“You might not, Lord Golden. But he would.” He cast me a baleful glance and added, “He does not even accord me the courtesy one man gives to another, let alone the respect a servant should have for his sovereign.”

“He is a rough man, my Prince, but a good servant all the same.” Lord Golden gave me a warning look.

I made a show of lowering my eyes, but muttered, “Respect a sovereign? Perhaps. But not a runaway boy fleeing his duty.”

Dutiful took a breath as if he would reply in fury. Then he let it out as a hiss, but leashed his anger. “You know nothing of what you speak about,” he said coldly. “I did not run away.”

Lord Golden's tone was much gentler than mine had been. “Forgive me, my lord, but that is how it must appear to us. The Queen feared at first that you had been kidnapped. But no notes of ransom arrived. She did not wish to alarm her nobles, or to offend the Outislander delegation soon to arrive for your betrothal agreement. Surely you have not forgotten that in nine more nights, the new moon brings your betrothal? For you to be absent at such a time goes beyond mere discourtesy to insult. She doubted that was your intent. Even so, she did not turn out the guards after you, as she might have done. Preferring to be subtle, she asked me to locate you and bring you safely home. And that is our only aim.”

“I did not run away,” he repeated adamantly, and I saw that the accusation had stung him more sharply than I suspected. Nonetheless, he stubbornly added, “But I have no intention of returning to Buckkeep.” He had taken a bottle of wine from his pack. Now he pulled out food. Smoked fish wrapped in linen, several slabs of hardcrusted honey cake, and two apples; hardly traveling rations, but the toothsome repast that loyal companions would supply for a prince's enjoyment. He unfolded the linen on the grass, and began to divide the food into three portions. Dainty as a cat, he arranged the food. I thought it was well done, a show of a gracious nature by a boy in an uncomfort' able situation. He uncorked the wine and set it in the middle. With a gesture he invited us, and we were not slow to respond. Little as there was, it was very welcome. The honey cake was heavy, suety, and thick with raisins. I filled my mouth with half my slab and tried to chew it slowly. I was fiercely hungry. Yet even as we attacked the food, the Prince, less hungry, spoke seriously.

“If you try to force me to return with you, you will only get hurt. My friends will come for me, you know. She will not surrender me so easily, nor I her. And I have no desire to see you get hurt. Not even you,” he added, meeting my stare. I had thought he intended his words as a threat. Instead, he seemed sincere as he explained, “I must go with her. I am not a boy running away from his duty, nor even a man fleeing an arranged marriage. I do not run away from unpleasantness. Instead, I join myself where I most belong . . . where I was born to belong.” His careful unfolding of words put me in mind of Verity. His eyes traveled slowly from me to Lord Golden and back again. He seemed to be seeking an ally, or at least a sympathetic ear. He licked his lips as if taking a risk. Very quietly, he asked, “Have you ever heard the tale of the Piebald Prince?”

We were both silent. I swallowed food gone tasteless. Was Dutiful mad? Then Lord Golden nodded, once, slowly.

“I am of that line. As sometimes happens in the Farseer line, I was born with the Wit.”

I did not know whether to admire his honesty, or be horrified at his naive assumption that he had not just condemned himself to death. I kept my features motionless and did not let my eyes betray my thoughts. Desperately I wondered if he had admitted this to others at Buckkeep.

I think our lack of reaction unnerved him more than anything else we could have done. We both sat quietly, watching him. He took a gambler's breath. “So you see now why it would be best for everyone if you let me go. The Six Duchies will not follow a Witted king, nor can I forsake what my blood makes me. I will not deny what I am. That would be cowardice, and false to my friends. If I returned, it would only be a matter of time before all knew of my Wit. If you drag me back, it can only lead to strife and division amongst the nobles. You should let me go, and tell my mother you could not find me. That way is best for all.”

I looked down at the last of my portion of fish. Quietly I asked, “What if we decided it was best for all if we killed you? Hung you and cut you in quarters and burned the parts near running water? And then told the Queen we had not found you?” I looked away from the wild fear in his eyes, shamed by what I had done and yet knowing he must be taught caution. After a space: “Know men before you share your deepest secrets with them,” I counseled him.