Free The Errant Prince by Sasha L. Miller Page A

pushed him. Hartley lingered but left when Stirling cleared his throat pointedly. The door clicked shut behind him, and Stirling sighed, frowning at Tamsen. Tamsen only scowled at him, too. Not even Stirling could make him be nice to Hartley.
    "Guardsman, you're free to return to your barracks. You're granted leave until the rest of your regiment returns, and the prize money will be awarded with your pay," Stirling said, addressing Myron. The words 'prize money' sank in, and Tamsen wondered bitterly, cynically, if that had been Myron's only goal. It hadn't seemed that way, but Tamsen had a history of being easily fooled when it came to his heart.
    "Prize money?" Myron repeated. He sounded utterly puzzled, and Tamsen wasn't sure whether to be relieved or to kick himself for jumping to conclusions. "I beg your pardon, your majesty, but what prize money?"
    "Your regiment captain should have informed you," Stirling said. He gave Tamsen a scowl, as though it were somehow his fault that Myron wasn't fully informed. "I put a bounty on you."
    "I hope you don't expect me to feel sorry for you," Tamsen said, crossing his arms. "You could have let me be."
    "My regiment split up to cover more ground about a month back," Myron volunteered. "I haven't heard from Captain Farbirn since then."
    Stirling's scowl deepened, but it softened when he turned back to Myron. "The bounty was a thousand gold. You're dismissed, but I want you back here at first bell tomorrow morning for a full report."
    "Yes, your majesty," Myron said. If he was happy about the prize money, it didn't show, and Tamsen was definitely kicking himself for jumping to conclusions. Myron gave Stirling another bow. He turned to Tamsen, smiling in that infuriatingly pleasant way he had. "Your highness."
    Tamsen made a face at Myron, though he couldn't exactly expect Myron to call him by name, given where they were. Myron only smiled wider at that, and Tamsen wished he could follow Myron out of the room, in no way looking forward to the conversation he was about to have.
    "You all wait in the front office," Stirling said, gesturing to his guards who lurked nearby. They followed Myron out, leaving Tamsen and Stirling alone in his office.
    "A bounty, really? And only a thousand gold?" Tamsen asked, because that was the easiest thing to focus on. A thousand gold wasn't really anything to sneer at, but it wasn't a prince's bounty, either.
    Stirling laughed, shaking his head. He headed across the room toward his liquor cabinet, and Tamsen followed. "That was my lowball figure. I would have increased it next month if that didn't work." He poured them both a glass of whiskey. Everything from the glass to the alcohol was leagues above what he'd had at his little cottage the previous night, but Tamsen would much prefer to be there with his cheap whiskey and crooked cups.
    "Why?" Tamsen asked, swirling the alcohol around his glass. "I mean, why now? You didn't seem to care much when I first ran off."
    Stirling sighed again, looking tired. He waved Tamsen over to the nearby sofa. "I always wanted to find you, Tam. I admit, I wasn't trying as hard as I could, but that was partly because I didn't want to compromise your safety. Outside the palace, we've worked hard to ensure people think you're playing hermit, not run off. Certain events the past few months have forced my hand, however."
    "Are you going to tell me what 'certain events' means?" Tamsen asked when Stirling didn't elaborate. He wasn't going to like it, whatever it was, but he didn't exactly want to prolong the torture. He sat down on the sofa, resting his glass of whiskey on his knee.
    Stirling sat down on the sofa next to him, and he definitely looked older than Tamsen remembered. Tamsen had been born fourteen years after Stirling, an unexpected second child long after their parents had stopped trying for more. Stirling looked every bit his forty-one years; his hair was more gray than black, and solid lines were etched around his