My horse shifted nervously underneath me, whinnying. Smiths and sellers glared at the Illucians with open hostility, more than one with a hand on the hilt of a weapon. A Rhodairen man to Ericen’s left leaned to a woman beside him, muttering. His expression looked wrong.

A sharp clatter rang out. My gaze snapped to a nearby stand, where one of Ericen’s guards had carelessly tossed a dagger onto the table, causing it to topple off. “Worthless,” the guard said.

A scowl broke across the smith’s face. “Pick it up,” she said.

The guard snorted and turned away. The smith’s hand shot out fast as lightning, seizing his arm. A dagger shone in her other hand.

The action rippled through the crowd, everyone from sellers to patrons to the faces watching from the shadows going still. A space cleared around the two. Hands went to weapons. The air evaporated. In the heat and dust, my guards moved closer as a hush descended.

A flicker of blue, and Ericen shattered the stillness. He shot forward, breaking the woman’s hold and shoving his guard back a step all before I even considered intervening. The smith switched her hold on the dagger, and Ericen seized the hilt of his guard’s sword from behind, unsheathing it halfway.

“Stop!” My voice erupted, and I regretted the word instantly. The last thing I wanted to do was tell my people not to hurt an Illucian, but a showdown between elite Illucian soldiers and the weapons masters of Rhodaire would end bloodily.

For a breath, no one moved. Then slowly, the smith lowered her dagger and set it on the table. Her brown eyes never left mine. “Your Highness.” She bowed.

Only once her hand returned to her side did Ericen sheathe his guard’s sword.

“We should go,” I croaked, no longer looking at the smith, at anyone.

Ericen didn’t argue, the thick silence and dark looks probably enough to convince him. He swung back onto his horse in one fluid motion. “We’re leaving,” he said to his guards.

They didn’t acknowledge him, already at the next table as if nothing had happened.

Ericen’s face flushed. “Now.”

One of them looked back, frowning. He muttered something to the other guard, then they both mounted, and we set off. The feeling of eyes on my back dug in like claws, and I kicked my horse into a trot. I wanted to tell myself their anger and resentment was for the Illucians, but not all of it was. It was for me, for my abandonment, for my uselessness.

My throat tightened, and I urged my horse on. The smith’s dark eyes seared in my mind, burning with accusation.

Coward.