But a princess fair hath lent me her hair, and shall be the ruin of me… yes, she shall be the ruin of me.” Infused with a goodly portion of drink, Hale sang at the top of his lungs, not particularly caring who or what heard. He moved slowly, dragging his misshapen foot along, even more oppressive now that he’d experienced a night free of it. He thought of the fate that awaited him. If he was extremely lucky, a panther might leap from a nearby tree and end his misery rather fast. Less fortunate would be someone from Canelia finding him and dragging him back to the dungeons there for torture, confession, and eventual execution. The worst scenario— and the one most likely to happen— was returning safely to Baldwinidad and facing his mother’s wrath. She would not accept his failure, and Hale knew it would be that much worse when she discovered why he’d failed. “Noo,” he said, with a low whistle. “She’ll skin me alive when she realizes I held the princess in my arms and did nothing but dance with her.
