Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(48)

“I’m going—” A feigned wheeze. “—to—” Another. “—I’m—” The boy launched into exaggerated coughing.

“What’s that, Your Highness?” another laughed. “You’re going to what?”

I didn’t think. I just tackled one of them. I wasn’t even sure which one. My fist was swinging before I was aware of who I was hitting.

The stables were mostly deserted, and I’m sure they didn’t expect the younger prince to come strolling through. They definitely didn’t realize who I was at first, because the boy was older and bigger and shoved me into the dirt before one of the others grabbed his arm and stopped him. They all stared at me in panic, and I remember thinking that they were either going to finish me off—or run away.

I probably would have tackled them again, but Harristan appeared in the doorway to the tack room.

He looked from me, with my lip already swelling, to the stablehands, and his gaze had darkened. Tension clung to the room for the longest moment, and I felt the other boys weighing their fate.

“Cory,” Harristan finally said. “Mother sent me to find you. Consul Montague is preparing for dinner.” He glanced at the stablehands. “Let’s allow them to get back to work before Father comes looking.”

The implications of that were clear. I got to my feet, and the boys scattered, finding duties quickly.

I wiped a hand across my jaw, and I was surprised to find blood on my knuckles. Harristan sighed, then pulled a handkerchief to wipe the blood off my mouth. “You can’t fight all my battles, little brother.”

I wanted to brush off his tending, but I knew from experience that Mother would be furious if she found evidence of brawling on my shirt. “You heard them?”

He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t hear it from our own servants?” He didn’t wait for an answer; he just unfastened his jacket. “Here. Put this on. You’ve ripped your shirt. Mother will come undone.”

I put on his jacket and buttoned it closed.

His jacket. This jacket.

I’d forgotten all about that moment.

Now, my fingers stroke across the lapels. Geoffrey wouldn’t have packed this.

Which means my brother did.

I think of the way he slipped into my carriage tonight. I dig at the pockets, in case Harristan has slipped a note into one of them, but there’s nothing.

I sit on the edge of the bed again and inhale deeply. The jacket smells of oiled leather and sweet hay, with just the tiniest undercurrent of equine sweat. I sigh and lay back on the bed, feeling the motion of the ship beneath me, listening to the rattle of rain against the porthole window. I pull the jacket to my chest and close my eyes.

You can’t fight all my battles, little brother.

That changed later, when he named me as King’s Justice. I’ve fought plenty of his battles, to the detriment of myself.

I’m sure I’ll fight plenty more. I don’t want to disappoint him.

I don’t want to disappoint Tessa.

As usual, those two choices seem to be in opposition.

But just now, I can lie here and stare up at the ceiling, inhaling the faint scents of home, and I can put off my worries for a few minutes.



I don’t mean to sleep, but I do. When I wake, I’m in the same position as before, lying on the bed, staring into darkness, the boat rocking beneath me. For an instant, I have a moment of disoriented panic, because I can’t remember where I am. But awareness snaps into place quickly, and I sit up sharply, causing my brother’s jacket to pool in my lap. The oil lantern has burned out, and the room is cold. I have no idea what time it is, and it’s too dark to see my pocket watch.

It’s too dark to see anything.

I do have the jacket, so I slip my arms into the sleeves and ease across the room in the darkness, shifting slowly with my hands out.

My shins slam right into a chest anyway, and I bite back a swear, then catch myself against the wall.

At least it helps me find the door.

I tug at the handle, then blink in the sudden light. Two lanterns hang in the corridor. Rocco was sitting cross-legged in the center of the aisle, but he’s on his feet before I’ve swung the door all the way open. An array of playing cards were laid out on the wooden boards, but they scatter a bit from his movement.

“Your Highness,” he says in surprise.

“Forgive me,” I say. “I’ve ruined your game.”

“It’s no trouble.”

My thoughts are still a bit wild and tumultuous, and I simultaneously feel wide awake and in desperate need for more sleep. It’s a feeling I remember well from my early morning runs with Tessa. I tug my watch free and glance at the face.

Half past three in the morning.

Sounds about right.

I look back at Rocco, then rub at my eyes. “You drew the night watch?”

“Kilbourne will relieve me at dawn.” His eyes flick down my form, and I realize that, aside from the jacket, I’m wearing the exact same clothes I wore when I boarded the ship—right down to my boots.

That makes me feel like a fool.

Doubly so when I glance across the hallway and see Tessa’s closed door.

I look back at Rocco, who’s studying me as if he’s wondering whether he would be within rights to suggest I go back to sleep. It’s quite possible I look hungover.