Chapter 23

Abigail’s cousin was called Count Torne. All decked out, that fop was sitting atop a stallion, whom I felt really bad for—carrying such an idiot probably wasn’t a dream come true.

Armor made of hammered gold, outrageously expensive weapons, lots of jewelry—if a band of brigands caught this imbecile, they would be set for life. Even their grandchildren would be. In the meantime, I was getting by with two horses, one of which was carrying all of my meager possessions: a tent, food rations, a pot, a couple of bowls and cups, a flintstone, and a tinderbox, in a word, everything I needed to survive.

We weren’t headed to the wilderness. There were people there. And really, Henry would have the time of his life with this dummy, driving him as hard as he could on mountain hikes. The count looked at me with surprise.

“Your Highness? What about your cart?”

A cart?

“It will catch up to us later,” I decided to say.

“Are we going?”

“Yes. First, we’re to meet the regiment. It’s stationed in Tyrem.”