“I was with Gayle’sol almost the entire time,” I answered.
“Almost?” Egath mused, his knife scraping against the plate. “Surely they didn’t leave you alone. The Craggs are dangerous.”
“I can handle myself,” I shot back, anger simmering beneath my calm exterior. Caught between them, their words closed in, each more pointed than the last. With the prince, I could hold my ground. With Egath, every move felt like stepping onto thin ice.
“The assassination attempt a few weeks ago suggests otherwise.”
That remark shattered my fragile veneer of civility.
I spun toward Tallon, the dinner knife firm in my grip. “I took my first life that night, dear prince.” My voice barely carried beyond him, each word a venomous whisper. “His blood covered my hands. My only weapon was a pencil. Let’s see how you’d manage in my place.”
His eyes lit with that insufferable, predatory thrill, his face far too close to mine. “If you hadn’t taken a servant to bed, perhaps you would be better off.”
Heat surged through my chest, sharp and suffocating. Scythe. That word—cutting, biting—sent a painful crackle of rage along my nerves.
“I would be dead.”
His smile sharpened, a blade in itself, and still, he said nothing. Our faces hovered a breath apart, the air thick with loathing. The knife trembled in my hand, my fingers aching from the strain of restraint. Every fiber of my being craved to plunge it into him, but I held back. That would be giving him exactly what he wanted.
He sought my end—not merely my departure, but my death.
Tallon might be my future, but it would not be a long one.
“The king requests your presence in the battle hall.”
My chest tightened, but I steadied my breath and nodded. “I’ll be there shortly.”
The servant dipped into a curtsy before retreating down the corridor. My Thresher shut the door behind her with a soft click.
“He calls you for a viewing?” Edith asked, putting her knitting aside to rise to her feet.
“There haven’t been any duels or sparring matches since I arrived.” I trailed her to the dressing room, the thought twisting uneasily in my mind.
“He sparred with the prince once,” she replied, her tone carrying a hint of disdain.
That wasn’t sparring. It was discipline—deliberate. A memory of Kallias putting his son in his place surfaced, stirring a mix of nerves and satisfaction in my stomach. If only he’d do it again. Tallon deserved far worse.
But the thought soured. Days had passed without a word from him. At dinner, his gaze barely grazed mine, the cold distance growing like a chasm. Whatever had once bound us together had vanished, leaving only emptiness. He wouldn’t stand with me against his son.
“I believe that was an isolated incident,” I muttered, glancing at my dress. The long fabric concealed the blade strapped to my thigh, but the lack of slits made access cumbersome.
Edith motioned for me to sit, her hands steady as she wove a tiara braid into my hair, leaving a few loose strands to brush my shoulders. Her hum filled the silence, soft and contemplative.
Once she deemed me presentable, I followed the Thresher through the palace corridors. Each turn came to mind moments before we took it, my memory of the layout sharpening. Only one mistake slowed my stride—I’d know the way soon enough.
The battle hall’s open doorway revealed the sandy arena beyond. Greaves stood by Kallias, removing his mantle and setting it on a nearby rack. Tallon lingered off to the side, arms crossed, his glare fixed on his father. Another man, older with snow-white hair and a neatly trimmed beard, watched the scene from a distance. His intense gaze shifted to me as I descended the stairs.
Eyes, shadowed with age but fierce, scanned me from my dress to my face before sliding back to his king.
Why had I been summoned?
“Come, Princess,” Kallias called. The deep timbre of his voice pulled at something in me, even as he avoided my gaze. Rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, he revealed forearms corded with muscle, veins ridged like paths carved into stone. Heat crept into my cheeks, and I looked away, stepping into the soft sand.
“I told him this wasn’t necessary,” Tallon muttered, shifting his weight.
The older man dressed in a loose tan tunic and brown pants scrutinized the prince’s stance with a frown. He held the composure of someone who’d seen countless soldiers come and go. His fingers twitched, as if preparing to adjust his stance, but he remained silent.
“It’s important,” Kallias replied, his tone final.
