THE SUN WAS an inferno, blistering both the vast expanses of grass and the princes' skin. It concentrated nearly unbearable heat on their backs, burning through their clothing. It had been easy for Ladislas to ignore the sheen of sweat and the suffocating heat right up until the moment his gaze fell upon Thaddeus; after that, he couldn't swallow, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Seeing Thaddeus again was like opening his eyes at midnight to find not the moon, but the sun, stabbed into the dark sky. It stole the air right from his lungs. He didn't want to see him—not at a time like this. For so long, he had pushed his hurt and anger away, leaving it all as a mere afterthought to his love for the knight. Now, however, everything came rushing back, quick as the river in which he had dropped his paintings mere hours ago.

The prince was irate. He was not one for violence; but for leaving him on that day, heart heavy and lips kiss-swollen, he wanted to punch Thaddeus in the mouth.

He wanted to bite bruises into his neck.

Trembling, Ladislas swayed in his saddle. He grabbed ahold of the reins to steady himself and turned again to look at the knight and at the girl he was with. When the girl glanced in their direction, Ladislas twisted his neck around so quickly that a pain shot through his spine—a reminder that they had been riding for hours with minimal breaks. He glanced sidelong at Raolet and Ixidor—they were immersed in a discussion in low tones and had not yet noticed their younger brother's dilemma—before drawing his gaze over the grassy ground beneath their horses' hooves.

Only for a moment, his mind drifted back to the lisianthus garden, and he bit down on his bottom lip and tried his very hardest not to remember. He didn't want to remember what it felt like to be taken into Thaddeus's arms. For weeks, the memory had served as a comfort to him, but now it made his stomach flip. There was a part of him—a very stupid, shameful part—that wanted to go to the knight. To fall at Thaddeus's feet and confess that he had lost everything, for if he couldn't have Thaddeus's love, perhaps he could have his sympathy...

Chest tightening painfully, Ladislas told himself with an irrefutable adamance that Thaddeus didn't want to see him. He had likely forgotten all about him—and even if he hadn't, Ladislas was nothing to him. He was someone who had left a stain on his soul; someone who was broken and dirty and had tempted him into sinning.

"What's the matter, Ladislas?" Ixidor croaked.

Ladislas tore his gaze from the grass to his older brother. His ability to look concerned, even when his face was so swollen and bruised, amazed Ladislas.

"Nothing," he muttered in response, his tone sounding both dismissive and faintly breathless as an involuntary echo of his thoughts. Hoping to explain himself just in case tears began to brim his exhausted eyes, he continued, "Nothing, I—I don't want to complain since I'm the least battered one of the three of us. It's very hot is all. And bright. The sun's very bright. We've been in a dark forest for so long, my eyes just need to adjust to the light and... I'm fine. Everything is fine."

Though he couldn't tell what Ixidor thought of his response, what with his eyes so lidded with blotches of blue and purple, he could certainly tell what Raolet was thinking—and Raolet looked unconvinced. Always the clever one, the eldest prince's eyes darted to the two figures silhouetted against the skyline. He squinted for a moment before recognition flashed across his features.

"Wait a minute... Lad, is that the knight you used to be friends with? Before he abandoned you on the night our siblings were murdered?" The recognition was soon replaced with bitter resentment, as though he had tasted or smelled something repulsive.

Ladislas cringed. "I—I can't be sure. I think so, I mean—"

Ixidor ignored him and spoke over him. "Shit, is it?" He brought a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. "Well I can't see a thing... Interesting, I believe my eyes are swollen shut."

"Oh really? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Twenty-seven."

"I think you may be concussed as well."

"How swollen am I? Does my face look like an ass?"

"Your face always looks like an ass."

"You can't see it, but I am definitely rolling my eyes right now. Besides, everyone knows I'm the handsome sibling."

Ladislas couldn't blame them for their playful banter; he knew they were only doing it for some semblance of normalcy. If he hadn't seen Thaddeus, the arguing may have even made him smile. Now, however, he made a hasty decision, held tighter onto the baby in his arms, and turned his horse around. The horse whinnied, but complied with his wishes and was soon trotting in the direction opposite of Thaddeus and the girl in armour.

"Laddie, where are you going?" Ixidor barked. "You know what you have to do, don't you?"

Ladislas's horse came to an abrupt halt. "What?" he asked, his heart thundering against his ribs.

"Well," Ixidor began, "he owes you, doesn't he? He should feel really guilty for what he's done. He couldn't possibly ignore you when you're truly in need of assistance, right?"

Ladislas's eyes widened at what his brother was suggesting. "No. I can't, it's—that isn't—he won't—"

"Won't what? This is a goddamn life or death situation. You think he wants you dead?"

"Ixidor's right. You need to ask him for help, Lad," Raolet affirmed. As Ladislas began to protest, a pit settling to the bottom of his stomach, he was cut off swiftly. "Look, it's a lucky coincidence that we've run into someone we know. It would be unwise to pass up this opportunity, especially considering I don't see any other way we might all survive this in one piece."

Biting down on his lip, Ladislas tried to think of an argument. They didn't understand. They couldn't possibly understand that Thaddeus was ashamed of him, and that if anyone did discover what they had done together, not only would he lose his position as a knight—he'd be executed.

"He's a knight, Raolet," Ladislas said miserably—it was all he could think of. "If our father survived, he belongs to him. He serves him."

Distressed, Raolet dragged his free hand through his hair, which was slick with fresh dewdrops of sweat. "We don't have any other options. To be honest, I wasn't sure how we'd even make it without anyone capturing us. I didn't have much faith before, but now—I don't know. It's foolish, but perhaps the universe is trying to point us in the right direction. We cannot possibly do this alone."

When Ladislas glanced again in Thaddeus's direction, he clenched his free hand into a tight fist around the reins, his nails biting into his own palm. He had gone too long without painting, he needed something to do with his hands to keep them from shaking, he needed an outlet for all of the emotions that were pounding inside his skull—

"Please," he managed, "please don't make me do this, I can't—I—"

"BROTHER," Raolet snapped loudly enough that it made Ixidor flinch; there was a certain sternness and finality to his tone that hadn't been there before. Reluctantly, Ladislas met his eyes, which were narrowed. "I haven't a clue what happened between the two of you, but now is not the time for you to be selfish. Put your past behind you for one fucking minute. Think of the triplets. Think of Ixidor."

"Hey! Why are you lumping me in with the incontinent ones?" Ixidor said dryly, raking a hand through his hair, which was caked with dried blood. An ugly smile found its way onto his face. His attempt to diffuse the tension was transparent. "As you can plainly tell from my face, I am perfectly fine. Perfecto. Make no detours for me."

"Shut up, Ixidor," Raolet and Ladislas said simultaneously.

"Lad," Raolet continued after a beat, eyes trained on the two figures in the distance, "in case you hadn't thought of it, we need someone to go into the village for us to retrieve supplies. We can't do so without drawing attention to ourselves. We need food for the babies, rags and bandages, perhaps a change of clothes, and yes, even food for ourselves, because we do still need to eat. The horses need water and rest. If we asked your knight to help us, he could even get us some weapons. Once we have everything we need, we will leave. He would have no reason to compromise our location."

"Ah, Raolet always makes it so hard to argue," Ixidor interjected, running his tongue over his bloody and bruised bottom lip. "In any case, let's face it—if I'm going to die, I don't want my last meal to be a rabbit that Raolet shrieks his way through killing. As much as it pains me to admit, we need help. Even though I want to stab that goddamn coward in the face, it has to be him."

Ladislas sighed into his palm. His mouth tasted like sweat and dirt. His stomach was churning, but it was the kind of churn that was caused partly by nerves and partly by hunger. And, of course, there was that persistent ache in his chest every time his mind lingered on his mother. He had promised her he would protect her children.

Without saying a word, he turned around. His stallion whinnied in protest, but he urged him forward.

Ladislas knew the very moment that Thaddeus recognized him. He could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened and the planes of his face softened just as they had in that field of lisianthuses, right before they had kissed.

His brothers were not far behind. When Ladislas slipped off his horse's back, he handed Kharmion to Raolet and turned wordlessly to face Thaddeus. His feet felt heavy as he forced himself to lift one, and then the other, until Thaddeus met him halfway and grabbed both of his shoulders. Suddenly, Ladislas couldn't even tell if he was standing on his own, or if Thaddeus was holding him up.

"Ladislas?" Thaddeus asked, eyebrows knitting together; Ladislas noticed the way his gaze darted to the girl at his side, the way he made sure to keep him at arm's length. He felt ill down to the core. "What—what happened to you?"

He opened his mouth, meaning to say anything. We need help. We've been riding all night. We haven't slept or eaten or drunk. We need help. Our mother is dead. If our father is alive, he wants to kill us. We need help. But instead, his face contorted and a choked sob formed in his throat. He forgot about his brothers, and the girl, and his father, and fell forward.

He buried his face in Thaddeus's shoulder.