As the bitter words bubbled out of the old woman's mouth, Vilon turned his eyes toward his lad. Sure enough, her harsh reality sat terribly with the boy.
"This is no—"
Vilon's hand shot out instantly, cutting Owen off before he could utter another word.
Say what you will about the lad, say he was brave to a fault, say he was fiercely loyal, say he had just saved his knight's life down at the creek. But one could never say the boy possessed the mind to look beyond his own narrow horizon.
He gave him a look that told him to hold his tongue.
To Owen, the Prince of Yarzat was the noble ruler who had brought prosperity to his home village, enforced fair laws for the common good, secured the highways, and maintained the peace. But here? Here, that same prince was the monster who had unleashed blood-soaked legions upon the land, the invader whose armies had burned, pillaged, and put to the sword everything that sat beneath the shadow of the red sun of Oizen.
