The crowd murmured its assent, nodding their heads. Roa waited for Dax to cut in, to refute her. But he didn’t.
“As for the law against regicide”—her smile turned piteous—“we all know why you want it struck down. And we sympathize.”
The council remained quiet, their eyes on the king, thinking, Roa assumed, of Asha escaping the city on the morning before her beheading.
Everyone assumed it was Dax who helped her.
But they were wrong.
“You can’t amend an ancient law purely for your own benefit.” Councillor Silva lowered her voice and stepped closer to Dax. “It’s no way to begin an already fragile reign.”
Their gazes locked as some silent battle waged between the king and his councillor, unseen by everyone else in the room.
Roa stared at Dax, willing him to assert himself. He wasking. And these were promises encoded in a treaty. He didn’t have a choice. He needed to uphold them.
Instead, he buckled.
Looking away from his councillor, he said, “Then I expect to speak with these experts, so we can decide how the sanctions can best be dismantled.”
Councillor Silva smiled a slow, victorious smile.
Roa stared at Dax, who watched his councillor return to her seat.
“What are you doing?” Roa demanded, leaning in toward him. She would not let it end like this. “Command that the sanctions be lifted.”
He didn’t look at her. “She’s right. Reckless action will bring chaos.” He said it so calmly. As if this was what he expected to happen all along. “And I can’t force my will on my people.”
“You can andshould.” Roa’s hands shook with anger. “You’re king, Dax.”
He met her angry gaze. “But not a tyrant.”
“There are worse things to be.”
“Truly?” he asked, his full attention on her. “You would prefer a tyrant?”
“Over a puppet who dances on his council’s strings? Yes.”
Councillor Silva had taken her seat and an older man with hunching shoulders and white hair—a man Dax earlier referred to as Councillor Barek—was moving things along. Roa could tell by the stirring crowd that the session was coming to an end.
“You say you don’t want to force your will on your people.” She kept her voice low, holding his gaze. “But the will of your people has been forced on mine for decades. And if you thinkthisis a democratic solution”—she gestured to the wealthy draksor council and the even wealthier draksor crowd beyond it—“you’re a fool.”
Dax leaned in so close, Roa could feel the warmth of him. “If I’m a fool”—his gaze hooked into hers—“what does that make the one who married me?”
Roa didn’t notice the eyes of the Assembly on them. But Dax did. Something shifted then, and the tension building in him melted away, replaced by that smooth exterior. He flashed Roa that smile of his. As if she weren’t his queen, but rather some silly thing to be charmed and flirted with.
Roa wanted to smack him.
She looked away, furious and humiliated. If it was true—if Dax had expected this outcome all along—then he’d intentionally deceived the Great Houses. By signing that treaty, by swearing to uphold it, he’d made false promises.
Was this truly the man she’d given up everything to marry?
Roa’s anger burned within her. She was sick to death of her people’s powerlessness. Of mothers giving up children they could no longer provide for, then living with the shame of it. Of fathers moving across the desert or sea in search of ways tofeed their families, unable to watch their children grow. Of the sickness and weakness and purposelessness that malnourishment bred.
Roa would not abide it any longer.
Fixing her attention on Councillor Silva, she said, “What do you think will happen when my father realizes his treaty is broken?” Her voice rang out through the room, echoing off the dome above. “What do you think will happen when the Great Houses understand they’ve been betrayed?”
Silva’s pretty brown eyes lifted to Roa’s for the first time since she’d entered the room.
