Page 100 of A Dance of Lies

Estienne’s guards shove forward, leaving a sobbing Annais on the floor, but Illian’s men block them, hands shifting to their hilts.

“You ignored your own mother. You and Father hid this for years,” Illian says. “It’s disgusting! Yet you stood at your coronation, knowing Miridranian law?”

Miridranian law, which dictates a Crown must be of full royal blood. Bastards cannot rule. It means that Illian’s father put Estienne on the throne illegally.

“Explain yourself, Estienne,” King Rurik demands. A hum of agreement follows him.

“He’s a hedge-born!” yells a courtier.

“Lowly scum!”

The Queen of Razam nudges past me, her long amber cloak flowing like wind. Her regalia underneath is black silk, like her hair, which is woven up into a glittering circlet.

I hadn’t even seen her enter.

“Since when did bloodline dictate a higher calling to rule?” she asks. “Perhaps it is time to reexamine your own traditions.”

Interesting, that she speaks directly to Illian, whose eyes flash in answer. But I don’t understand why she would challenge him. She has no allegiance to Estienne.

I wonder, though, if she thinks Illian is worse.

“The issue is not just tradition and law but deception.” King Rurik approaches Estienne. “This pains me more than I can say, but the least you can do is make it right—”

The room erupts into a maelstrom of voices. More guards enter.More swords are raised. I slink back until I bump against Copelan. “You should leave,” he begins, hands on my shoulders, but Illian’s voice rises over the chaos.

“Step down now, Estienne,” Illian declares, holding up the crown, “and it will be with honor. If you do not, your land will be taken from you before the whole of the north.”

“And I suppose you’ll keep it for yourself?” Queen Sadira sidles up to him—even managing to look down on him. “Will you take his territory for yourself, Illian Orvere?”

His jaw ticks. “You forget, Sadira, that I havetwobrothers. Do you dismiss Anton so easily? Estienne’s territory will be governed by us both.”

“Then will you make that promise before us, right here, right now?” Her gaze reminds me of a cat readying to pounce. I want to tell her that Illian’s promises mean nothing, but then I recall something Gustav mentioned the night of Anton’s banquet. In Razam, oaths hold great meaning. They don’t sign contracts because they aren’t necessary. Foreign letters are often denied; they prefer face-to-face. An audience. Tone and intent aren’t easily derived from ink and quills, and the people of Razam are known to be sharp judges of character.

She hopes to bind him with his words.

But Illian is not so easily led. “Miridran will not answer to Razam, Queen Sadira. I take offense at your insinuation.”

I don’t believe him for a second.

Then say something,a voice inside me urges.Step forward and tell them about Illian, about everything that has happened thus far.But it wouldn’t help, not when Annais is speaking the truth.

And not when King Illian could nail murder to my name.

I divert my gaze back to Anton, who remains eerily silent. He looks untroubled in his deep viridian waistcoat over a crisp white shirt, his hands tucked in his pockets. By the lack of expression on his face, it’s almost as if he isn’t actually here. Like he’s witnessing a puppet show, not a coup.

Then, as if he feels my stare, his eyes flick to mine.

Do you see, now?he seems to say.Do you understand his play?

Part of me is glad for Estienne’s disgrace. I remember what he did. I remember that wall. He deserves to lose everything.

But my jealous king will not stop with Estienne. I know him too well for that, and his apparent distaste for Estienne pales in comparison to his hatred for his younger brother.

I see it now, clear and sharp, like the edge of glass.

He will go after Anton next.

Chapter Twenty-Five