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Areanel saw right through it. The mask was meant to manipulate. To conceal one’s true thoughts and emotions. Areanel wore a similar one as her father made his way up the podium, passing without a single glance, stopping at his throne.

The priest hurriedly descended the steps, tripping and stumbling over his white burnoose. There, he bowed deeply to the king before retreating into the crowd.

Aerileas, in one swift and graceful motion, sat. The long trail of his royal cloak swished against the floor—the only sound in the large throne room as the guests waited with bated breath to see how he would respond to his daughter and new son-in-law.

Holding his arms out wide, Aerileas addressed the tittering crowd. ‘What is this wedding gift you wish to present?’ Aerileas’s smile did not waver, but Areanel saw the subtle twitch of his eye.

‘A peace offering,’ she said, taking a single step forward.

‘This union—’ Titus stepped forward, moving closer to the steps of her father’s throne as he gestured between her and Rymedur ‘—is a peace offering between both kingdoms. Blessed by Edre.’ Titus motioned a hand to the overbearing statue of the God of Life behind her father’s throne. ‘What more could you possibly offer?’

Areanel looked over her shoulder, and her eyes met Rymedur’s. A silent conversation passed between them—one of encouragement and trust.

‘Vengeance,’ Areanel declared, eyes not leaving Rymedur’s.

‘Vengeance?’ Titus guffawed. ‘Why would we have any use for vengeance? The war is over. Both sides lost many. The previous King of Selcirith killed our queen. In turn, he was struck down by the will of the Elvadora! There is no more vengeance to be taken, girl.’

A metallic iron taste coated her mouth, and a sharp, biting pain stung her mouth as she bit down on her tongue. Let Titus speak and dig his own hole.

Areanel’s attention zeroed in on her father and the way his nostrils flared at the mention of his queen. A bitter and acrid scent stuffed her nose. How dare he be angry when this was all his doing? Her mother was dead because of his ambition.

Forcing her features to remain neutral, Areanel spoke, voice clear and sure as it echoed in the great hall. ‘But this was only possible because of a traitor. Someone was able to assassinate both monarchs within the walls of their own home. And we—’ Rymedur raised their hands to emphasise that they were in this together. He trusted her. Placing a light, encouraging kiss on her knuckles, he threw a wink her way alongside a knowing smirk that had her heart skipping a beat. ‘Have uncovered who this spy is.’

Silence, thick and heavy, fell over the gathered crowd.

Areanel could feel the anxious glances flitting back and forth. Feet shuffled, and clothing rustled as the gasping crowd took a step back.

Andreans and Selcirians glanced around nervously, unsure of who to believe. Fragile trust hung by a thread—and Areanel was about to cut it. The king’s personal guards—the faceless Soldazt—inched ever closer to Aerileas. Metal helms obscured their expressions, but their hands placed on the hilt of their blades showed they were ready to cut down any threat.

Brilliant. Let them slowly stew with anxiety.

Areanel had spoken the truth. There was a traitor amongst them—but what none knew was who. When she had asked Rymedur for his help, she had left out that important piece of information. She hadn’t known if she could trust him, and didn’t want to risk the alleged spy escaping.

‘A traitor…’ Titus turned his back to the king, fully facing Areanel. His tone didn’t suggest surprise like Areanel thought it might. Did he know? Had Rymedur betrayed her? She forced herself to stare back at him regardless.

Areanel held Titus’s gaze. Her brothers had once called her stubborn, and they were not wrong. When Titus conceded, and his gaze swung left, Areanel followed his line of sight to a very pale and gaunt Percival. Her brother looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. He was far too skinny, and a deathly pallor coated his skin. Sweat had his clothes clinging to his thin frame. Her twin looked on the verge of death.

Titus’s eyes widened as they landed back on her. Then, to her delight, he turned that gaze to his king and, for the first time in a long time, they held fear.

But that was not what Aerileas saw. No. The way he angled his head, like a predator assessing its prey, made his suspicions clear.

Areanel knew to play on her father’s paranoia. She had planned this for quite some time.

With a sideways glance to her right, Areanel motioned for her second in command to move forward. Brutus, who’d been standing silently in the crowd, strode past. His hulking figure dwarfed even Titus as he made his way up the stone steps to her father’s throne.

Kneeling, Brutus reached a dark, scarred hand into the folds of his jacket and pulled out a stack of papers. Silently handing the pile to Aerileas, Brutus waited. With each passing second, Aerileas’s expression grew increasingly irate, his fury growing as he read through the documents evidencing rebellion correspondences and plans.

Finally, Aerileas shoved the papers into Brutus’s hands. His mask wavered for a fraction as his eyes met Areanel’s. For a moment, something flashed through his gaze—surprised astonishment, then admiration and respect, until he settled on red, hot anger.

He knew! He had to know what she’d done, but did he know why? Did he suspect? The traitor had been his childhood friend, and none had been more loyal to him.

Aerileas dismissed Brutus with a singular strike of his staff. The bang as the wooden base of the staff struck the ground sent jolts through Areanel’s skin. She hated the sound. It reminded her too much of the day she was sentenced.

Her second rose to his feet and backed away from the king. Brutus’s head remained bowed, but as he passed Areanel, he gave her a subtle nod and the twinkle in those eyes seemed like falling into an abyss—there and gone in seconds.

Brutus’s retreating form was swallowed by the crowd when King Aerileas struck his staff upon the ground another three times, delivering his judgment. Areanel had to hold back a cunning smile as the king’s Soldazt moved as one.

Advancing with stiff and almost puppet-like motion, the Soldazt surrounded Titus. Broadswords were drawn, blocking his escape.