Prosperyn stared up the hill, aghast. What was Ryan thinking? He knew the man. This was madness, to attack the King. This couldn't be real.
He unslung his bow and nocked an arrow, nudging the horse towards the King. "I thought she --" An arrow flew past, narrowly missing the neck of his horse. With a curse, Prosperyn turned in the saddle, and fired back at the archer. It was a clumsy shot, by his standards -- he hadn't fired in battle in far too long, and he could feel it in the way he drew the string. The arrow went wide. He drew another, repeating himself. "She was a horse or two back... I'll see to her!" He loosed the next arrow. Better, this time -- it caught one of the ambushing archers in the arm.
Even as Prosperyn pulled his horse around to approach closer to Aenyris's position, he was putting the identity of the attackers from his mind. Forget that he probably knew half these riders. They were riding against his King, and there was only one thing to do. He drew another arrow.