He probably looked like hell.
That was his first self-assessment as his boots pressed into the damp green grass. The wind was gentle, the sun forgiving, but his body felt like it had been dragged through a week of sleepless nights and it had.
He wanted nothing more than to collapse into a bed and soak in a steaming bath. But both luxuries were out of reach. Sleep would have to wait there was work to be done, and a bath? Impossible. It wouldn't do for the prince to be seen having warm water hauled across the camp like some pampered noble. Not here. Not now.
He had built an image: the prince of soldiers.And he protected it fiercely.
Though he had never fought in a pitched battle, and privately hoped to keep it that way, he had compensated in every other way he could.
