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“Then stand there and deny yourself. It makes no difference to me.”
Out of sheer stubbornness, I locked my hands behind my back and waited, ignoring the food covering the table, the pig-like sounds the council made as they dined, and even the maids who eventually emptied the table.
“Let us visit with our guests,” my father said, gesturing toward the door.
The council went first. The second they exited the room, the king gripped my shoulder so hard that if I hadn’t been conditioned to his tactics, I might have winced. “Whatever the outcome of this meeting, you will do as you are told. You openly defied me in front of my council, which I allowed. It will not happen again. For once in your life, Deyanira, be useful.”
I dipped low, wondering why his brow twisted as if he were worried. “Yes, my king.”
We stood outside the doors of the throne room for several minutes. I tried not to fidget or let my mind wander, but there was really only one man who could shake my father. But why would the Maestro be here? Sticking his nose into royal politics wasn’t like him. He’d come to court on occasion, just to rile my father for the theatrics. He’d once bound one of my father’s court members during a ball, right in the middle of the ballroom. Then made the man circle the room, singing off-key for an hour before my father simply closed down the event and sent everyone home. It was a pissing match more than anything, Drexel Vanhoff reminding the city that he was a servant to no kingdom.
My father adjusted the golden crown on his gray hair and smoothed the front of his royal purple jacket, avoiding the brass buttons before nodding to the guards. When the doors opened and we entered, all eyes fell upon us, watching every step as if they all held their breath. I followed my father through the hall, past each of the obsidian pillars, up every single step of his towering dais, and stood silently beside him without scanning the anxious crowd. If Drexel Vanhoff was there, I would not give him the satisfaction of my curiosity. But when a line of familiar faces stepped forward, the edges of their boots kicking the dais, I realized the true reason for my father’s feelings.
“Councilmen,” my father said by way of greeting, ignoring the gathered court that came to gawk.
They bowed collectively before the one with a round belly, wearing the official green sash of Silbath decorated in several metal pins, spoke. “We agreed that she would not be armed.”
“No,” my father answered coolly. “We agreed that she would be asked to leave her weapons behind. My council can attest that she was instructed to do so and disobeyed.”
They shared wary glances before a man with long white hair, save the massive bald spot on his shining head, spoke. “Princess Deyanira Hark, Death Maiden and heir to the throne of Perth, you are hereby charged with high treason and the murder of our beloved king, His Royal Highness, Bram Ellis, may he rest in peace.”
“May he rest in peace,” the gathered repeated, including my father.
“What say you?”
A thousand-pound weight dropped into my stomach as my ears began to ring.
“Speak,” my father commanded.
I curtsied to him to buy myself time, dragging in a steady breath. “It is unfortunate that Death delivered the name of your king, but as Maiden, it is my obligation to fulfill the demand of Death, even above my own father’s rule. A Maiden cannot be held responsible for the whims of Death. That is the law.”
“And why should we believe you were not acting on your father’s behalf?” one of the councilmen asked.
“Have you not asked him yourself?”
The man’s voice remained dull, as if he read from a script. “We have.”
I gripped the hilt of my dagger to keep myself calm and rational. This was merely protocol. They would have their answer and be on their way. “And are you calling him a liar?”
Several of my father’s court shifted in their chairs, sharing glances and whispers as the question hung in the air.
“I am calling you a murderer.”
“Because I am,” I said, mimicking my father’s cool tone. “I recognize your voice. You spoke in the halls outside your former king’s council chambers and said, ‘The king is ready for war, and I say more power to him. Why should we fear Perth?’”
“I certainly did not.”
I could feel my father’s razor-sharp glare on the back of my neck. I’d withheld that information. “So, you’re calling me a liar? In my father’s kingdom? As you accuse him and me of conspiring to kill your king. Does that sum it up?”
“In a thousand years, since our kingdom’s fate was saved by Death, he’s never ordered the life of a king to end. Ironic now, that the first time a royal is chosen as Maiden, and as the unrest between our kingdoms is nearly at a boiling point, our king should be murdered. Is it not?”
“No.”
“Elaborate.”
I walked forward, taking several steps down the stairs to make sure my voice was heard all the way to the back of the room.
“I don’t pretend to know what Death’s motive is for a single name that’s burned into my palm. It’s not my business, and it isn’t yours. But aside from one terrible tragedy, I’ve never taken a life that was not ordered. However, the only people that push for war work within the walls of a castle. The people, councilman, those you speak for, want far simpler things. Like food, shelter, and warmth. Your kingdom is being taken over by a crime lord running a burlesque show with too much power, and it’s allowed because you get a cut of the profit. They do not call him the Maestro for nothing. Eventually, he will silence you, and your kingdom will be the one to pay.”
