Page 48 of The Prince's Fealty

It was an incredibly awkward hug. Ondun’s hands came up to pat Tor on the back gingerly, probably because he wasn’t used to having a prince throw himself at him. Probably because, two years ago, Tor had been his commanding officer, captain of the guard, and nothing else.

Probably because, two years ago, Tor had drunkenly ordered this man to go into the mountains after the exiles, where, until about ten seconds ago, it was presumed he’d died.

But he was here, and he wasn’t dead, and that meant Tor was clinging on for dear life.

Pel was suddenly at his side. “Everything all right?”

Reluctantly, Tor extricated himself from the hug.

Ondun was red-faced, but he looked way less anxious now. Pel looked concerned, but thankfully more like he was worried about Tor than worried why he was hugging someone else.

Tor drew in a deep breath and then let it out slowly. His eyes were prickling with tears, and he had to blink them back.

“Yes, sorry, everything is fine. Pel, this is Ondun, one of the guards who, uh, went up the mountain in Filon two years ago.”

Pel’s eyes snapped to his. “What? Really?”

Tor nodded.

A grin grew across Pel’s face, until his eyes were alight with happiness. “Oh, Tor, I’m so glad.”

He stepped closer and wrapped an arm around Tor’s waist. Tor leaned into him gratefully, the torrent of emotion flooding through him almost too much to handle.

“Are you all right?” Tor asked. “Did more of you survive?”

Ondun nodded. “Eight of us. Well, nine that night. Fremuni and Bezun were killed when we were captured. We were outnumbered, and we, uh, surrendered.”

“As you should have,” Tor assured him immediately.

Ondun looked relieved again. “They, uh, agreed not to kill us if we pledged to remain with them. We had to renounce our Fealty and promise never to leave. We agreed.”

Tension was creeping back into Ondun’s face and shoulders, and Tor hastened to reassure him once more.

“I shouldn’t have sent you up the mountain after the exiles. It wasn’t something the High King would have approved of. I should have been more alert, should have asked more questions, and should have better protected you. I failed you, and I apologize for that.”

Looking totally uncomfortable, it was Ondun’s turn to reassure Tor, “It’s all right. You were following orders, and so were we.”

Swallowing bile, Tor made himself confess, “No, I messed up. I thought the letter from the High King ordered me to send you after the exiles, but it actually ordered menotto send you after them.”

Ondun’s brow furrowed. “No, it didn’t.”

Tor blinked at him. “What?”

Ondun stared back. “The letter ordered you to send guards after the exiles.”

Tor’s breath caught, and Pel’s arm tightened around his waist.

“How do you know that?” he demanded, way too harshly.

Ondun flinched, and red crept up his cheeks and ears.

Blowing out a breath, Tor said, “Sorry. I, uh, I’ve spent the last two years with the knowledge that I somehow misread that letter and sent twelve people to their deaths. In the morning, the only letter in my tent clearly ordered menotto send anyone after the exiles. Everyone said I was drunk and must have imagined the other letter, the one I remember.”

Most of the tension eased out of Ondun as a look of understanding crossed his face. He still looked… chagrined? He cleared his throat.

“In that case, the important thing you need to know is that I absolutely didnotsneak into the High Prince’s tent looking for a piece of paper so I could write my little sister a letter before I went off after the exiles, because I’d solemnly promised her I’d write after the fight, and I’d realized I had no paper.”

Tor stared blankly at him for a moment, and then he let out an incredulous bark of laughter.