Lindarion said nothing.
'Of all the things to be famous for. Beating some egotistical kid in a spar. Fantastic.'
Ren smiled. "Well. That explains your attitude."
Meren squinted. "Wait. Wait wait wait. Are you saying he's… like, actually a prince? Not a metaphor?"
Ardan let out a long breath. "Yes, Meren. That's exactly what she's saying."
Lira stepped back.
"You should not be walking with exiles."
Ren stretched her legs. "Too late."
"They are beneath him."
"He walks where he wants."
Lira's eyes narrowed. "So do wolves."
Lindarion moved past her and sat. Not on the carved bench. Just on the floor, next to the fire. One knee up. His eyes didn't leave hers.
"I am not a wolf," he said. "I am very tired. And I am not leaving."
Lira said nothing for a moment.
Then, quietly, "You should have hit Sylas harder."
Ren laughed.
"Make tea," she said. "He's earned it."
Meren sank down next to Lindarion, eyeing him like he might suddenly sprout a throne. "Prince, huh?"
