Princess Eliza stood and swept a graceful curtsy. Then shewinked.
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. The king gave a stern frown but said nothing. Though Baron had expected the crown princess to continue with a welcoming address, she floundered for a moment, as if forgetting her words. Then she jumped to the next matter of business.
Baron would have liked it much better if that next matter was not himself.
“The Crown has another presentation to make as well,” she said, nodding to her father. She took her seat with cheeks that had gone slightly pink.
If the king thought her abruptness strange, he didn’t comment. He stood and crooked the fingers of one hand. “Guillaume Reeves, approach.”
All eyes turned to Baron. He fought to keep his expression impassive, but it felt like one eye was twitching. He strode forward, careful to keep his hand off the hilt of his dress sword; comfort though it would have been, he would not give anyone reason to call him threatening.
At the foot of the dais, Baron made a formal bow, arms folded over his stomach, head dipping low. Then he straightened. And waited.
The king’s voice boomed over the silent gathering. “Lord Baron Marcus Reeves, may he rest, was an honorable man, a credit to his noble title. Guillaume Reeves, you are his firstborn heir?”
Swallowing past a tight throat, Baron managed a “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He’d witnessed other presentations. They ended here. The king pronounced his approval, welcomed the newcomer to court, and the celebration began in earnest.
But instead, the king said, “You bear the witch’s mark?”
As if it wasn’t burned into his skin for all to see. As if people hadn’t been stealing glances at it since he’d arrived.
As if the crown princess wasn’t gawking at it now.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“The Crown cannot, in good conscience, give seat to a Caster.”
Quiet murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind rustling leaves. There it was, in the open. One small part of Baron had always been convinced it wouldn’t happen, that his dread of this day was only born of fearful imagining, that after all his efforts to follow the rules with exactness, he would be afforded the base rights of society after all. Casters were not lesser citizens, the law insisted. The witch’s mark was merely a precaution to keep all people safe, including magic users themselves.
He wore the brand forthem. But theirgood consciencecould not afford him a seat to his ownbirthright.
Calm down, he ordered himself. Ever since the event invitation had arrived, he’d braced for conflict, carefully piecing together arguments he could use to defend himself when inevitably challenged.
And he’d also considered the alternative.
If the Reeves title was stripped and given to another family, it would be a humiliation, a blight to his father’s legacy. A landholding title had never been revoked in Loegria except for criminal offenses. However, it would also mean less scrutiny on the twins. As long as Baron drew attention, he drew it to the whole family. If he were an ordinary citizen—not a lord—he could offer his brothers greater safety, farther from the Crown’s attention.
Yet both Baron and his father had agreed the only true hope for the twins was change in the kingdom. Otherwise, the best he could offer was a lifetime of hiding, a life of fear. The twins deserved better.
Baron wanted to give them better. Wanted it so fiercely his knees trembled.
Breaking the silence of the room, the king grunted in what seemed to be approval. “The Reeves title—”
“Is mine,” Baron said. “By rights.”
The crowd’s murmuring doubled, shaking not only imaginary leaves but the trees themselves. The entire room seemed to vibrate with an excited terror. Perhaps the court wondered how a Caster dared interrupt a king. Perhaps they thought him a fool.
Perhaps he was.
Baron lifted his head. “Your Majesty, the law of title inheritance does not exclude Casters. I intend to uphold every rule of court. I ask only for my legal birthright, as any other person in my position would receive.”
He stumbled a bit, voice shaking, and he forgot most of the points he’d intended to make. All he could do was stand firm and wait.
The king spoke coldly. “You imply the kingdom has an imperfect law?”
Baron knew better than to answer that. His palms grew sweaty.
