"If I remember correctly, we're approaching difficult landscape," Conor called ahead. "It might be better to stay closer together from now on."

Devin didn't respond, but he slowed his horse to a walk and allowed Conor to catch up. "How much farther until we hit the mountains?" Conor asked, gesturing to the map on Devin's belt.

Once again, without a word, the prince dropped his reins and pulled it out, unraveling it. Conor stared at him in amusement as he studied the map. "No morning tea is really taking a toll on you, huh?" He chuckled.

Devin glared at him. "Three days, tops," he responded grumpily.

Conor nodded. That made sense. They'd already been on the road for about a week and a half. "Alright," he said, satisfied, "go back to being miserable."

"Thank you," Devin mumbled. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around his horse's neck, leaning into its mane. It let out a curious nicker, but did not respond negatively in any way. Conor watched him for a moment, then tore his gaze away to face north. After a little while, he thought he heard a faint snore, and in the corner of his eye, saw Devin's horse's ears twirl around to listen to its rider.

"Lazybones," Conor mused.

The horse huffed in agreement.

"I have to say," Devin announced, "that my patience is thinning and if there is no dragon at the end of this journey, I can't promise you I will not strangle you."

Conor, who was observing the trees to their right, looked over at him with a meek smile. "There's a dragon, Devin," he promised, "I assure you." He paused, glancing ahead. "Besides, even if there wasn't, that's a very gentle punishment for such a lie, coming from you."

Devin blinked. "Do you want to be crucified?"

"Gutted?"

"That's disgusting. And I don't know how to do that."

"Drowned?"

"What if there's no rivers for miles?"

"Drown me in your tears," Conor answered with a half-hearted shrug of the shoulders.

"There will certainly be a lot of them," Devin muttered, "that is, if there is no dragon." Conor let out a long sigh through the mouth.

"I get your point."

"That looks inviting."

Conor glanced at his friend, before turning in his saddle to look at where he was pointing. A wooden cabin was nestled in the trees on the very edge of the forest, thick tendrils of smoke rising from the chimney. Candlelight filled the home, even creeping out the window to light up the grass below. If Conor was correct, he thought he noticed a small stable behind it. Whomever the cabin belonged to, he guessed they had at least one or two horses. They could probably fit both of theirs too.

But at the same time, his instincts told him to stay away from this mysterious place. He thought it was too quiet, a little too inviting, but Devin was already easing his horse into a trot towards it.

"Devin!" Conor hissed after him. Devin rolled his eyes, glancing over his shoulder and halting his horse. Conor walked towards him. Speaking in a low voice, he said, "I don't like the way this place feels. It looks too inviting, you know? I say we take our horses and speed out of here."

Devin raised a brow, an amused smile on his lips. "Passing up a very comfortable cabin for the cold ground just because you have a feeling?" He laughed, already turning away. "Come on, Conor." He began turning away. "I think you're just being paranoid."

"How many times do you think paranoia has kept me alive?" Conor snapped as Devin urged his horse into a walk. "You can go walk into a cramped little cabin, unaware of its history, but I'll have nothing to do with it."

"If you insist!" Devin called over his shoulder. "Kiss the ground goodnight while you're at it."

Conor's cheeks reddened, but he bit his tongue, simply watching him go. What he really wanted to do was drag him right back to where he was standing and keep him safe, but Devin Trunswick was a stubborn prince, and there was no way that would happen under his watch.

With an aggravated groan, he tapped his heels into his horse's sides, closing in on Devin at a trot. Devin spared him a single glance as he appeared at his side, hiding a satisfied smile. "Good boy," was all he said.

Conor fixed his angry gaze on him. "If you get us killed, blame's on you. If you get one of us killed, blame's on you. If you get our horses killed, blame's still on you."

"Understood, Captain," Devin drawled.

Conor didn't say another word as they dismounted. Devin confidently walked up to the door, knocking three times. Conor watched silently, holding their horses' reins. There were a couple of shuffling noises from inside and voices of confusion.

The door opened to a little old man, squinting at both of them. At any ordinary time, he probably would've worn glasses. "Travelers?" he asked gruffly.

"Aye." Devin nodded, a charming expression taking over his features. He even let his posture relax. "My companion and I are quite exhausted, as we've been travelling for days. Your cabin looks very comfortable, so may I ask, would you house two tired travelers and their horses for a night?"

The man blinked at the boy in front of him. Devin's brows raised expectantly. The old man looked over at his wife, who was drying a dish with pursed lips. One of the horses nickered nervously, beginning to prance. Conor made quiet shushing noises, offering comforting words to it as he stroked its long neck and nose. He'd begun to think he really was just being paranoid; it was just an elderly couple; but the horse's reaction made him reconsider.

"Alrighty," the man said at last, "you can stay a night. Tend to your own horsies, though." He raised a bony finger in the general direction of the little stable.

"Not a problem, sir." Devin's smile never wavered. Conor was beginning to miss his grumpiness from earlier this morning. "I owe you one."

With that, Devin joined Conor once more and the door closed, a little forcefully. Conor flinched. "Still nervous?" Devin teased. "It's such some poor elderly couple. They're usually sweet as honey." He took his horse's reins from Conor's hand, and began walking past the cabin and out towards the stable.

"I'm beginning to think these guys are as sweet as salt," he said, glancing through a window he was passing. Subconsciously, he had moved closer to the safety of his horse's flank, and it was now trying not to step on his boots.

Devin gave him an unimpressed look. "Rude," he mumbled. Devin's horse was the one who had acted up previously, and it was now giving him nervous glances.

Conor took a deep breath and led his horse into the stable after Devin. It was not very impressive. There was paint coming off the walls. The paint job had already been terrible. The stalls were in relatively good shape, but there were cracks in the wood. Buckets were stacked in the corner and a seemingly fresh haystack was nestled into the corner of each stall. Quietly, they both attended to their horses' needs.

Conor patted his horse on the neck a few times, then leaned into it, sighing. "Why don't we just sleep in here?" he asked.

"It's freezing in here," Devin complained.

Conor nodded glumly.

There was a pause. "Look," Devin began saying reluctantly, "if you're really so scared of this place, I can make an excuse for you to stay in the stable. I'll just say your horse has separation anxiety or something."

Conor shook his head. "I'm not leaving you alone with unfamiliar people," he argued.

Devin chuckled. "How cute," he mused.

Conor, for the second time that day, bit his tongue.

"You two must be parched," the old woman called from the small kitchen.

"Some water would be nice," Devin answered sweetly.

Conor shifted uncomfortably. "None for me, thanks," he said, only loud enough to be heard.

The woman came back after a moment, whistling, with a glass of water in her hand. She set it down in front of Devin, who drank gratefully.

"How have your travels been coming along?" she asked happily, drumming her thin fingers on the polished wooden table.

Devin was in the middle of taking another sip of water, so Conor answered for him. "Fine," he replied, "a couple bumps but otherwise smooth sailing."

"A couple bumps?" she wondered, concern in her voice.

"Attacked by a wolf is a pretty bad one."

"Yikes."

Conor didn't say anything more.

"Oh, how rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself and we've known each other all this time. I'm Mrs. Vazie. You are?"

Conor hesitated. "My name's Oliver," he said, grabbing the first name he thought of. "And this is Elijah." He gestured to Devin. He didn't respond. Devin wasn't responding to much at all, all of a sudden.

Mrs. Vazie raised her brows with interest. "Tsk, tsk. For some reason, boys, I doubt that."

Conor's blood ran cold. With some feelings of protectiveness, fear, and anxiety, he slowly reached towards Devin's hand under the table. Devin's fingers were cold. They weakly wrapped around his. Something was wrong, Conor realized.

Mrs. Vazie smiled, but it seemed snake-like. "He's the crown prince. Prince Devin Trunswick," she explained. There was a gleam in her eyes. Conor heard a faint shuffle, and let out a cry as he realized a knife was at his neck. He didn't dare move, his body becoming stiff and rigid.

"So," Mrs. Vazie chirped, "Devin, will you tell me where you and your servant are headed?"

Conor's heart thudded louder, louder, louder in his chest. He had the faint, stupid thought that he might go into cardiac arrest.

"Yes," Devin said softly, shivering slightly. Conor hated seeing him so sickly. He hated this entire situation and he hated how their secret was about to get out all because some crafty old woman had drugs up her sleeve and in his friend's drink--

"Betarvius."

Conor nearly weeped. He realized with a twinge of pride and fondness that Devin was fighting the drug with all his might. It appeared his stubbornness was good for something, after all. His fondness was almost destroyed as he watched Devin practically slam his head into the table.

Mrs. Vazie raised a brow. "That wasn't supposed to happen," she said, realizing that the prince had actually chosen to knock himself out. Conor had to admit, it was kind of smart. "What are you doing in Betarvius?" she then asked Conor.

Conor let out a sniff. "Your mom," he grumbled--then swung his leg behind him, kicking out Mr. Vazie's ankles and ducking away from the knife. He hissed in pain as the blade grazed his skin, drawing blood. The old man fell with a yell, hitting the ground harshly. He struggled to get back up, but was rather unsuccessful.

Mrs. Vazie wobbled forward, but Conor was already dragging Devin off like some unusually large sack of potatoes.

"You're way heavier than you look," Conor groaned as he finally got Devin's very limp body into his saddle. The door to the stable rattled and rattled as Mrs. Vazie shook it, but Conor paid it no mind. There was a door at the back as well, which he could unlock and easily outrun the elderly woman from. He checked the girth on his saddle, then mounted. He made a gesture for Devin's horse to follow, then urged his horse into a walk and made for the back door. He unlocked it, shoved it open, rounded the turn and ran.

Devin awoke about a half hour later. He didn't say much, just looked at Conor for a long moment, lips parted slightly and brow furrowed. Then, he shook his head, grunting.

"Feeling okay?" Conor asked.

"As worse as okay gets. I have a pounding headache," Devin murmured.

Conor quieted down, trying not to make it worse. They rode for another two hours, stumbling across a tiny town by pure chance. The only inn within it was completely empty, so getting a room was not hard. Getting a room with two beds was impossible, because there were none.

Nestled under thick blankets of wool and cotton, the two lay silently, backs pressed against each other.

"Sorry," Devin said after a while.

Conor blinked sleepily. "Just go to bed," he grumbled.

"Nighty night."

"Goodnight."