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Zander waves a dismissive hand. “At ease, Captain. She has forgotten proper decorum, what with her recent bout of total memory loss. Rumor has it she’s taken to wandering around her balcony in her nightdress.”
Derisive chuckles carry through the room, and I feel my cheeks flush. He’s mocking me, making me look the fool.
“And the servant I selected for you, I hope she’s meeting your needs? She’s one of our finest.”
He handpicked the saltiest woman in the castle and probably gave her carte blanche to treat me like a pariah. “She’s an utter delight, Your Highness.” I don’t mean the address to come out sounding hostile, but I realize how satisfying it is. No wonder Corrin is always doing it to me.
Something dark flashes in Zander’s eyes, and I instantly regret my cheekiness.
Boaz charges forward.
“Leave it.” Zander’s sharp tone slices through the air, stopping him dead. “We have more pressing matters.”
The captain stops abruptly, but with a withering glare and clenched fists. I’ll bet he’s imagining putting another arrow through me. He despises me. The feeling is mutual.
Zander collects a tiny roll of paper from the table and stretches it out between two fingers. Unfurled, it’s much longer than it first appears. “‘King Barris is dead,’” he reads out loud.
They’re all staring, waiting for my response. Clearly, it’s supposed to mean something to me. “That’s … unfortunate?” I offer.
Zander’s head cocks, his expression turning curious. “I tell you that your father is dead, and your answer is ‘that’s unfortunate’?”
King Barris is Princess Romeria’s father. The king of Ybaris. That makes sense.
“Heartless,” Boaz mutters.
Myfather is likely curled up on a grungy street in New York, warning everyone about demons, I want to say, but I bite my tongue and wait, hoping to glean more information from whatever they’re about to accuse me of. That’s how our conversations always unfold.
“I guess the rumors of your dislike for him were true, despite what you once told me.” The king tosses the paper to join a collection of others of varying sizes. “Aren’t you the least bit curious to know when he died? How he died? Or should I assume that’s old news for you?”
“No. I mean, yes, please tell me.” Any snippet could be useful in figuring out where I am and how to get out of here. I can practically hear Boaz’s molars grinding, so I cap my request with a delayed “Your Highness,” more conciliatory this time.
“He died the same day of the attack on Cirilea. A fatal blade to the heart. Much faster than being poisoned with deliquesced merth.”
That silver rope that was bound to Annika. That’s what she called it: merth. I take it that’s how the princess killed Zander’s parents. Did they eat it? Drink it? Was it a tainted dagger tip that did them in? I guess it doesn’t matter. Any one of those versions is terrible.
“This news, of course, sheds new light on the situation.” His footfalls echo through the chamber as he paces around the table. “The fact that King Barris, who forged this alliance between Ybaris and Islor, died in such a tragic and intentional manner on the same day as the king and queen of Islor, and yet Queen Neilina remains unscathed, suggests that your father had intentions of honoring the arrangement. Your mother, however, had other plans.” My nose catches a sweet woodsy scent as he approaches, stopping just before me. “Did you scheme together, or were you simply carrying out her mission?”
The wall of chest, much too close for my liking, forces my eyes upward. I meet his frosty gaze.
“What was the plan, for her to rule Ybaris, and you, Islor? Or would she insist on ruling both, being the power-starved tyrant that she is?”
Behind him, Boaz shifts his weight, his hand on his sword, as if he might need to spring forward and protect his king at any moment against me, the unarmed woman in the pale blue dress.
I swallow against the growing tension in the room. “I can’t—”
“Yes, yes. You can’t recall. That part, I remember,” Zander cuts me off, his tone bored, dismissive. He pivots and continues his pacing. “Of course, your mother has claimed that Islor are the perpetrators behind their beloved King Barris’s death, that we somehow crossed the Great Rift into Ybaris and assassinated him as a means of ending an alliance we did not want. She’s claimed we’ve murdered you.” He snorts. “Ironic, no? And according to rumor, we have refused to deliver your body for proper burial, as would be civilized. But of course, Islorians are so brutal and uncultured, we’ve done unspeakable and savage things to your body. She’s using her vast network of spies and messengers to spread these falsities through Ybaris like a virulent plague, flaring a fresh wave of hatred for everyone and everything south of the rift. No doubt her army will be double before long.”
What he’s alluding to finally clicks. “You think the queen had the king killed.”
“Neilina has been described as cold and cunning. Dare I say that’s a tree whose fruit hasn’t fallen far.” He shoots a dirty look my way. “It would certainly explain why the commander of her royal army is now warming her bed, barely a fortnight after her husband’s death.”
My eyes widen at that salacious morsel. Dear queen mother was having an affair with her war leader behind her husband the king’s back? “Please tell me he’s not her twin brother,” I murmur under my breath.
Zander’s eyebrows arch. “Pardon?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing.”
He opens his mouth but then clamps it shut, his fingers aimlessly flittering through the unfurled papers as thoughts seem to occupy his mind. They’re messages, I realize. Some are folded, with broken wax seals of various colors. Official correspondence to the king. Others are tiny scrolls of paper likely sent by spies that could be hidden in sleeves and pockets or shoes. Or maybe tied to carrier pigeons? I’ve always been intrigued by the idea that birds could be trained to deliver secret messages.
