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Put up a fight—by myself—against fifty soldiers on horses?
His heel scrapes the stone as he pivots to face me. “How was I to go? Poison as well? Or perhaps a well-placed blade while I lay next to you, sated and oblivious?”
I want to deny everything and claim my innocence, but I bite my tongue. The more he talks, the more I’ll learn. So far, I know his parents are survived by three children, and it sounds like Zander and I might have been a couple. In that case, the snipe about my modesty around him makes sense.
But what exactly were we to each other?
My gaze drifts to his mouth, to a full set of lips. Have I kissed them before?
Have those piercing eyes already seen everything beneath this dress?
Have we woken up, jumbled in each other’s limbs?
It’s disorienting to stand before a man who I have no familiarity with when he seems overly familiar with me. A man who accuses me of murdering his loved ones, with ample evidence, apparently.
“Did your father know about this scheme when he bargained with mine? Because I see Neilina’s name written all over it. Not that it matters. Unfortunately for all of you, your carefully laid plans fell apart when my parents decided to have their repast before the ceremony instead of after.” His jaw tenses. “Who within these walls conspired with you? I know you had aid, beyond that of Lord Muirn’s. Someone who knew our schedules, knew how to get past the guards. I want to know who betrayed my family. Who betrayed Islor?”
I steady my voice. “I didn’t conspire to kill—”
“Who helped you!” he roars, his hand flexing toward his dagger.
I shrink back. There’s no use. He’s already convinced of my guilt, and he won’t listen to me if I keep offering him denials. I need to find some other way to give him the truth. “Sofie.”
He falters, as if not expecting an answer so quickly, or one at all. “Sofie,” he repeats, his brow furrowing. “I do not know any Sofie.”
“That’s what she told me her name was, but maybe she was lying.”
“Who is she? A courtier? A lady-in-waiting? A servant?”
“Definitely not a servant. She has her own castle. She’s tall and thin and has long red hair. She’s beautiful. Good with a sword.”
He shakes his head. The description must not fit anyone he knows. “Where did you meet her?”
“At a charity event in Manhattan.”
“Is that in Ybaris?”
He’s a king who hasn’t heard of Manhattan? “No. It’s in New York. We met there and then flew to—”
“Flew? Are you telling me a caster was behind this?”
I frown. A what?
“Is she an elemental?”
“I don’t know?”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds like a curse. “How powerful is she? Is she within our city walls now?” He fires off questions, his voice suddenly urgent.
How powerful? I can’t begin to answer that. “She said she couldn’t come here.”
He paces again. “And what did you promise that misguided fool, Lord Muirn, for his help with the insurgents?” He hums. “Of course … your hand in marriage. With all of us dead, you would need an Islorian of noble blood to help you secure the throne. Though you would have had little luck swaying the court with that turncoat. You truly know nothing of Islorian ways.”
I try again. “I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t kill your parents. I wasn’t going to try to kill you.”
“You’re locked in a tower and facing charges of high treason. You’ll say anything, won’t you, Romeria?”
“Probably,” I admit. My name on his tongue—as if he knows me so well—is jarring. “But that doesn’t change the fact that this wasn’t me. I’m not who you think I am.”
