The Rebel Prince Read Online Free PDF Page B

held his breath, waiting. She resisted the urge to take his hand. The wall of cloaked and masked Merron was blocking their view, and Wynter felt closed in by them. She could not breathe. She longed to push them all aside and pull the scarf from her face. She longed to shout, Albi! It’s us! It’s Wyn and Razi! We are here! She glanced at Christopher, standing to Razi’s left. His hands were clenched.
    Úlfnaor’s voice rang out suddenly, his tone urgent, as though Alberon had begun to turn and the Merron leader wished to prevent him leaving. ‘Your Royal Highness! I have other package for you, it also my duty to deliver into your hands.’
    There was a pause, as if the Prince was taking his time turning back. A surprisingly deep voice said, ‘Another package?’
    Razi took off his hat and scarf. He let the Merron cloak drop from his shoulders. He lifted his head. The Merron parted ranks, and the brothers were finally revealed to each other.
    Alberon stood with his hand shading his eyes, puzzled. It took him a moment to comprehend; then he stepped forward, his face opening in surprise. His hand dropped to his side. His full lips curved into a smile. He whispered, ‘Razi.’
    Wynter gazed at him in wonder, and the world narrowed to just that moment, to just him. Alberon. She hardly registered Oliver bellowing for the guards, barely felt the Merron close in again to protect Razi. The clatter of the approaching soldiers was just a faint echo on the air.
    Alberon. Alberon was here.
    He is so tall , she thought in amazement. And indeed he was; tall as Razi, and strongly built, the bounding athleticism of their father evident in his broad shoulders and solid body. His previously curling hair was shorn to a choppy red-blond thatch, his pale eyebrows stark against his sun-browned skin. But his eyes were still the same, his vivid blue eyes under those sleepy lids. Still Albi. Still him.
    Wynter felt a smile begin on her lips, but even as she went to step forward, Alberon’s face closed up, his brows drew down, and his court-mask slipped smoothly into place. No longer the lost brother, no longer the childhood friend, it was a prince who now stood before her, and the expression on his face brought Wynter to a standstill. As Alberon lowered his chin and eyed Razi across the dust-laden air, Wynter felt a cold certainty that it was not a brother he saw, but a potential rival and a suspected adversary in his recent struggle with the King.
    The sound of the advancing soldiers slammed into Wynter’s consciousness. The Merron jostled close as they crowded around Razi. The warhounds began barking, and Úlfnaor yelled at them, ‘ Tarraingígí siar!’
    Someone among the advancing soldiers shouted, ‘Shoot those damned dogs!’
    Without taking his eyes from his half-brother, Alberon lifted his hand and cried, ‘ Enough! ’ At his voice, the soldiers came to a jangling halt.
    In the relative silence, the warhounds’ growls were very obvious. Sól murmured, ‘ Tóg go bog é ,’ and the big dogs stilled. The late evening air filled with the shuffling of feet and the murmuring of anxious men. There was a dangerous edge to the sound: the nervous anticipation of battle. When Razi cleared his throat and stepped from the protective circle of the Merron, Wynter had to physically prevent herself from pulling him back.
    He walked into the open and spread his arms to show that he was unarmed.
    ‘Your Royal Highness,’ he called. ‘The Lord Razi begs permission to come forward and address you.’
    Wynter regarded Alberon tensely. This was a calculated beginning on Razi’s part. It established both Razi’s recognition of Alberon as rightful heir to the throne, and Razi’s acceptance of himself as nothing more than a lord. With these few simple words, Alberon, and more importantly, Alberon’s men, had been assured that Razi had no pretensions to the throne.
    Alberon nodded coolly, and Razi walked forward to kneel in the dust at his