We spent nearly a week crossing plains, the days bleeding into one another in a haze of heat and hissing grasses. Saddlesore and sunburnt, my daily prayers for clouds went unanswered, the blazing sun cutting across the horizon each morning. There was no reprieve even after it had set, my evenings dedicated to testing whether Dulciana's poison still flooded my veins in an attempt to wean me from the antidote.

I was not alone in my suffering, Frederico seated across from me while Beatriz and Rafael poked and prodded us to test whether out fingers were going numb or not. The crown prince had returned to his silent, brooding self, his outburst at the inn seeming to have been brought on by the catastrophic news from Relizia. He remained cryptic and vague whenever I attempted to strike up a conversation about where we were headed or what his plans were.

Rafael did not approach me again, nor did either of his uncles, serving only to confirm my suspicions that my spying had gotten me ousted from the prince's inner circle. But I wasn't worried, not with the way things were going. Excluded though I was, it was easy enough to read the body language of Rafael's uncles, to notice the tense way Frederico held his shoulders whenever they approached, to overhear the other men grumbling about why we were headed away from the safety of the Carvalho lands.

Three days of weaning and I was free of the antidote, though it was no small annoyance that my fingers had always been the first to tingle, earning me a hasty dose of the foul antidote and a frustrated sigh from Beatriz. She'd kept dosing her brother as well, despite his protests that he felt fine. Had I been in her shoes, I would likely have forced it down his throat for at least another week, just to be sure he wouldn't fall asleep and never wake up.

For those three nights, while we sat huddled together around the fire, the rest of the camp quiet around us, Dulciana's name floated unsaid between us. From the poison she'd slipped into our veins to the fact we were still scouting ahead and behind, wary of royal soldiers, and the inconvenient way we'd avoided main roads for most of our journey, the eldest Ardalonian royal haunted us. Rafael mostly, it seemed, the way he tended to take his leave whenever Beatriz was forced to hand over more vials of antidote for us. I was haunted by the vision of his dying brother and his pregnant wife and I'd barely known them. I couldn't imagine what Rafael was going through, especially with his uncles breathing down his neck about Frederico's secretive form of leadership.

I finally identified the outlet for Rafael's emotions the first evening I was able to fall asleep without the antidote clouding my mind with fatigue. I slept fitfully, awakening with a start before the sun had so much as crested the horizon. Sounds of brawling, the thud of flesh connecting with flesh and the resulting grunts of effort and pain, were muffled in the pre-dawn air. I scoured the relative darkness, scrabbling free from my bedroll and searching for something to use as a weapon when my confused, sleep-deprived eyes settled upon the source of the disturbance.

Beyond the sparse trees of our camp, Rafael was pummelling Beatriz. Or, more accurately, he was attempting to. She blocked his blows with hands wrapped in broad swaths of cloth as padding, dodging and weaving around him while he muttered and grunted. I watched them spar, admiring the way she used her lithe speed against Rafael's brute strength.

Freed from the grip of the antidote, the sounds of their sparring woke me every morning after that. On my fourth antidote-free morning, when the combination of my sunburnt skin and a wild bird that had decided to crow the dawn hours before it was due kept me from my sleep, I dared to saunter over to them. Rafael glanced my way, which only earned him a shot to the ribs from Beatriz. After that, the pair of them thoroughly ignored me when I watched them spar each morning.

They alternated between fists and makeshift weapons, sticks they used as swords or staffs, longer ones they jabbed like spears. Some mornings, others from our group would join them, not at all hesitant to dole out blows to Beatriz, even though she was a woman. Few landed thanks to the fleetness of her feet and her dancelike evasive maneuvers, but not a single one of her sparring partners ever pulled their punches.

Even though I observed them every morning, I was never invited to join.

I was an outsider in this camp. Beyond Rafael and Beatriz, the others barely exchanged any words with me. Frederico's uncles kept their distance, especially after my conversation with Rafael. Clearly they knew just was well as I did how terribly suspicious it would look for them to be seen speaking with me behind Frederico's back. The other men had no reason to speak to me, especially when it became clear that I was just as clueless about Frederico's plans as they were.

But unlike them, I was not a soldier whose obedience was expected and required. I was a prince. A curious prince.

Eight days after our departure from the inn, the air finally cooled and we were met with the scent of salt and seaweed when the wind changed direction in the afternoon. Frederico signalled for us to stop, the sun still far higher in the sky than it had ever been when we'd stopped to make camp.

"We stop here until tomorrow. Find somewhere defensible to sleep," Frederico told Rafael's uncles, before turning his horse towards where I was trailing behind him, "Come with me, please."

He didn't wait for my answer before urging his horse forward, breaking into a trot towards the trees in the distance. Wordlessly, Beatriz and Rafael followed him, neither of them surprised by our sudden stop.

I purposefully dawdled behind them, making no haste to catch up lest Frederico think I could be trained to heel like a dog. When I lost sight of the three of them, Rafael doubled back to hasten me onwards. We followed a deer track through the forest until the trees shrank down, gnarled and salt-stained, as we approached a seaside cliff. Frederico gestured for the other two to hang back as he rode towards the edge of the cliff, salt spray crashing up behind him from the churning waves below.

Rolling my eyes at the dramatic backdrop, I trundled my way up to him, my brown eyed mare just as unhurried as I was. Our cliff overlooked a crescent moon bay, a village huddled along its shore. Fishing boats bobbed and swayed at anchor, while others whisked out beyond a churning reef, towards the open ocean. My eyes lit upon the one ship that seemed out of place, a large merchant vessel, mighty sails furled as it towered over the fishing boats.

Frederico, you sneaky bastard, I thought.

"That ship is a Bazeran merchant vessel, bound for Everton," Frederico began, his gaze following my own.

Everton. The southernmost port city of Pretania.

Home.

"I offer you an escape because I have come to think of you as an ally," Frederico continued.

"Really? Despite all my spying?" I asked, emphasizing my surprise in an attempt to break him free from whatever pre-rehearsed speech he was about to deliver. His lips pursed, but he continued, undeterred.

"My sister has made her move for my crown and, if my sources are correct, she will have fulfilled all that is required by Ardalonian law to rule."

"A shame, really," I put in, "How will you handle your new title of Frederico, prince of nothing and king of less?" This earned me an exasperated glance before, again, he somehow managed to tug his kingly veneer back into place.

"I am the rightful king of Ardalone," he said, "And I will need my foreign allies to help me reclaim my throne."

I let out a low, impressed whistle, a mockery of his foolish plan.

"Stealing the crown from your sister - who, as you just finished explaining, has claimed it rightfully as her own - using foreigners to help you. Freddy, your planning is sloppy at best and catastrophic at worst."

There it was, the glare I'd been hunting for. I smirked.

"I have delivered you to your salvation and all you can do is mock me?" he demanded.

"I'm not mocking you, your majesty," I said, intentionally drawing out the last word. "I'm mocking your plan. Ardalone has the most powerful navy in the entire continent and it is now controlled by your bloodthirsty sister. Anyone who agrees to help you will face the threat of that armada. Blockades at best, full-fledged warfare at worst."

"I will promise them peace," Frederico cut in.

"They already have peace. Dulciana may be a child with a shiny new toy, but she is not foolish enough to recklessly unleash it, not when she needs the kings of the continent to recognize her as the rightful queen. She will use it as a threat in her bargaining, no doubt, so what could you possibly offer that would be enough for anyone to risk crossing her in favour of you?"

"I do not need lessons in political strategy from you," Frederico said, ignoring my question.

"I very much beg to differ," I fired back. His eyes flashed with annoyance.

"You grew up in the gentle court of a peaceful country," Frederico said, his words delivered as if they were the vilest of insults. "The greatest hardship you ever faced was what, a hunt being rained out? You cannot lecture me when all you have known is petty court intrigue, when you are but a meddlesome, secondborn son with a penchant for stirring up trouble instead of solving problems."

That stung, more than a little. I tried to keep my face neutrally arrogant, my smirk still in place.

"I may be nothing more than a 'meddlesome, secondborn son,' but I offered myself up to solve a very big problem for my brother," I said, unable to keep the ice from my tone. "You've devolved to flinging insults, which means that I've scraped the bottom of the barrel of your planning. You can't answer my question about what you have to offer because you haven't the slightest clue. Dulciana has the upper hand in everything now and you are only used to negotiating when you hold the power. How fortunate that I, as a 'meddlesome, secondborn son,' am all too familiar with such a position."

I'd struck the truth, my suspicions confirmed when Frederico's eyes narrowed for the barest of moments, reassessing me.

"You need my help, Frederico, even if you are too proud to admit it," I said.

Salty air buffeted the pair of us, crashing waves filling the silence as Frederico regarded me.

"What I need is for you to board that ship and go home to Highcastle to petition your father on my behalf," Frederico said. I cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"That is an awful plan, Freddy." I relished his wince at the nickname. "What is to stop me from hopping aboard that ship, sailing home, and remaining safely ensconced in my - gentle court, was it? Yes, my peaceful court, sipping wine while watching you and your sister fight to the death for Ardalone's throne. Unless, of course, you intended to leave me with petty insults as a parting gift to inspire my loyalty?"

"You are still bound by the treaty our fathers signed," Frederico said. "If your father backs my claim to the throne, I will nullify the treaty."

Oh, he really was grasping at straws now. I settled back in my saddle, fixing him with my most patronizing smile.

"I don't think anyone is particularly bothered by that treaty, especially when the man who signed it is dead and the woman wearing your crown will be just as willing to tear it up in exchange for my father's recognition. Poor choice of bargaining chip, Fred." I tsked. "You should have led with the promise to keep Pretania safe from Ardalone's navy, something your sister will never promise. I'd already dropped the hint for you earlier. You ought to listen when you're attempting to negotiate, to put yourself in my shoes if you intend to bribe me. Just one of the many lessons I'd be more than willing to help you learn, if you could finally bring yourself to trust me."

Frederico held my gaze, the thundering waves crashing then crashing again, before he inhaled and scrubbing a gloved hand over his face.

"Now I see why Rafael was so intent upon keeping you here," he said, with a glance back towards where the big man waited with Beatriz, near the edge of the trees.

"Rafael is a wise man," I said.

He looked back to me with that unreadable expression of his. When he said nothing, I continued.

"If I was advising you, I'd recommend that you not hang your hopes of winning your crown on foreigners. You have all you need right here, in Ardalone, to help you take back your throne. Or perhaps you hadn't noticed, what with spending all your time gallivanting in Vareinne or sequestered in High Relizia."

"I already know about the unrest among the commoners," Frederico said. "I need a different plan."

"Then you're a fool who will never win back his throne," I replied. He shifted impatiently in his saddle.

"It seems that we've reached an impasse. I have nothing to offer you but my good faith hope that you will advocate for me in Highcastle. If you are quite finished, perhaps it is time for you to board your ship."

I studied the merchant vessel anchored in the bay, my thoughts churning. Home would mean safety, but it would also mean Frederico left to his own devices against Dulciana. The cards were stacked against him, if all he had to back him were the Carvalho men and the commoners he refused to weaponize. Dulciana had the fortress of High Relizia, the power and influence of the throne, while Frederico was camping under the stars, sneaking around Ardalone like a fugitive, effectively playing into the story Dulciana had no doubt spun about him being behind the plot to murder the king.

I could return home to safety, to my family, to the court I'd grown up in, but something felt wrong about leaving. I didn't entertain the part of my mind that strayed towards the person at the bottom of the hill, focusing instead on the practical. The facts were such that father would never support Frederico, not with the odds so stacked against him. No one would, not when he had so little to offer. Dulciana would promise peace to anyone who recognized her as the legitimate heir and threaten warfare against anyone sympathetic to Frederico's plight. 

But I didn't doubt for a moment that, a few years into the future, once the other continental kings had grown accustomed to her as their peer, Dulciana would turn on Pretania. No other kingdom had wronged her as my brother had. No other kingdom would step in when she turned her attention towards destroying us.

Which meant that there was only one sibling who could guarantee that the Ardalonian navy would stay far, far away from Highcastle. One sibling who, if we helped him, would remain Pretania's ally until his dying day.

One sibling whose twin sauntered through my thoughts far more often than I'd care to admit.

"I'm not going," I said, turning my horse around as I met the prince's gaze. His head reeled back ever so slightly. I'd surprised him.

"What?" The word seemed to slip out before he realized he'd said it.

"You need all the help you can get, Fred," I said. "I came here to keep my country safe and my task is not yet accomplished."

The prince's expression was wary with disbelief. I could understand why, given what he thought of me. In Frederico's mind, the spoiled, middle son of a peaceful, prosperous kingdom was the kind of person to flee and cower in the safety of his home court rather than mire himself in foreign danger to protect his country.

"I cannot guarantee your safety here," he said finally. "If you die-"

"I cannot guarantee my country's safety unless I am here to keep you from blundering," I interrupted. "We needn't be so dramatic as to bring up my death, either. You've done a splendid job of keeping me alive thus far, I have faith you'll be able to continue."

I shot an appreciative glance towards Beatriz to emphasize my point. Down the hill, she and Rafael had clearly grown impatient, their horses stamping the salty earth.

"So?" I asked Frederico, tearing my eyes from our two bodyguards. He was shaking his head at me, still mired in disbelief.

"I will never understand Pretanians," he said. I grinned.

"Which is exactly why you need me and my unpredictability to aid you," I said, pointing a gloved finger at him. With a sigh, he extended his hand towards mine.

"I grow weary of arguing with you," he said. "Allies?"

"Allies," I affirmed, shaking his hand.

**A/N: Well it's about time they got that debate out of their systems! Also about time I managed to stitch it together too. This one was so tough to write because Fred and Tom kept carrying this conversation away from where I wanted it to go haha. Four drafts later (and three days late, oops!) I finally got them to say what I needed them to say! 

So what do you think of Thomas' decision? Should he have stayed or gone? What about Frederico, do you think he'll be able to get over himself and start working with rather than against Thomas?  What do you think they'll do next?

As always, if you enjoyed it, please take a moment to vote and comment!! :D **