Elowen and Roderic lowered themselves to the log with matching grunts. The fire snapped and spat; Elowen rubbed at her hands, fingers stiff and joints humming with the leftover shock of the staff.

  Brandt eyed them over the flames and huffed a laugh. “Look at you two. Having all the fun without me.”

  Roderic’s mouth tipped. “You call that fun?”

  “Elowen does,” Brandt said. “Did you see her face when she landed that last hit? I thought she’d ask for another round.”

  Her lips twitched, but the ache in her forearms made itself known the moment she tried to flex them.

  “Brandt may look like a cheerful oaf,” Roderic said, “but you’ve seen him with a blade. When Eryndor first suggested he train with me, I was convinced he wanted me dead.”

  Brandt snorted. “Easy, my prince. I went light on you at first. You were no more than a boy.” He angled his chin in Roderic’s direction with a half-grin. “But someone needed to remind you that knowing how to hold a sword isn’t the same as knowing how to survive with one. Better you learn it with me than bleed for it elsewhere.”

  Roderic scoffed, though amusement flickered through it—Brandt was one of the few he allowed that close.

  Elowen found herself smiling. “So Eryndor collects hopeless cases? Strays, misfits… princes who get themselves into trouble?”

  Brandt gave a low whistle. “Careful. You’ve the wrong of it, girl. Roderic’s many things, but hardly a stray.”

  Heat rushed to her face so fast it made her dizzy. “I meant me,” she blurted. “I’m the… stray.” Her shoulders curled in.

  Roderic’s brows had lifted at first; now they eased. He studied her a heartbeat longer than was comfortable, then let his gaze drift to the fire.

  “Eryndor was my grandfather’s closest friend and advisor,” he said, voice steady. “After my father took the throne, he stepped back from court, but not from us. He’s… particular, yes”—his eyes flicked to Elowen, dry humor there—“and he does like to gather ‘odd hounds,’ as he calls us. But he is the most honorable man I know.”

  Her muscles loosened a notch. “He took me in,” she said quietly. “That already says something.” She risked a shy glance up. Roderic’s answering smile was small, but it settled warmth under her ribs.

  He nudged a stick in the coals, ember light catching on the curve of his jaw.

  Brandt cleared his throat with theatrical importance. “Speaking of honorable men making fools of themselves… Have I told you about the time our prince decided to out-hunt his cousin Alenya?”

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  Roderic groaned. “Brandt.”

  “Oh, it’s a fine tale.” Brandt leaned back, palms to the ground. “Off we went into the woods. His Highness leading us like he’d already brought down half the forest. Alenya at his shoulder, quiet as a cat with a bow twice her size.”

  Elowen leaned in despite herself.

  “A stag appears by the creek,” Brandt continued. “His Highness steps forward, all grace and grandeur… and the moss gives way. Straight into the water he goes. Splash loud enough to wake the dead. Alenya hauls him out by the collar—looked like a drowned cat in velvet.”

  Roderic’s ears reddened. “I could have taken that stag.”

  “Of course you could,” Brandt said solemnly. “If the creek hadn’t ambushed you.”

  The laugh rose before she thought to swallow it. “Who is Alenya?”

  “His cousin,” Brandt said. “Eagle eyes. Tongue even sharper.”

  He opened his mouth, likely with another humiliation lined up, but Roderic pushed to his feet, brushing off his hands. “It’s late. Elowen needs rest if she’s to survive another day of Brandt’s kindness.”

  Brandt grinned. “As you command.”

  Elowen rose too, slower, her legs protesting. When she straightened, she found herself a breath from Roderic. The fire painted gold along the edges of his face—hazel eyes, softened brow, the firm line of his mouth. For a heartbeat, all she could do was look.

  His gaze dropped to hers, softer than she was prepared for. “How bad is it?” he asked, low. “Will you sleep at all? I can have the healer bring something for the pain.”

  Too close. “I’ll manage,” she said, aiming for careless and landing nearer to hoarse. She turned her head. “You’ll be at training tomorrow, Brandt?”

  “Wouldn’t miss the chance to be thrown across the snow by stray gusts,” Brandt said. “I live for it.”

  “Rest well,” she muttered, and fled for the tents before her face betrayed her further.

  As she walked away, their voices carried after her through the night air.

  “I thought you said it was late,” Brandt said, amusement threading the words.

  A pause. Roderic’s answer followed—quieter, but edged in something she felt more than heard. “It is.”

  Brandt’s laugh drifted after that. Knowing. “Cold muddles the mind. Though I’ve seen gentler things unsteady a man.”

  Something in her chest stumbled—unease or something else, she couldn’t tell. She walked faster.

  Behind her, Roderic’s voice cut through the air, deliberately plain. “We’re low on supplies. We hunt at first light.”

  “New hunt, new stories,” Brandt replied, his voice fading as Elowen slipped between the tents.

  Her fingers rose, unthinking, to the braid over her shoulder—feeling for whatever had shifted, though she couldn’t have named it if she tried.

  The cold bit harder the next morning, the kind that crawled under cloaks and settled in bone. Elowen stepped out of her tent, rubbing her hands, breath fogging the dark.

  Brandt spotted her. “Up before dawn,” he said. “Either eager for more bruises or trying to impress someone.”

  She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Eagerness isn’t the word I’d choose.”

  “Well, fortune smiles on you. Training waits. We’re out hunting instead.” He jerked his chin toward the horses. “His Highness decided we’re running low. Want to come? Ever hunted?”

  If thieving counted, she was an expert. “Not like this,” she said. “But… yes. I’d like to.”

  A shadow shifted near the tack. Roderic turned, fastening his cloak. His gaze skimmed from her face to the way she held her arms tucked tight, then to the sky. Clouds had thickened, low and heavy.

  “There’s a storm brewing,” Roderic said, scanning the sky. “Are you certain you want to come? You… dislike the cold.”

  Elowen lifted her chin. “I can manage it. And I won’t hinder you.”

  A flicker crossed his face—surprise first, then a shadow of something he masked too quickly. “No,” he said. Softer. “You won’t.”

  Brandt arrived with three horses and far too much cheer for the hour. He pressed the reins into her hands.

  “We’ll beat the storm,” Brandt said. “And certain people will rest easier with you along.”