The village of Duoin had been around for centuries, and looked it. The stone walls surrounding the main portion of town were crumbling and in some places had even fallen to dust. These areas were all manned by gruff, bearded guards in rough-spun tunics. They eyed Cedric warily as he approached the wall with Rafe and the others.
“Back alive, then?” the nearest guard said to Rafe. His front teeth were yellowed, and he picked at them with a grimy finger.
“Do not look so excited, or I will start to think you miss me when I’m gone,” Rafe replied with a grin. The guard guffawed, and Rafe held up a large, misshapen pack. After they’d eaten at the fire the night before, Rafe and his men had gone back to the dead wraths to collect their weapons and supplies, which now knocked together as he lifted the bag.
The guard’s eyebrows raised. “Good haul, then. And who’s this?” He motioned to Cedric, then to Kat and Liv a few feet away. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he took in Cedric’s odd clothes—worn denim from the other world, as well as a shirt that read LA DODGERS. Not the most royal of garments.
Cedric opened his mouth to speak, but Rafe beat him to it. “Surprise guests. Come, open the gates and join us inside. All will be revealed.”
The guard stared at Rafe through narrowed eyes, as if slowly working through his words. Finally, he climbed down from the wall and produced a large key from his belt, then used it to open a thick set of wooden doors.
Cedric followed Rafe inside to the center of Duoin, the others close behind. The village was made up entirely of stone buildings and grasses of various heights. A group of thin goats bleated weakly from a small enclosure near the main wall.
But if the goats looked pathetic, the people looked worse. Here and there, worn-out men and women walked down dirt paths or sat on sagging porches, watching as Cedric and Rafe and their group filed past. Many of them were injured, sporting bandaged arms or makeshift crutches. One was missing an eye.
“Where are the soldiers?” Cedric asked Rafe.
Rafe moved his arm widely, in a gesture that seemed to take in the entire town. “All around you.”
“But these aren’t trained fighters. Did none of the king’s guard escape? What of the village’s own hunters?”
Rafe’s mouth was a thin line. “Many of our best fighters were involved in the first full assaults against the wraths, and their numbers were . . . depleted. This is what’s left.”
Again there was a coldness to Rafe’s voice. Cedric turned around to see Kat limping slowly through the village next to Liv, who looked around with wide eyes. Rafe’s other bowmen brought up the rear.
“Here we are,” Rafe replied, stopping in the middle of a round patch of dirt that Cedric assumed must be the village’s center. A cluster of buildings lined the edges of the patch.
“Duoin!” Rafe shouted, turning in a circle. “We have returned from the hunting party, and with news!”
Cedric watched as men and women emerged from the buildings, slowly gathering around the edge of the circle. Their eyes slid warily over Cedric to land on Rafe, whom they watched eagerly.
Rafe threw his arm out toward Cedric. “I have found, wandering in the wood, none other than the one who we all believed to be dead. People of Duoin, I give you Cedric West, Prince of Caelum. Warrior son of the Oaken King! He lives!”
Stunned silence. Not just from the villagers, but from Cedric as well. His throat felt tight, and he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with his hands. He wished suddenly that he was holding a sword, or even an arrow—anything he could grip to keep his fingers still and occupied as the hundred or so villagers around the circle stared him down.
The crowd started murmuring, some looking to Rafe in disbelief, others training suspicious eyes on Cedric.
“Hello,” Cedric said, his voice sounding unsatisfactory to his own ears.
No one moved. The silence stretched until finally one toothless old woman stepped forward. Her milky eyes raked over Cedric, and after a few moments her mouth stretched into a smile. “He has the queen’s eyes.”
Cedric nodded at the old woman, grateful.
“Believe me, Duoin,” Rafe said, “this boy who stands before you is none other than the prince.”
Cedric bristled at Rafe’s use of the word boy, but worried that to correct the person who’d saved his life and led the village for months would seem petty.
“The prince has been wandering in another world, but he is back now, and he has a plan to retake the city and free the king and queen.”
Another silence.
“I . . . well . . .” Cedric shot an angry glance at Rafe, but the duke’s son was no longer meeting his eye. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Rafe barreled onward. “Of course, now that we know the royals are alive, my trusted men and I have a plan as well. One that will build on the knowledge we’ve gained over the last months, the knowledge we’ve earned by fighting and shedding blood to protect our lands. The knowledge that has led to one of our biggest wrath kills yet!”
Before Cedric could interject, Rafe lifted the arm that held his sack and tipped it over onto the ground. And what came tumbling out wasn’t just weapons, but bloodied, hacked-off wrath horns. At least ten of them, maybe a dozen.
From behind him, Cedric heard Kat gasp. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the gory sight on the village ground, or the triumph in Rafe’s expression. For as long as he’d been alive, he’d been taught to fight wraths to keep them from Guardian villages—even to kill them, if necessary. But this, taking trophies . . . it turned something necessary into something . . . ugly.
But the villagers of Duoin didn’t seem to agree. When they saw the carnage on the ground, their coarse voices went up in cheers. Many of them clapped, and the old woman who’d compared Cedric’s eyes to the queen’s even jumped up and down—with joy. The villagers were no longer watching Cedric at all. Their eyes were trained on Rafe, who thrust his fist up in triumph, basking in their cheers.
“Tonight, we celebrate sending these monsters back to the hell from whence they came! But tomorrow, we determine our next move against those who hold our entire way of life hostage. The prince deserves to have his plan heard out, but I believe I have earned that right as well.”
Rafe gestured to the mound of wrath horns at his feet.
“Just as I believe you have earned the right to decide for yourselves how and when you want to fight, to win back what was taken from us. What say you, mighty villagers of Duoin?”
The cheers were deafening.
Rafe turned to Cedric and bowed his head slightly, nothing in his expression betraying the shrewdness of his actions. But they had been shrewd—and fast. It was clear the villagers loved Rafe, and there was no one here to back up Cedric’s authority as prince—no king’s guard, no king’s army, no king. Just Cedric himself, standing in these ridiculous pants, without even a sword to hold in his hand. Before he’d even had time to catch his bearings in this altered world, he’d been thoroughly outplayed. He had no plan to present to Duoin.
And he had no idea what to do next.