“Exactly.” Dietan nods. “We’ll plan to attack in the middle of the raging party after he and all his most loyal supporters have eaten and drunk their fill. They won’t be prepared for an attack. We can eliminate many enemies at once.”
“According to our information, most of his allies are only loyal to him because of the threat to their families if they don’t. In fact, we know that many of his generals and administrators’ wives are courtiers at Castle Engel, to insure their good behavior,” Arnfried confirms.
“Hostages,” Tess spits.
“Exactly. If we act swiftly enough, it’s unlikely that anyone will pick up a sword in retaliation,” says Marcus.
Tess adds, “Security in the castle will be tight. Namreth is confident that no one can match the Unseen Death, but even so, he doesn’t allow weapons in the castle except for those his guards carry.”
Jared bites his lip, unconvinced. “Just so we’re clear. We’re thinking of storming averywell-guarded castle and killing a king who has control of the Whisting.” His eyes dart to Dietan briefly before he continues. “…With nothing more than our fists. And on top of all that, you expect us to simply walk in?”
“Like it’s hard?” Dietan laughs wryly.
“If we don’t strike him at the banquet, then when? When he marches with his army? With thousands of soldiers at his side? When he meets up with the Usurper and doubles their strength?” Marcus asks. “Much easier to do it now when he least expects it.”
Jared sits hunched over the table, biting his thumb till the skin turns white. “It sounds impossible,” he says. “I’m all for bravely facing down impossible odds like the heroes of the First Epoch, but it doesn’t help your father and grandfather at all if their heir meets an avoidable end on the floor of Namreth’s banquet hall. This is suicide.”
“Technically, it’s homicide,” Dietan says cheerfully.
“Apologies, Your Highness, but you still look like shit, and so do I,” says Jared. “Even if we manage to sneak in undetected, without weapons, what are we going to do when we get there? Insult his taste in interior design?”
Lambert laughs. “Oooh, good one.”
But the rest of the table looks to Dietan. I can tell that Marcus, at least, hopes that after his display on the bridge, Dietan can unleash the Whisting and challenge Namreth. Because without magic—without an army—the plan is clearly preposterous.
“We’ll figure out how to get weapons somehow, but the main thing is to get inside the castle.” Dietan sighs, serious now. He bows his head and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he is looking straight at me. “What do you think of the plan?”
I blink in surprise. “Me?”
“We escaped because of you the first time. Any thoughts?”
Everyone turns to me, but my mind goes completely blank. I’m entirely underqualified to participate in anything like this, let alone to advise on military strategy. I’m not a soldier or a general and definitely not an assassin. My skills are confined to the kitchen and the sewing bench. Not here on the cusp of an impossible assassination attempt. I feel like I’m watching the last grains of sand slip through an hourglass.
The warmth in Dietan’s eyes is more comforting than honey porridge on a cold morning and makes me wish I could summon an army, or Veteria, or Sirona herself to ease his great burden. But I’m just a barmaid from a small town in Alarice, a long way from home, and I’m not even the princess they all believe I am.
“Can you all give us a moment?” he asks the group. Gently, he leads us away from the table.
In the quiet of the hall, Dietan rests his back against the wall, his long arms folded across his chest. I lean against the opposite wall, propping myself up as the weight of the world presses down on my shoulders.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low.
“Not really.”
Dietan waits quietly, without judgment on his face.
“If you tell me this is a bad idea, I’ll listen,” he says. “We can scrub this whole mission. Forget taking down Namreth. Plan our escape instead. Get ahead of his army and rally Loegria to meet them on the battlefield. Say the word, and I’ll follow.”
To think—a prince taking advice from a common barmaid. If I could go back in time and tell my past self that this would happen, that Aren would laugh herself silly. But back then, I didn’t think a prince would ever look twice at a girl like me.
“I just… I don’t know… I’m notthis.” I gesture to him and beyond to the group waiting in the room. If I make the wrong decision, I could be putting everyone’s lives at risk once more. And I’ve lost too many already.
Dietan seems to understand what I’m thinking, even if I can’t put it into words. “It’s my job to put my life on the line for my kingdom,” he says, taking my hand. “That’s why princes are raised to ride into battle. My father first put a sword in my hand—this royal knife, actually—when I was five years old. But it’s not your job. And other than Marcus, it’s not really any of their jobs, either.”
But Dietan is looking at me so intensely. I can’t look away. Nor do I want to let him down. He’s a fixed point in the chaos.
I think about the twins, and my father, and everyone in Evandale who might die if the Usurper invades. The look in Dietan’s eyes is all I need to know. If we don’t stand up to Namreth now, it might be too late. I take a deep breath. “I told you I wouldn’t let you do this by yourself. Let’s give that mad king hell.”
Dietan stares at me like he would take me to bed right this moment, if not for the friends and allies waiting in the next room. Instead, he lifts my hand to his lips, bows, and kisses it, like I’m a real princess.
