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Quiet murmurs sound, but no one dares counter me.
I should leave now. I should end this assembly and walk out, feeling successful.
But I can’t bring myself to ignore the sour face in the crowd. “Lord Danthrin of Freywich! Please, come forward for a moment.”
“Atticus,” Kazimir whispers in warning.
I ignore him as I watch Danthrin plaster on a glossy expression to hide his apprehension. “Your Highness.” He steps ahead with a flourish and then bows deeply. “How may I be of service to the king?”
This prick abused Gracen and her children. He passed Gracen around like a bowl of confectionaries, to be shared among friends. “I would like you to repeat for me exactly what you said to my servant in the dining hall.”
His eyebrows arch. “Your Highness? Which servant are you referring—”
“You know which one.”
Wariness flickers, his eyes darting to Kazimir. “I told her how much I missed her culinary skills.”
“Her culinary skills.” He lies so smoothly I can’t help but be impressed.
But he lies.
“She is unmatched in all Islor. That is why the traitor princess took her from me in the first place.”
He takes any chance he can to mention Romeria’s involvement, as if that might win him points, turn the attention away from his wrongdoing.
“Is that true, Captain? Was Lord Danthrin of Freywich complimenting my servant?”
Kazimir sighs reluctantly. “If a compliment includes threatening to torture her children while she dies slowly, tied to a tree.”
Audible gasps sound as my rage ignites. If he would say such things to her in the middle of a crowded dining hall, I can only imagine the sorts of things he said—and did—to her in the privacy of his home.
Danthrin lifts his hands to pat the air in a sign of surrender. “I assure His Highness that the captain grossly misheard—”
I’ve drawn my sword and swung before he finishes his sentence.
Screams sound as his head sails across the throne room floor, landing many feet away as his body collapses. A spray of blood leaves a trail to be cleaned.
My adrenaline races. There hasn’t been an execution in the throne room since the days of King Rhionn. But I don’t feel the least bit of regret. No matter what happens to me, Lord Danthrin will never utter a single word, cruel or otherwise, to Gracen. “In case it wasn’t clear, any threat against my household is a threat against the throne, and it will be dealt with accordingly.” With that, I spin on my heels, marching toward the war room, blood dripping from my blade.
Kazimir closes in behind me. “What was that?”
“I want them to know I was serious,” I drawl. “And apparently, he liked an audience.”
“You just chopped off our rabbit’s head.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll have others to chase soon enough. Put tails on them all and see which holes they run down.” We will follow until we’ve caught every last treasonous one.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ROMERIA
“Romeria … Romeria.”
“Hmm?” I crack my eyes at the sound of my name. It takes a moment to register that I’m alone in my bedchamber and I must be dreaming. Or wishing that Zander was lying next to me again. But he is already within Soldor, facing God only knows what without me.
A hollow ache yawns inside me from his absence.
Beyond the gauzy curtains that frame the doors to my terrace, two moons glow, both nearly full.
Hudem will be here in a blink.
What will happen to Islor then?
My chest tightens as it does every time I acknowledge what I’ve done by opening the gates to this city, what I’ve invited. We have no other choice, anyway, I remind myself. Releasing the nymphs and accepting their magic is the only way to save Islor from what Princess Romeria did. What comes next … Zander is right. We’ll fight it together.
But if anything happens to him, I’m afraid I’ll burn this world to the ground.
“Romeria.”
The hairs on the back of my neck spike at the sound of Lucretia’s voice. I didn’t dream it after all. I bolt out of bed, my affinities rising instantly, crackling beneath my skin like static currents as I search the shadows of my room. “Show yourself.” I half expect the snake to slither out from beneath my bed, but no one appears—neither reptile nor seductive female form.
Jarek and I visited the crypt together after Zander left, hoping to draw her out, but she didn’t appear then either.
“Romeria.” Again, she calls, my name like a breathy whisper on a breeze. A taunt.
I have a feeling I know where she’ll be. Throwing a cloak over my gown, I drop the ward on my door. The hallway outside my chambers is empty. Jarek must be seizing a few well-earned hours of sleep.
I move for his room down the hall—another requirement of accepting the position of commander was that he be stationed close to me. This is the first time I’ve actually seen him use it. I lift my hand to knock, but falter as a soft, muffled sound of a female’s moan touches my ear.
