“I’ve done nothing wrong,” he finally said.
King Peregrine’s brows drew down, like clouds lowering to deliver a storm. Baron’s heartbeat provided the thunder, rumbling with fear in his chest. By antagonizing the king, would he advance the oppression of magic users? Had he made everything worse?
Then the crown princess stood.
“You are the firstborn heir,” she said. “But not the only?”
For a moment, all Baron could do was blink before his senses caught up enough that he could nod.
As if she’d been part of proceedings from the beginning, Princess Aria said, “Esteemed members of court, we have suffered a recent wound. A threat of aggression. Scarcely can the Morton name be spoken without remembering it.”
Baron tensed. For a moment, he’d dared to hope she would, in some way, defend him. But she’d returned the topic to the untrustworthiness of Casters.
“We would be ill-advised to ignore the threat at hand. However, we would be just as ill-advised to ignore other considerations, such as the benefit of trust within this court, built over generations of strong, dutiful families. The Reeves family is part of that legacy. A strong kingdom is built on the foundation of a strong court. We have such a thing here, built by all in attendance, and Loegria is better for it.”
With all the charm a creature might possess, she smiled out at the ballroom, earning a few smiles in return.
Baron didn’t smile. He watched the king.
The man’s eyes still threatened storms, but the wind had turned from Baron’s direction, focusing instead on the girl poised to inherit the kingdom.
When His Majesty at last spoke, he said, “The Reeves title will pass to the second-born heir, Corvin Reeves. Seeing as the boy is not yet of age, the court will appoint a steward to manage the estate and title, as well as to oversee his preparation for future duties. Though he has passed his twelve-year Casting test, one more will be administered at age seventeen. He must pass to inherit. This matter is settled. Begin the ball.”
The king waved his hand, and the galley orchestra struck up a loud melody.
Baron whirled, searching the crowd for his brothers. Corvin stood at the far end of the long table, his jaw slack, his dark eyes wide with fear.
Baron’s heart sank from his chest. The hollow it left behind was carved with a new title to replace the one he’d lost:Fool.
80 days left
Aria’s first attempt at hosting had been a disaster. She’d bungled her welcome speech—skipped it, more accurately—and managed to embarrass her father all in one fell swoop. Even the quill in her mind could not list all the day’s flaws. Perhaps she’d failed so spectacularly, it was worth praise rather than a mark. Surely no one could outdo it.
When her father extended his arm to invite her to dance, she took it with a forced smile, a display for the watching members of court. She wore that smile through the first bars of music until the rhythm of the steps was established and her father relaxed his own court mask.
“I’m sorry,” she said preemptively.
“Regret does not erase foolishness, Aria.”
She felt his frustration in the tenseness of his dance posture, saw it in his scowl.
Even though she’d apologized, even though she’d promised herself never to act against her father again, she found her voice clawing its way into justifications. “I thought it an elegant solution. By passing the title to the second son, the problem of a Caster in court is avoided, but so, too, is the problem of offending a loyal family or of making others in court fear losing titles without crime.”
“Yet you maintained a bloodline of magic in a titled position. If the second-born heir bears a Caster of his own, what then? Did you preserve them only to disown them at a later generation?” Her father sighed. “You undermined my position by interruption. Then, by referencing the court itself, you placed the power of decision-making outside the Crown. The court isonlyauxiliary to the Crown.”
“Auxiliary, perhaps, but still foundational,” she protested. “Loegria was founded upon the idea that the Crown should not holdabsolutepower. What of the law where even a monarch can stand trial by Upper Court?”
“That law is ancient and has never been practiced.”
“So it’s a mistake?”
“It’s simply an unnecessary precaution, and it isn’t the topic at hand. You presented a weak front when, always, the Crown must be strong. Far better for one family to lose a title, even undeserving of the loss, than to introduce weakness to the Head of State.”
He was right, of course. Aria had spoken without thinking the entire matter through, and she couldn’t blame her thoughtlessness on her curse. It was the same failing that had pushed her to attempt peace with Widow Morton against all sound advice.
Recklessness. Mark.
It had felt so unjust—watching Lord Reeves make such a heartfelt plea that no one seemed to hear. His words still echoed in her mind:I’ve done nothing wrong. Personally, Aria could never imagine making that claim with confidence, yet his bright eyes had been genuine, his stance firm. Facing ruin for his entire family, he’d been composed rather than angry, firm rather than belligerent, and ...
