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Keris sipped at his wine, knowing he’d had too much but not caring, because the people had more power than he did. The power to see change accomplished.
They only needed someone to guide them in the right direction.
All his life, Keris had run from the crown, not wanting any part of it. Yet now he found that the desire to take that crown from his father burned like wildfire through his veins. Not only because it would give him the power to liberate Valcotta. Not only because he’d be able to free Aren Kertell and withdraw from Ithicana.
But because he wanted torule.
So Keris lifted his glass and joined the voices of his people as they screamed for Ithicana’s liberty. For Maridrina’s liberty. “Death to the king!”
The spy’s face drained of color. “Your father will hear of this.”
“I certainly hope so.” Keris leaned closer to the man. “He needs to answer for crossing his people. And for crossingme.”
Vaguely, he realized that his voice sounded like his father’s. Cold and threatening and cruel. But with the heat of wine and anger and grief firing through him, Keris didn’t care. The spy blanched, seeming to finally understand that what sat next to him was no sheep, but a wolf.
The spy tried to rise. “Your Highness—”
Keris shoved him back onto his stool, then raised his voice, loud enough to be heard over the noise. “This is one of the Magpie’s spies!”
The men and women near him went silent, their eyes fixing on the spy, whose face went pale.
If you truly believe in something, you should be willing to suffer for it. To die for it.
To kill for it.
“I bet he’s here spying on us and plans to scuttle back to his master,” Keris shouted. “And youallknow how Silas Veliant punishes dissent.”
Tension rose, the room growing silent as word spread.
“That true? You one of the Magpie’s creatures?” his bearded gambling companion finally demanded.
If the spy had held his ground and denied it, he might have lived. But the man’s nerve failed him, and he bolted to the exit.
Everyone in the bar surged, several moving to block the door.
“Spying on us, are you?” the bearded man said, driving the spy backward into the bar. “And just what are you planning to tell your master?”
“Nothing,” he sniveled. “I won’t tell him anything. You have my word!”
Keris smiled, for that was about the worst thing the spy could’ve said to these people.
“Your word?” the bearded man demanded. “Your word is worth less than the rag I wipe my ass with.” The crowd laughed, their starved eyes merciless. For the Magpie’s reputation was no secret to them. “You serve a sadist. You find him people to cut up for his own entertainment. Might be time for you to have a taste of what that feels like.”
“You can’t hurt me! There will be consequences!” He twisted around, and his eyes met Keris’s. “Highness, please! Keris!”
Keris tensed at the use of his name, waiting for the mob to turn their ire on him, but the bearded man only laughed. “I thought your pretty face looked familiar. Should have known it was you, given you’re the only man in the goddamned city with the balls to defy him.”
Shock radiated through him. That… that wasn’t what the people thought of him. They thought he was a weakling and a coward. The worst excuse for a prince to bear the Veliant name. Time and again, Keris had been told as much. Yet there were others in the crowd nodding, watching him not with disgust but with… with respect.
And he refused to disappoint them.
“Defiance is no longer enough.” Keris met their gazes. “Maridrina needs to be led by someone like-minded to its people. By someone who respects the people, not someone who sets Serin upon them for speaking their thoughts.”
The crowd shouted their agreement, calling again for the death of his father. For the death of Serin. For the death of the spy standing before them.
The crotch of the man’s trousers turned damp, a puddle of fear pooling around his boots. “I don’t serve Serin! I serve whoever wears the crown! I could serve you!”
“You’ll never serve me,” Keris answered, then gave a nod.
