Aria’s knees shivered, begging her to relax into a seat, to let everything go. It was too much effort to argue. But she thought of Eliza, and she held her ground, finally asking the one question she’d been afraid to ask for months.
“What happened with Charles Morton?”
Her father had turned away from her, so she couldn’t see his expression, but she saw his shoulders tense.
“That matter was resolved months ago,” he said. “I executed a spy within my court.”
“He was your friend’s son.Henrywas your friend’s son. Does loyalty mean so little to you?”
“I did what was required for the safety of my kingdom. I always do.”
“I don’t think it was required.”
Silence cut the room but carried an emotional rumble, like a fault line dividing the ground between them under the first stirrings of an earthquake. Cold air seeped from the window.
“I think”—Aria’s voice trembled—“you made a mistake. And I think it’s been slowly killing you since.”
Her father angled at last, allowing her a view of his profile, rigid as stone. He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead as he said, “A king cannot make mistakes.”
Aria nodded slowly. A wall inside her was cracking, and the rest of her mind clawed to keep the stones together, to hold back the truth pounding like a battering ram.
Don’t say it. Hold your tongue.
Everything will change if you say it.
Aria said, “What about Jenny? You made her.”
Mark.
Mark, mark, maaark.
Her father turned fully, and they stared at one another. Aria could not guess at what showed on her face, nor could she read the strange expression on her father’s.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why kill Charles?”
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I had to, Aria.I had to.”
“Why?”
The king turned away once more, expression and posture closed off. “This rebellious mindset is an effect of Casting, anduntil the matter with Northglen is resolved, you’re not to leave the castle for any reason.”
Aria ought to have been upset, but she felt only weary. “Then I’m under house arrest along with every Caster. Ironic, Father.”
“You are under Widow Morton’s thrall; you practically are of their ranks. I ought to have treated it as such sooner.” He drew in a deep breath, nodding. “That’s the truth of Eliza’s matter as well. She’s being driven by this curse laid against my house. When my guards see her safely returned home, they will ensure you both remain here.”
“Then I shall make myself comfortable. If you’ll excuse me, Father.”
She caught his quick glance, saw the frown. He’d clearly expected pushback, but there was no reason to waste her effort here. She would not convince her father of anything—that had become apparent—and amazingly, there was something freeing in the admittance.
If no words could persuade him, if no actions could please him, then every path opened to her. Rather than seeking the elusive, painfully narrow path of “the right thing” as defined by her father’s approval, she could run with full purpose down a wider, sunlit road.
She could follow whatshe feltwas right.
21 days left
Aria requested a meeting in the records room, and when her father’s head adviser arrived, he clutched a sheaf of parchment to his chest as if to shield himself from the cursed princess.
For her part, Aria felt the same trepidation but for a different reason. She’d sent her most important letter ever to Baron, and she desperately needed a distraction from how he might respond. Or, more likely, might not.
