Page 59 of The Dead Queen

Merle doesn’t react, just watches me with curiosity.

“Do you recognize this necklace?” I ask. “It was hers.”

He nods, just once.

“Do you know anything about it?”

Merle watches me for a long moment, weighing what must be a million answers before he speaks. “I know that it was very precious to her. And that she would be proud to see it around your neck.” For the briefest moment, his eyes linger on the scar at my throat before he bows slightly and closes the door behind him.

In the silence of the room, all I hear is the blood roaring in my ears. I sit on the edge of the overstuffed bed and open the book’s cover.

The Silver Moth Society

A treatise on the demands of the Llwyn people in favor of the permanent destruction of the Fox King and all future despotic rulers.

On the inside cover, someone penned a list of names. The first one sends a bolt of lightning into my chest: Áine.

My hands shake so violently, I drop the book to the floor. In a blind panic, I scramble beneath the bed and claw up the loose floorboard where I used to hide treats as a child. I toss the little book inside as if it were a hot ember, then scramble backward until my spine is pressed against the wall. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I try to make sense of this.

I am the heir to the Fox Throne. And yet …

My grandmother was an Annwyn sympathizer.

Chapter 19

The feast hall is nearly empty at supper aside from the few nobles that sit in small groups, whispering and shooting nervous glances at the other people in the room. Orbs of light flicker over glistening roasted boars, candied root vegetables, and golden rolls of fresh bread. All to be wasted on empty chairs.

I take my usual seat at the royal family’s table, noticeably alone. The king is nowhere to be found.

Typically, my father never misses an opportunity to be gazed upon by his court. He sips goblets of wine every evening, under the watch of at least a half-dozen King’s Guards while great men admire him, and beautiful women lust after him from afar. I wonder if he has his own spread of wild game and stewed fruits down in the secret dungeon he’s hiding in.

Across the room, Hunter stands with his men. Under normal circumstances, I’d try to catch his eye, but the way we left things was so poor, I don’t have any right to speak to him again.

There are few things worse than being stared at by anxious people who don’t know what’s going on. I gaze into my goblet of blood-red wine, wondering if some fortuneteller could predict my fate by the way it swirls in the golden light.

“Your Highness. I’m sorry to intrude.”

I’m startled away from the goblet.

Hunter stands above me, his mouth in a thin line.

“Hunter, I …”

“I don’t enjoy being the one to tell you this, but it seems someone should.” His tone is curt, matter-of-fact.

I stand. “Alright. What is going on then? Where is everyone?”

“They’re all waiting to see where their future lies.” His eyes dart round the dim room. “How their status will change or crumble by the end of the night.”

My lips purse. I hate these palace games—speaking in riddles, holding secrets like treasure to be hoarded.

“Speak plainly,” I say.

Hunter grabs my arm a little too tightly and directs me toward a corner. For once, I don’t think anyone pays any attention to us. No one cares if two lovers hide behind statues to steal kisses. They’re all too concerned with their own welfare to care about romance now.

Once we’re tucked away in a corner, I wrench my arm out of his grip.

Hunter makes a sound of frustration. “For once, do you think you could be a little more tactful?”