‘The prince!’ he cracked out in white anger. ‘I said, you escort his Grace, Lysaer.’ The men continued to seem deaf. Lord Diegan spun in his saddle, suspicion in his eyes as bright as the glint on his jewels. And Lysaer met him, harder still. ‘Go! This was my error. My fight. Let me save what I can. For I fear the worst still awaits us.’ Enraged and far from willing to desert his post of command, Lord Diegan hauled to wheel his horse. Between his hands, the reins recoiled into slack: his own men had cut the leather at the bit-ring and were traitorously goading his mount to trot away from the
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