The bowmen did as I demanded and headed farther into the forest. I waited for Bastiaan to collect his four thrown discs before following. “What happened to Runt? And what about his horse?”

“He’s likely following us. Master of stealth, that lad. His horse will find its way back to the windmill.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” I fell silent, my thoughts gliding elsewhere. Somehow Sven had known I was coming. What bothered me most were the details in his order—that the men were to gag me. Silence me. Would they have shot me had I resisted?

Was Sven trying to collect the reward from the king? He wasn’t that callous, was he?

I waited for the stab of hurt like when Anouk had banished me from the schloss. Waited for the hearth coals of betrayal to burn my throat, my eyes. Instead a tight anger pressed against my ribs, and I let it.

We marched through a dell, across a mossy sward, and ended up in a small camp made of canvas tent dwellings and even a little stone cottage. The low chatter of people joined the song of dusk creatures. How long had this group been here?

Several people sat around a small fire, warming their hands against the chill that arrived with the sunset. They looked up as we strode into their midst. Conversations stilled. Fingers fiddled with various weapons. One man shot to his feet.

Sven. Tall, blond, sunbeam skin. Familiar, yet unfamiliar. His youthful face held a new frost to its angles and scruff coated his jaw. His eyes met mine and then flickered to the bald man who’d threatened Bastiaan and me.

“The man was armed. What could we do?” The bald man shrugged.

“Thanks, Archer.” Sven strode forward and wrapped me in a tight embrace. I didn’t soften. “You’re safe,” he whispered. He sounded genuine.

“No thanks to your friends. They’d have shot us.”

He steered me away from the others. The only thing that followed us was Bastiaan’s gaze. All light friendliness had gone from him, replaced by the stalwart defender he’d become when facing the bowmen.

“Who’s he?” Sven asked once we were in a private section of woods.

I stepped back, surprised. “You don’t know him? I thought he was one of your followers.”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Well, he knew where your camp was. I met him this morning, and he acted as my guide here.”

“You brought him into my camp?”

My heart was tempted to quail at Sven’s anger, but emotions had to become my past . . . in order to give me a future.

I redirected my feelings into outrage. “He brought himself here. I followed. There was no other way for me to find you. You left no word.”

“That’s because I wasn’t settled—”