And Wren had just allowed Leo to be delivered to him. Except, if the regent was here, where did that leave Leo?
“It’s a closely guarded secret. I don’t tell strangers, or…”
“Enemies?” Wren asked somewhat coldly, his rejection still stinging. “I probably should have guessed, Lord-Smith Julian. Your weapons and armor. The way you talk—and that posh accent.”
“What do you mean?”
“You sound prissier than the prince.”
“No, that’s not—” He shook his head, evidently taking issue with the adjective, before continuing. “What do you mean, ‘the way I talk’？”
She shrugged, slightly uncomfortable now. “The way you always said ‘my people.’ How protective you are over them, including bandits who wanted to kill you. How you reacted to that battlefield. Even the stories about your mother were about admiring the way she had cared for others. You’re like her—you feel a responsibility to those under your care.”
Why did that statement make her feel like she’d revealed something? Yes, she’d felt a taste of it when he’d found her in that spring and watched over her, checking her wound and building up the fire.
And yes, maybe she had liked it.
“Oh,” he said softly. His cheeks flushed, like he was embarrassed. Or pleased. “Right. Well, I guess it was about time. I think it’s safe to say we’re not strangers anymore.”
“Or enemies?” she asked, trying to sound indifferent, but she feared she’d come across as self-conscious instead.
He was serious when he replied. “No.”
Something in his expression made the fact that she hadn’t told him who she was weigh heavily on her. “Well, speaking of—”
“Look,” he said, cutting her off, his attention back on the main street. “They’ve gone inside. Now what?”
Wren looked out of the alley once more, thinking hard. “They must get camp followers and hangers-on—bored locals throwing themselves at those soldiers every time they visit.” Sure enough, several villagers milled around the stables already, chatting up their favorites or perhaps hoping to meet new ones. “I could slip in among them, see if I can extricate one of the soldiers. Maybe the flag bearer—he looks young and gullible.”
“Extricate?” Julian said with a frown. “You can’t just march over and drag him out of there—the others will see.”
Wren crossed her arms. “You think that’s the only way I can get a boy alone? By dragging him?”
He raised his brows at her, and she recalled that she had technically dragged him into the spring before they’d kissed, but that was different. It certainly wasn’t the only tactic at her disposal, at any rate.
“I am capable of subtlety,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster.
Was it doubt that tightened his mouth and darkened his expression—or was it something else?
“What are you going to do, then?” he asked stiffly.
Wren shrugged, lowering her hood and removing her swords. “Try to find out who the regent is meeting. Where.” She pulled off her coat next and undid her shirt buttons, loosening them one after the other until her cleavage was exposed. Then she tied the jacket around her waist, accentuating her hips and removing some of the militaristic air of her outfit. “They might sit in the main room, or maybe he demands some sort of private parlor. Either way, there’ll be windows, servant corridors, empty closets…”
Julian had been watching her, but now that she met his gaze, he looked away. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”
“Because I have.” She didn’t have a reputation as the worst instigator and rulebreaker in her house by accident. “How do I look?” she asked, fussing with her shirt and smoothing her hair. She pulled some strands across her forehead, hoping they would help obscure her eyes and soften her appearance.
Julian surveyed her closely. “Like trouble,” he said, almost reluctantly.
“The right kind?” she asked. She didn’t want to look like a thief or vagabond. She wanted to look like innocent mischief.
He hesitated. “Yes,” he said. Then— “I almost feel sorry for him.”
Wren flashed a smile, warmth spreading in her chest. “Stay here. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
He nodded, but as she turned to go, he called out, “Wait.”
Turning, she cocked her head. “Are you going to tell me to be careful?” she asked teasingly.
Expression serious, he stepped toward her and reached out, unfolding the neckline of her shirt to further expose her collarbone. He bent slightly to whisper into her ear, “Be convincing.”
* * *
As it turned out, she was.
She strolled into the stable yard like she belonged there, and her calm, carefree attitude ensured that the stableboys only watched her idly, not suspiciously. She smiled, casually turning her head when any of the locals glanced her way, and found herself next to her target: the flag bearer. She made sure to arrange herself in the shadows of the building, hoping that the fading sunlight along with her hairstyle would keep her smith identity concealed.
While the other soldiers enjoyed the attention of a handful of young men and women, the flag bearer was very much on the outskirts. He was tall but thin, his face covered in preadolescent spots, and he turned endearingly red when she leaned against the fence next to him, smiling.
All Wren had to do was hint, heavily, that she wanted to “see his room” before he was spilling their secrets.
“Oh, we don’t get a room. We’ll be sleeping outside.”
“Is the inn so very full?” she asked, tilting her head shyly and tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. It felt like she was being a little too obvious, but he didn’t seem to notice—or mind.
“Full? No. Booked? Yes.”
“What does that mean?” she asked in polite confusion.
The flag bearer glanced around. Wren leaned closer, as if rapt, as he spoke. “The regent is conducting business,” he said ominously. “That means he gets his fancy suite, and the rest of the rooms besides. He doesn’t want people on either side, able to overhear his conversations, so he insists on having the entire floor to himself. Any traders in town will be sleeping in their carts tonight.”
Wren glanced up at the inn, at the series of second-story windows. She suspected his suite was in the middle, with the double-doored balcony. Which meant the rest of the windows led to empty rooms, perfect for eavesdropping. They just had to get inside.
She made her excuses to the crestfallen flag bearer, promising to come back around later, before darting away from the inn. She was just about to duck into the alley with Julian when another shout echoed down the street, similar to before.
Again, the southern gate groaned open, but this time the riders that piled into Caston wore no distinguishing colors and carried no banners.
They were, however, familiar.
Riding at the front of the column was the captain that had tried to take Julian’s life. And next to him, tied to his horse and with a dark hood over his head, was undoubtedly Prince Leopold. She’d recognize his elegant posture anywhere, and she was relieved to see that days of captivity hadn’t changed it.