“You must sign, husband,” Queen Hanna said firmly with simmering resentment in her voice, mixed with a twinge of pleasure to see her elderly husband suffering.
“Your wife is correct,” King Marthin said. “The rules were clear.”
“If you have any trouble understanding the rules,” Rangar added, sidling up behind the old Dresel king with menacing energy, “I’m sure the Woll guards at the door would be willing to explain it to you in the dungeon.”
“Wait!” Baron Marmose yelled from across the room. “The rules . . . Yes, King Marthin said if no agreement is made, the negotiations would go on into the night. Don’t sign, Grey. We’ll keep talking.”
“Ah, no, I don’t believe you were listening,” Marthin said with a rare note of displeasure in his otherwise affable voice. “A decisionwasmade. The grand parlay cannot be continued now. All that is left to do is sign, and King Rangar is correct: failing to abide by the rules of the grand parlay can result in imprisonment.”
“You can’t imprison a king!” the baron shouted.
“Kings are not above the law.”
Old King Grey grumbled curses under his breath as he grabbed the quill from Mars’ hand and angrily scrawled his name onto the parchment. Derisively, he shoved the scroll in Marthin’s direction. “Your turn then, sire. Unless you need your wife to hold your hand as you write your name, as she appears to do everything else for you. I wonder if she even holds your cock while you piss?”
Bryn shot to her feet, insulted on behalf of the queen whose body she inhabited. But she forgot about the queen’s infirmity, and her knees buckled.
“My queen!” Rangar rushed to help her before she collapsed back into her chair.
“I’m fine, Rangar,” Bryn breathed, then immediately realized her mistake. “KingRangar.”
Baron Marmose focused sharply on her, having picked up on her calling Rangar directly by his name.
Marthin dropped the quill and went to his wife’s side as well. “Amelia? My wife?”
Prince Anter snatched up the quill. “King Marthin, you must sign.”
Marthin waved him away. “I will, I will, give me a chance to attend to my wife!”
Prince Anter turned toward King Salvator of Zaradona instead. “Then it’s your turn, Salvator.”
King Salvator looked furious enough to burst apart at the seams. His lips pursed as though ready to refuse, but then the doors opened for additional armed soldiers whom the servants must have summoned, and the thought of the dungeon cowed him.
He signed his name in disgust.
“That only leaves Marthin and you, Cedric,” Rangar barked, grabbing the scroll and slamming it down in front of the Rumese king.
King Cedric Cheron looked like the hounds of hell were about to tear him apart and he had no idea what to do. His attention darted between his wife and Baron Marmose whispering furiously in the corner, the armed guards, and the little dogs yapping at his feet.
He picked up the quill with an uncertain hand.
At the same time, Declan Hytooth came striding into the library with a worried look on his face. Oblivious to the tension in the room, he searched among the delegates until his eyes settled on Rangar.
“King Rangar? I went to check on Queen Bryn. You must go to her—she’s in some kind of comatose state. The healer looking out for her tried to tell me it’s nothing, but my own eyes tell me differently.”
Bryn’s lips parted silently as she realized what was happening. Declan Hytooth thought he was saving her life . . . but he was ruining everything!
Rangar’s gaze shot to Bryn’s; his jaw clenched. After an unspoken look passed between them, he said to Declan, “Yes. Of course. I already signed the vote—I should be free to attend to my wife.”
“Wait!” Baron Marmose shoved past Queen Yves and High Priest Felisian Red to approach Declan. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, the baron asked, “You say Queen Bryn is comatose?”
“That’s right,” Declan said, clearly concerned. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
The baron dropped his voice, but Bryn was close enough to hear. “Would you say she’s in a trance?”
“A trance? I wouldn’t know. Only that her healer seems unsuited to address the severity of whatever ails her . . .”
Baron Marmose held out a sharp hand for Declan to be silent. His urgent, searching gaze scanned from Rangar, to Prince Anter, to Mars and Illiana, and then settled on Bryn in Queen Amelia’s body.
