The crowd parts at the far end of the room, and the figure they were all crowding around comes into view.
King Korvane.
My stomach clenches as the taste of bile stings the back of my throat. The monarch’s hair is a little longer than the last time I saw him, but it’sstill just as dark, and even from this distance I can see his eyes share the same dark brown hue as his only son.
My pulse thuds, and for one blood-rushing second, I wonder if I should take my chance and plunge a knife through Korvane’s black heart right now. This distance, no breeze, a clear view … I’d hit my target the first time. And the blade strapped to my thigh would do the job perfectly. Heat fills my lungs as my hands quiver. So much of me longs to do it. To kill him. The way he killed Florian. And it’s not like that’s the only life he took. In killing my brother, he also killed my parents. They just took longer to die.
I take a steady breath and cool, rational thought returns. I could kill Korvane, but then what? He’s surrounded by knights, guards, and loyalists with magic I could only ever dream of. If I miraculously got my dagger unsheathed and in his chest before someone stopped me, I’d be dead before I could even scream out why he deserved to die. And they wouldn’t just stop with me. They’d come for Kay, too.
And it’s not like the king’s death would change anything. Not when Kyor is just as vicious as his father.
Korvane’s low drawl, silky and smooth like a snake, interrupts my thoughts. ‘Lords, ladies, distinguished guests, and of course … Etta’s blessed Rettlings. Welcome to my humble abode.’
A light laugh ripples through the ballroom like a wave. A lump swells in my throat, and for a moment, I struggle to breathe.
‘Are you okay?’ Llinos reaches out and squeezes my hand, steadying me.
‘Not really,’ I admit, gratefully clinging to her like an anchor. Regardless of what happens in the trials, I already know I’ll be indebted to Llinos, if only for this moment and the steady hold I didn’t realise I needed.
‘The Retterheld is revered across all Morathka as the most formidable and honoured trial that our people can face,’ Korvane continues, ‘but the reward outstrips even the gold in our coffers. What could be more precious than a gift from the Goddess Etta herself? I’ll tell you. The winner of the Retterheld will enjoy not just the gifting from Etta, but our favour as well.’ He smiles as if the second gift is as worthy as the first.
My ears hum so loudly with the rush of adrenaline that I barely hear what he says next. Instead, my eyes are fixed on his crown – probably the most ostentatious piece of jewellery in existence. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. It was upon his head when he came to his wife’s bedchamber and found her lifeless.
Though I know it’s impossible, the smell of the queen’s blood fills my nostrils, cloying and metallic. I can’t cope, can’t breathe. I need to get out of here. But there’s no way I can bolt without drawing attention to myself. My heart is battering my ribs as I try to keep myself still, when from the other side of the room, a loud banging causes Korvane to fall silent.
A sudden murmur of voices swirls around me as the moment is broken, and the vice around my ribs falls away. Dropping Llinos’s hand, I gasp in relief. I can still smell it, that acrid tang of blood, but I can breathe. And that’s something.
When at last I drag in enough air, I realise the chatter has fallen to a hush, and every eye has swung from the king to the lone figure staggering across the ballroom. In one sweep, the swaying man grabs a glass of champagne, downs it in one, and returns it empty to the waiter’s tray before grabbing another.
‘Well, isn’t this a fucking delight?’ I can’t yet see his face, but his voice is a deep drawl that’s awfully familiar. ‘Let’s have a party while the great king’s soldiers die. Or maybe that’swhywe’re having a party? Is it?’ As the second drink follows the first down his throat, he grabs yet another and turns in a slow curve towards the king, his arms stretched out wide. ‘Have I missed the toast? Has our beloved king already said a word for the fallen?’
Eyes wide, I baulk. Whoever this is, he must have a death wish to speak to the king like that in front of this many people. I wait for the knights to snap into action, for the few dire wolves prowling the room to rip across the floor and savage him. But none of them move.
‘Come on, who’s drinking to our fallen?’ His words slur and the champagne in his glass spills onto the floor as he gestures wildly.
King Korvane laughs loudly, but his eyes are hard and cold. His forced jovial tone falls flat when he says, ‘Well, it appears that our alcohol might be a little too strong tonight. This is indeed a celebration and we need a toast. To Etta and our great Rettlings. Drink up, everyone.’
The room does as instructed, lifting their glasses and muttering their toasts in hushed and hurried whispers, yet my attention remains fixed on the man who swans through the room as if he owns the place.
As he moves to set his empty glass back on a tray, he finally faces me, and the breath rushes from my lungs as his icy-blue eyes lock onto mine.
It’s him.
A thousand shivers cascade down my spine as the heat and fury Ifelt at the sight of Korvane transform into something else entirely. Something that causes every sense in my body to heighten.
The white shirt that he’s wearing is unbuttoned a third of the way down his chest, revealing a hint of the circular tattoos that mark him. But I remember them all. Just as I remember the sharp lines of the muscles beneath his olive skin and the way his lips curved into a smirk when he spoke to me. A warm and involuntary shudder overtakes me.
‘Who is that?’ I whisper to Jonas, but my voice barely makes a sound. I clear my throat and try again. ‘Jonas, who is that? He’s from Wrohelm, right?’
Jonas looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. ‘You’re joking, right? That’s Prince Kyor.’
‘No,’ I murmur in confused denial, unable to draw my eyes away from the royal as he drinks directly from a champagne bottle, gulping down the expensive vintage as though it’s water.
‘No,’ I say more forcefully. ‘Kyor hadbrowneyes.’
‘Hedid.’ Jonas puts all the emphasis on the second word. ‘But then he had them changed – after his mother died.’
‘What?’
