t the case. Pel had walked away, Tor was imprisoned in a dungeon, and Pel doubted that anything would ever be right again.

He took a fortifying sip of his ale. No, that was a terrible attitude to have. What was he going todoabout the fact that Tor had been thrown in the dungeon? How was he going to help him? It wasn’t like he could stage a jail break, but perhaps he could go back and… ask to speak to the High King?

Pel obviously didn’t have the relationship with him that Tor did, for both good and ill. Hopefully, King Varex would be inclined to listen to a Tondian prince if Pel focused on the facts. If they pulled Tor out of the equation and reduced the chance that anyone would lose their temper, then surely, the facts would speak for themselves.

High King Varex had always struck Pel as a fair-minded ruler, and surely no one but Pel’s father genuinely thought the situation would have been improved if Tor hadn’t intervened. There were thousands of lives at stake.

Yes, he’d ask to speak to the High King. Honestly, even if he refused, it gave Pel a goal, and that helped a little with the churning in his gut. He already knew something was wrong, he didn’t need this visceral reaction to keep alerting him to that fact. But… he probably didn’t need to drink any more ale. He pushed aside the half-full mug. He’d wasted enough time. He needed to get moving.

Actually, he needed to explain himself to Beluna, Cavun, and Denil. He needed to let them know what had happened to Tor. Then he needed to talk to the King—or at least to try to.

Pel had never sought out the High King before, but hewasa prince of Tond. Even in this highly unusual situation, courtesy and the rules of the realm dictated that the High King shouldgive him an audience. Pel was willing to obnoxiously harp on about diplomatic relations between realms if it would help his cause.

There was a chance that he’d be judged complicit in Tor’s supposed crimes, but that was a risk he was willing to take. He’d supported Tor every step of the way up that mountain and believed wholeheartedly in what he’d done. If Tor was being penalized for it, Pel wanted to be at his side.

And thiswasthe High King’s brother they were talking about. Surely, he’d want to investigate the matter thoroughly. Surely, he’d put value in actual testimony from someone who’d been present.

Filled with renewed purpose, Pel rose to his feet, strode outside… and discovered night had fallen. He blinked, but that didn’t change the fact that it was dark and the streets were practically deserted. How long had he been in the pub brooding?

His heart sank at the idea of having to wait until morning to proceed. Now that he’d finally made a decision, the desire to act was practically vibrating through his bones with its urgency. But he could hardly show up at the castle in the middle of the night and demand an audience with the High King.

Beluna, Cavun, and Denil were smart enough to take care of themselves for the night, and much as Pel really did want to storm to the castle and maybe stand outside the King’s bed chamber to be ready to see him first thing in the morning… that was obviously not going to happen.

It would be much wiser to get some sleep and be well-rested before confronting the King, but Pel felt rather as though he was never going to be able to sleep again. He was still somewhat irritated with Tor, but that had been subsumed under the mounting wave of worry that was threatening to consume Pel.

Tor’s magic had been bound. He’d been thrown in the dungeon. He’d been accused of committing treason, and whilePel knew that was utter nonsense, it was an extremely serious allegation. He was going to do everything in his power to set the record straight, but the idea that he might not be convincing was enough to have panic roiling through him. It wasn’t like King Forex ever listened to him. It wasn’t like anyone had listened earlier today. What made Pel think he could sway anyone?

He tried to quell the rising tide of nausea. It was incredibly counterproductive to worry about this now. Yes, he felt an urgent need to go to the castle right this minute, but the only sensible thing to do was sleep.

He just had to figure out how to get back to the inn. He looked around. He had absolutely no idea where he was. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he’d been going to begin with, and now it was dark, the streets lit by moonlight.

He paused at the first street corner, sheltered against the corner of a building, and tried again to find any familiar landmarks. It would be embarrassing to have to pay for a second inn because he couldn’t remember where the first was located.

He looked around. Was there anyone he could ask? The streets were deserted. Except—from out of the darkness, a stream of individuals appeared. They were all armed and dressed in dark clothing or leather armor. Alarm flooded Pel, and before he could think about what he was doing, he added himself to the end of the line and followed after them.

They were making very little sound, moving quietly without speaking, and they seemed to be headed in the direction that Pel’s heart was tugging him, to the castle that it was entirely foolish to try to enter at this time of night.

Or… not so foolish? They passed through the main entrance that was… entirely unguarded. Pel’s sense of foreboding grew. The entrance had been guarded during the day. There was no way it would be unattended at night.

The force he was with went left, around the castle, where Tor had pointed out to him that the staff entrance was located. (Had that really been earlier today? It felt like a lifetime ago.) The barracks were over here, too, and despite the fact that they weren’t behaving like any guards Pel knew, he hoped desperately that they were returning to their quarters.

This hope was immediately dashed when they headed for the castle—and Pel saw the first downed guard, their throat slit.

As they all slipped inside, not sparing the dead man more than a passing glance, Pel knew that all his worst fears were being realized. These had to be mercenaries. What in the name of the goddess was going on?

A handful of them split off from the rest, but Pel stuck with the main group. He blended in better there, never more grateful that he tended to wear unobtrusive dark clothing and didn’t have noticeable features.

And then, finally, someone muttered, “How long will it take them to get to the kitchen and set the fire?”

“Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. By the time we get to the baby, everyone’s attention will be elsewhere.”

“But what about the Prince?”