“You dismissed the prince rather abruptly,” he said.
“I struck him and tossed him out,” I said. “Let’s call things what they are.”
Lemuel’s mouth flattened. “The court will expect an explanation about your brother’s expulsion and his role in what happened here.”
“The court can expect silence. They thrive on it.”
He drifted closer, hands tucked into his sleeves. “Your father would never have tolerated?—”
“My father is dead.” I hadn’t meant for it to sound like that—relief disguised as a statement—but it did.
Lemuel’s eyes narrowed. “May his spirit judge us all,” he murmured, the ritual phrase sharp as a knife. “And may you prove a stronger king than he believed you could be.”
I turned away, retracing my steps back to the table where I stared down at the maps of the villages Heliconia’s soldiers had burned. According to our scouts, she’d entered our borders three days ago, attacking every village along the way, taking no prisoners. It was concerning, the Winter queen’s sudden act of war, and required a king’s response. But mostly, I stared at the maps, unseeing, because I refused to let Lemuel’s words find a mark.
“He left you a kingdom bleeding from the roots,” Lemuel went on. “If we do not enrich our borders before the Winter queen finishes sucking the life from the land, Autumn will rot.”
“And what would you have me do? Drain our people? Empty their life force so thoroughly that I no longer have subjects to rule?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The suggestion hung between us like a specter.Increase the donations. Imbue yourself with power. At any cost.
“Close the donation centers,” I said.
“Your Majesty?” Lemuel blinked. “What will we do?—”
“We will allow our people to retain their magic so that they may fight and defend their kingdom,” I snapped.
The advisor hesitated.
“Do you defy your king’s commands?” I asked, debating the merits of simply putting my hand on his arm to make it so.
Butthe elder sorcerer shook his head. “No, Your Highness.”
“Then do as I say.”
Lemuel swallowed but said nothing. When he finally bowed out, the silence he left behind felt heavier than his oppressive presence ever had.
Chapter Seven
Aurelia
Agreeing to stay hadn’t magically made Frithhold feel less like a cage. It just meant I’d picked my prison. Night came anyway, sliding down the mountain in slow, gray sheets. Lamps were lit one by one, a warm glow in the great room that made it look almost inviting from the shadowed corridor outside my bedroom.
Almost.
I tried—and failed—to sleep. Restlessness drove me out again. I wrapped my arms around myself as I stepped into the main space, half expecting to find Keres waiting with a smirk and a new way to insult me. But the room was empty.
The fire banked low in the hearth, all coals and soft orange light. Shadows climbed the log walls, licking across stone and leather and wood.
Weapons lined every surface that wasn’t already taken up by shelves. Blades older than anything I’d seen in my lifetime. Axes with double heads and inlaid handles made of gemstones. A spear whose tip shimmered faintly with its own internal light. Each one mounted on a plaque etched with curling script I couldn’t decipher.
I drifted closer in spite of myself.
The nearest sword had a bronze hilt, the metal worn smooth where countless hands had gripped it. A dragon’s head curved along the pommel, jaws open in a silent snarl. The plaque beneath it was a small strip of metal bolted to the stone, the words engraved in the old tongue, the letters sharp and elegant.
My fingers itched to trace them.
Eventually, my gaze drifted back to the shelves.
