‘It’s a bit of a by-product of your birth station, I’m afraid, princeling.’

‘Exactly!’ he cried, pointing back at her. ‘But didn’t you tell me once that I’m … I’m only prince by consensus? That if the world stops thinking I’m a prince, then I’m no longer a prince?’

She shrugged. ‘Something like that, yeah.’

‘Well, there you go. I’m not going to be a prince anymore.’

Rennic’s thick eyebrows were up.

‘And how are you going to manage that? You’re too well-known to too many in these lands, and a unilateral declaration ain’t going to cut it on this one.’

‘Which brings me back to my original point. I want to go somewhere that nobody knows me. Where nobody knows who I am, where I’m from, and most of all nobody is trying to fucking kill me! Better a lifetime as a nonentity than a short and terrified royal existence.’

A low moan carried across the camp, a sound like someone in pain, long and rising. As those around the fire turned to look, the moan became a breathy expulsion of contempt. ‘Ooooooh, whine, whine, whine.’ Brecki sat at the firelight’s edge, her back to the hillside, her lone arm knuckling one eye in imitation sobs. ‘“I don’t want to be prince, my life is too hard,”’ she mimicked in a sing-song imitation of Tarfel’s voice. ‘Pitiful coward.’

Tarfel drew back, his jaw hanging loose. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘No pardons for worms.’

Tarfel only stammered. The others around the campfire only watched. Loveless was grinning.

‘Now look here, I’m only—’

Brecki waved her hand in derision. ‘Is fitting, be prince no more. Unworthy.’

Tarfel’s cheeks were flushed pink. ‘How dare you—’

‘You are of our blood, of Horvaun. Blood of chieftains, hunters, warriors. Blood of kings. Blood of conquerors. Horvaun do not stop. Your brother is true to blood, worthy foe.’ She spat toward the fire, leaving a long string of drool swinging from her chin. ‘You are blood traitor. Unworthy. Gutless. Coward.’

Silence descended as Tarfel stared, incredulous.

‘She talks, then,’ said Loveless, one corner of her mouth pulled in a wry smile.

‘Aye, and she seems remarkably abreast of matters political,’ Lemon added with a look of deep distrust in the reaver’s direction.

‘Now, just hang on a moment,’ Tarfel barked, one hand raised, finger wagging. ‘What is your point here, you southern monster? That I should turn around and march straight back to Roniaman and … what, challenge my brother to single combat? Duel him in the Court of Confession?’ He swept the arm across himself. ‘I mean, have you seen me? I have no allies, no army, nothing to my name!’

Brecki only smiled, sarcastic and sour. ‘You are prince, you say. Princes command. Princes rule. Princes conquer. Princes not run like whipped dog.’