In Darren Chang's arms, William Chen barely endured a few jolts before his head drooped and darkness swallowed him whole.
When he finally stirred, his blurred vision cleared to reveal Lena Sanders, her face etched with worry.
"You're awake! How do you feel?" she asked softly. "The wound on your back is deep, but not poisoned. No bones or organs were harmed. You're lucky."
There was guilt in her tone. This was a ten-thousand-tael escort mission, and on the first real threat, her client had been grievously injured—because her men had faltered. That single word lucky was not for him but for herself; had he died, the silver would have vanished with him.
"I'm fine," William replied through clenched teeth, pain burning across his back. "Where are we?"
"North Hollow Town."
Lena hesitated, her voice taut with embarrassment.
"Darren's badly hurt. Jack and Harris are wounded too. If there's another ambush like that, we won't hold out. I think…it's time you reveal who you really are."
She paused, eyes downcast.
"Technically, we're just hired guards. Your identity is none of our business. But right now…" She looked up, her wry smile weary. "We have no choice. North Hollow borders Castleton. No matter who controls this county, once you declare yourself, no magistrate would dare strike at you openly. And your own men can find you faster."
"Fine. I'll leave it to you," William said calmly.
"Which identity should I use?"
The question caught him off guard.
"When we took this job," Lena continued, "you said you feared the Marquis of Yongping. But even a fool like him wouldn't send elite bowmen to kill a minor palace aide—especially this close to Castleton."
William was silent for a moment, then met her gaze. "You've guessed it, haven't you?"
"You're not a counselor," she said quietly. "You're the Crown Prince, Heir to Prince Rui."
He inclined his head. "My family name is Gu. Given name Xi, courtesy name Yuedao."
"Shall we reveal that identity then?" she asked, one brow lifting.
He nodded once. "Yes."
She had just risen to her feet when sharp cries erupted from the street below.
"Make way! Out of the way! Officials hunting fugitives—murderous outlaws, every one! Clear the road!"
Lena's expression hardened. She snatched up her wrist-mounted crossbow and darted to the window. From her corner room on the second floor, one window overlooked the bustling main street, the other a narrow alley behind the inn. Both ends of the street were now flooding with constables and soldiers.
"Harris, carry the lord on your back. Jack, follow me. Darren, you guard the rear—don't charge ahead," she ordered.
As she spoke, she seized the oil lamp, splashed its contents over the bedding. Jack, knowing her intent, struck his flint. Sparks met oil; flames roared to life. Lena kicked open the door, flung the burning blanket onto the wooden railing. Fire climbed greedily up the beams. One swift kick sent the blazing rail crashing down. She turned, shut the door behind her, and vaulted through the window into the alley.
Harris lowered Gavin Shea—the prince's true name—by rope, then leapt down after him, hoisting him onto his back. The group fled down the alley, only to collide head-on with armed soldiers. Lena's crossbow snapped; one fell. Darren charged, his massive fists scattering the rest like straw.
"Harris!" Lena barked. "Ask who dares assault a royal envoy!"
Harris puffed out his chest and thundered, "Who are you curs, to lay hands upon my lord!"
Gavin nearly laughed aloud at his theatrical bluster—it sounded more like a stage actor than a guard.
"I am Gavin Shea, Heir to Prince Rui and Chief Minister of the Secretariat! Where is Felix Zhao? Bring him before me!" Gavin's voice cracked like thunder.
The soldiers froze, staring at the man on Harris's back. Then someone unseen shouted from behind them:
"The Prince Heir is still on envoy duty in the Southlands! Imposter! Kill him!"
Confusion rippled through the ranks; hesitation followed.
"Call your magistrate to verify him!" Lena shouted.
"Yes! Bring your county lord to kneel and greet—ah-ya-ya-ya—His Highness!" Harris added grandly.
The final flourish ruined the majesty entirely. The soldiers burst into laughter.
"Damn it, even street performers think they can impersonate princes now!"
Lena clenched her fists, furious.
"Kill them all! A thousand silver per head—five thousand for two!" the unseen voice roared.
The soldiers' eyes gleamed with greed as they advanced, shields raised, blades drawn. Darren stepped forward, bellowing once; the line faltered, but pressed on again.
Behind them, fire burst through the inn's roof—flames spiraled skyward in a roar. Lena fired twice; two soldiers fell. Panic rippled through the ranks.
"Archers! Bring the archers!"
Just as Lena prepared to charge, a piercing whistle split the air:
"Make way for the royal escort! Make way!"
Gavin exhaled softly. "They're mine," he murmured.
"Yours?" Lena asked without turning.
"Yes."
"Here! Over here!" Harris yelled, leaping and waving his arms.
A rider in silver armor thundered through the chaos, scattering soldiers with sweeps of his spear's shaft. The white horse reared to a halt before Gavin. The rider dismounted in a single motion, dropping to one knee.
"Your Highness! I thought you were—" His voice broke; tears glimmered in his eyes.
Before he could finish, Darren swayed, collapsing like a felled tree. Harris shrieked, diving to catch him and ending up crushed beneath his massive frame. "Mother of mercy! I'm—dead—squashed—dead!"
Gavin, still unsteady, stumbled and fell when Harris lurched away. Jack Golden tripped over Darren's leg and landed atop them both, earning another strangled groan from the bottom of the heap.
Lena rushed forward, pressing her fingers to Darren's pulse. After a moment, she exhaled. Faint, but steady—he would live.
When she looked up, Gavin was already standing, supported by the silver-armored youth, issuing sharp orders to the gathered troops. Relief washed over her; her knees gave way, and she sank beside Darren, utterly spent.
They had carried the unconscious prince through countless detours, arriving at North Hollow only at dawn. No sooner had they changed his bandages than danger found them again. Now, with the fires dying and the prince safe, exhaustion claimed her at last.
By sunrise, Gavin Shea lay in the county post station, tended by physicians. Darren, Jack, Harris, and Lena were brought in after him.
Only when the doctor confirmed Darren's collapse was from blood loss, not mortal injury, did Lena finally allow herself to rest. She washed away the grime and blood, bound her wounds, and fell into the first deep sleep she'd known in days.