One man spun after him, taking aim. Bastiaan twitched. The man’s arrowhead dropped to the ground, severed cleanly from its shaft. He lowered his bow, startled.

Runt was nowhere to be seen. Only then did I realize the second guard’s arrow no longer bore a tip either. He hadn’t noticed yet and continued to aim his blunt stick at us.

I glanced at Bastiaan. What sort of man was I with?

“Gentlemen.” Bastiaan sat relaxed in his saddle. “How can we help you?”

“No talking!” The one nearest us—bald and stocky—lifted the bow and only then saw the missing head. Bastiaan’s lip twitched. The man dropped the broken arrow and nocked a new one. He jerked his chin toward me. “Down. Now.”

Bounty hunters. These must be the men the king sent after me.

Bastiaan’s amusement vanished. “No.”

I scrambled from my saddle. “What do you want?”

“Quiet.” Then, to his companion, the bowman said, “Gag her, Luuk.”

“Now that’s not going to happen, gents.” Bastiaan stood in his stirrups. Two silver discs with wicked-sharp edges glinted between his fingers. “Your arrowheads were a warning.”

“There are two of us and one of you,” the bald one said in a shrill voice.

Bastiaan flicked his wrists, almost lazily. The discs struck the narrow wood of each man’s bow, centimeters above their clenched fists, and stuck there. Bastiaan had two new discs in his hands before I could blink. “One for each of you,” he said. “And I never miss.”

The bald man lowered his bow. “I’m not willing to die for these orders,” he muttered. His mate, Luuk, followed suit.

“What orders?” They weren’t dressed like militairen. Maybe they weren’t from the king.

Neither man spoke.

“Tell me!” I demanded. Bastiaan lifted the two deadly discs and raised his eyebrows.

“Sven told us to intercept you . . . and not to let you speak. So”—the man called Luuk scuffed his boot in the leaves—“will you come?”

Sven gave orders about me. “Okay—”

“Absolutely not.” Incredulous, Bastiaan looked at me.

“This was my entire purpose,” I said in an undertone.

“Ah yes, to travel bound and gagged at the point of an arrow into the arms of your true love.”

“He’s not . . .” Ugh, what did it matter? I didn’t understand Sven’s order any more than Bastiaan did, but I needed to see Sven. I addressed the two men. “Hand over your bows and then I’ll follow you to Sven.” I passed my reins to Bastiaan. “Thank Diantha for lending me her horse. And thank you for accompanying me here.”

“You think I’m going to leave you in the hands of these ruffians?” He dismounted.

Bastiaan didn’t owe me anything—he shouldn’t follow me into trouble. But I couldn’t deny that his company in this situation brought me ease.