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Lachlan’s thoughts locked up, along with his words. “I sent a message–”
“That we couldn’t verify was true,” Mallor snapped.
Lachlan slid back into the way his father made him feel small. Mallor’s reproach about everything. His accusation and condemnation of Lachlan being a disappointment. All the reasons he’d been underhanded rather than facing his father—just like Ollie said—because his father failed to hear him.
“Your Majesty.” Ollie stepped forward like he always did. A bridge.
But Lachlan refused to need the bridge anymore and held up his hand. His father needed to see him as he was, like Tarley had. Mallor could accept him or not, but Lachlan couldn’t make that his issue any longer. He was Lachlan, the Crown Prince of Jast, betrothed to Tarley Fareview of Sevens, Kaloma. He would be the king one day, but on his own terms. He alone knew what was in his heart, and his behavior would exemplify that from this day forward.
Except as he worked through the paralysis to defend his betrothed, defend himself to his father—Tarley’s hand slipped from his grip. He hadn’t been fast enough. She turned, looked at him—tears bright in her stormy eyes—and she walked out.
Lachlan spun on his father. “That’s what you think? That I didn’t return home because I was on some pleasure vacation from my responsibilities? I almost died, and if it hadn’t been for her–” He swiped his hand over his forehead, then looked at his father, seething. “You’d be mourning me instead.”
The rebuke on Mallor’s face softened slightly.
“Did it ever fucking occur to you that I was stuck?” Noticing the looks from the Kaloma contingent, Lachlan lowered his voice. “That there wasn’t a way to get home. And that woman” —he pointed at the door where Tarley had disappeared— “the daughter of a gentleman and a favored family of Sevens—is the reason I’m alive.” He searched his father’s expression and noticed the momentary regret followed by the mask of pride. Lachlan shook his head and turned away to go after Tarley.
But Ollie waylaid him with a hand on his arm. “She’ll wait.” His eyes shifted to the Kaloma contingent, and Lachlan noted the tension in the room. “There are things that can’t.”
“Jast has been in Kaloma for some time,” one of the robed men said from the Kaloma side of the room. “It is rumored our queen was assassinated by marauders from Jast.”
Lachlan glanced at the doorway across the room to the kitchen, at Credence and Genevieve attempting to placate the Kaloma officials with food and drink, standing still among them. Credence stared at him, shocked.
“Jast didn’t kill your queen,” someone said.
The room exploded as accusations flew.
While he wanted to go after Tarley, Ollie was right. Lachlan had responsibilities that needed to be addressed immediately, including the fact the queen was alive. “Father only,” he said and led the king and the guards from the room up the stairwell until he was standing outside Keyanna’s door.
He knocked. “It’s me.”
The door opened.
Lachlan stepped inside with his father in tow, leaving the guards outside the door.
Mallor stopped, his eyes connecting with the queen, then looked back at Lachlan. “How?”
“You did come for him,” she said, her tone laced with her own version of condemnation. “I was beginning to wonder. Took you long enough.”
“Of course I came for him. We couldn’t verify the message.” Mallor looked from Lachlan to Keyanna and back again. “What is this? They just said you’d been killed–”
“Well, Uncle Mallor,” Keyanna replied and went to sit on the edge of her bed, leaving the chair for the king. “What you see before you is the product of two assassination attempts. One against your son and one attempted against me.”
“By who?”
Queen Keyanna glanced at Lachlan, then to his father. “I suspect someone down in that hall,” she said. She looked at Lachlan. “What of my sister?”
“She’s here. Safe. Mattias got her your message and trailed her here.”
Keyanna took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her features relaxing with relief.
“They don’t know you’re alive,” Mallor surmised.
She shook her head. “Neither of us, well, now they know Lachlan is–” she said, glancing at him with a short smile. “But as far as they know, I perished in an attack and a very piss-poor attempt to frame Jast for it.”
“Jast? Why would we be stupid enough to start another war? Besides, we wouldn’t need to. Kaloma is poor in might, niece.”
Keyanna bristled at Mallor’s arrogance, but Lachlan knew she could admit he was right. “Then why not come for us if we are so poor?”
