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“Aren’t you glad I had Wendeline mark him?” Percy was fine yesterday morning but woke up with his mark glowing. At least we know the priestess’s brand works as it should. Who poisoned him, though, no one can figure out. Saoirse has an ironclad alibi, and she wouldn’t admit to a conspirator within our household upon questioning, but she also hasn’t admitted to hiding the vial in the library and had the gall to demand we reveal her accuser.
“I hear Dagny’s son might be willing.”
Annika’s brow furrows. “She has a son?”
“Dear sister, sometimes you are so oblivious, it frightens me.”
“Regardless, why are you dragging me here? Execute him and be done with it!”
“I didn’t execute Wendeline, and she proved useful. Maybe Tyree still has value as well. And who knows? You two could fall madly in love with each other as Zander and Romeria have.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you need a battalion of guards to keep him from escaping, but I’m sure he will take one look at me and decide he’s ready to abandon his scheming, murderous ways.”
I ignore her sarcasm as we close in on his rooms, though her words are a stark reminder that I have ten soldiers on one prisoner when they’re needed elsewhere. “Any issues?”
“None, Your Highness. The prisoner just finished his evening meal,” a guard answers.
I nod toward the door, a wordless command they know to follow.
The three guards unlock it and enter, their swords drawn and ready.
A cool breeze flows in through the open balcony. Maybe ordering Wendeline to seal it as she did with Romeria would be a better plan.
“Behave,” I warn Annika.
In moments, Tyree strolls through, the points of the swords pressed against his neck. He has bathed—thankfully—and changed his clothes into a simple black tunic and breeches. Where his arm was mangled by merth blades to hinder his affinity, silver scars remain.
“Seems pointless for you to have your caster heal me, only for these guards to injure me again, doesn’t it? Or do you plan on having her heal me regularly?”
I wave a dismissive hand and the guards step back, removing their blades but keeping them at the ready.
Tyree’s blue eyes shift to Annika. “My bride-to-be. Are you as thrilled by this match as I am?”
“I would rather suck on a vat of Romeria’s blood than consummate that union,” she snarls.
“I promise, your tune will change.” He scrapes his gaze over her frame, a secretive smile on his lips.
I’m no fool. My twin sister is desired by most males who cross her path, not only for her royal position, but even more, her beauty.
But if there is one thing she doesn’t react to well, it’s cocky males. “We’ve intercepted a letter from your mother,” she says with haughty indignation. “We know her plans to cross at Hudem, and we are already preparing to meet her there and crush her. So there is no use for you but kindling for a pyre, which is what you will be if my brother ever suggests I stand in a room with you again.”
A strangled sound escapes me.
Tyree’s smile grows wider. “I like a good challenge.”
“There is no match between us, and there never will be,” she hisses.
“Fates, why must you be so damned difficult,” I mutter as she spins and stomps out the door.
Tyree’s gaze trails after her, amusement shining in them. “I like her more already.”
“Leave us,” I command the guards.
They march out without another word.
“She doesn’t have much respect for you, does she?” Tyree folds his arms, adopting a casual stance. “What kind of king can’t control his own sister?”
“Speaking of sisters, how did it feel to have Romeria seek you out in the dungeon and pump you for information for her new love?”
A muscle in Tyree’s jaw ticks, the only sign that my words pierce him. But I was there at the end of that exchange; I saw how he smashed her face against the bars in a fit of rage.
In the next moment, it’s gone, replaced by an arrogant smirk. “I hear you are having issues with your eastern lords. How very terrible.”
Those idiot guards must be gossiping again. “Nothing that isn’t on its way to resolution soon.”
“Resolution?” He snorts. “Islor is already on its knees, and you scramble with futile marriage proposals that will not solve your problems. My father was as foolish, and that landed him in a grave. You need better advisors, Atticus.”
“And what would you propose, as my wise advisor?” I ask with exaggerated flourish.
Tyree strolls over to take a seat on the couch, slinging his arms across the back on either side. As if he hasn’t a care in the world, as if I might not drive a sword through him at any moment. “Release me, and I will find my sister, so I may deal with her for her betrayal to Ybaris. That is one less traitor in your midst.”
