I’m nearly through the market when a voice calls, “Sirscha?”

I turn. Prince Meilek has risen from a group of soldiers eating noodles beneath a pavilion. Someone has set up wooden tables and benches to serve customers fresh food. At the sight of him, conflicting emotions clash within me—relief but also wariness. We didn’t part on very good terms, and I don’t know how I’ll be received.

Rather than royal attire or even his captain’s armor, he’s dressed in the same uniform as the other soldiers—a leather breastplate fitted over the thick fabric of his green undershirt. A matching sash is tied around his waist, the ends hanging over an apronlike leather faulds. Silver vambraces gird his wrists. Loose pants tucked into fitted knee-high boots speckled in mud complete the illusion of an Evewynian soldier. Even his jewel-studded weapons have been traded for a simple sword.

He steps out from beneath the pavilion. His dark hair has been pulled back and knotted at the nape of his neck. Despite the disguise, the proper thing to do would be to dismount and bow. But I don’t waste time on pleasantries or protocols.

“I need your help. It’s urgent.”

Prince Meilek’s brows rise. Behind him, two other soldiers stand. I recognize them as his Blades, although they’re also dressed as regular soldiers.

He gestures for them to keep their distance and gives me a warm smile. “Shall we walk?”

I dismount and shove the reins at another of his soldiers. The soldier looks confused but grudgingly accepts responsibility over the drake.

“I’m glad to see you’ve been well treated since we last met,” Prince Meilek says, his words ending in a question. There is genuine concern in the way his eyes sweep over my face.

“I have.” I gesture around us. “Can we speak somewhere more private?”

“It’ll be dinner soon.” Torches have already been lit throughout the camps. “We’re to dine with Ronin tonight to welcome the lord’s return to his manor. There’s a stream down that way to wash up. It should be quiet enough.”

Despite my impatience, I nod and allow him to lead us. His two Blades keep a respectful distance.

“Is your sister here yet?” I ask lightly.

“Not yet, but I left her to ride ahead two days ago. She should arrive by morning.”

“Is she bringing a large entourage?”

If he finds the question strange, he doesn’t show it. “Larger than I would have recommended, but not so many that we won’t have enough tents.”

I school my expression into blankness. This doesn’t make sense. If the queen isn’t bringing her entire army, then where are all her soldiers?

As we weave through the crowd, Prince Meilek’s body language doesn’t betray any awkwardness or resentment, despite what happened in Vos Gillis.