By the time I reached the double eagle fountain, the path to the palace gates was swarming with people and horses: Vasily and his aristocrat friends in their elaborate riding regalia, First Army officers in their sharp uniforms, and behind them, a legion of servants in white and gold.

I found Mal checking his saddle near a group of royal trackers. He was easy to pick out in his peasant roughspun. He had a gleaming new bow on his back and a quiver of arrows fletched in the pale blue and gold of the Ravkan king. The formal Ravkan hunt forbade the use of firearms, but I noticed that several of the servants had rifles on their backs, just in case the animals proved to be too much for their noble masters.

“Quite a show,” I said, coming up beside him. “Just how many people does it take to bring down a few boar?”

Mal snorted. “This is nothing. Another group of servants left before dawn to set up the camp. Saints forbid a prince of Ravka should be kept waiting on a hot cup of tea.”

A horn blew and the riders began to fall into place in a clatter of hooves and clanking stirrups. Mal shook his head and gave a firm tug on the cinch. “Those boar had better be deaf,” he grumbled.

I glanced around at the glittering uniforms and high-polished boots. “Maybe I should have outfitted you in something a little more … shiny.”

“There’s a reason peacocks aren’t birds of prey,” he said with a grin. It was an easy, open smile, the first I’d seen in a long time.

He’s happy to be going, I realized. He’s grumbling about it, but he’s glad. I tried not to take it personally.

“And you’re like a big brown hawk?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

“Or an overlarge pigeon?”

“Let’s stick with hawk.”

The others were mounting up, turning their horses to join the rest of the party as they headed down the gravel path.

“Let’s go, Oretsev,” called a tracker with sandy hair.

I felt suddenly awkward, keenly aware of the people surrounding us, of their inquisitive stares. I had probably breached some kind of protocol by even coming to say goodbye.

“Well,” I said, patting his horse’s flank, “have fun. Try not to shoot anyone.”

“Got it. Wait, don’t shoot anyone?”

I smiled, but it felt a bit forced.

We stood there a moment longer, the silence stretching out between us. I wanted to fling my arms around him, bury my face in his neck, and make him promise to be safe. But I didn’t.

A rueful smile touched his lips. He bowed.

“Moi soverenyi,” he said. My heart twisted in my chest.

He climbed into the saddle and kicked his horse forward, disappearing in the sea of riders flowing toward the golden gates.

I made the walk back to the Little Palace in low spirits.

It was early, but the day was already growing warm. Tamar was waiting for me when I emerged from the wooded tunnel.