He feels exposed, his skin already beaten raw.
“It’s going to be okay,” Lucien says as they walk. “They won’t touch you.”
Kazia’s gaze fixes on the floor. “Don’t make promises. Not right now.”
Lucien sighs and falls silent.
When they reach Imrik’s wing of the palace, a trio of drasgard step forward. “Halt, Your Highness,” the captain says. “You can’t bring the prisoner in here.”
Kazia lifts his chin, trying to summon his usual imperiousness. He can’t lean on Lucien to talk through this. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy explaining to my father why you got in my way.”
The captain doesn’t move. “Apologies, Your Highness. His Majesty’s instructions regarding the prisoner were very clear.”
Before Kazia can argue, Herald Bretka rushes down the hall. Another squad of drasgard trots behind her.
“Prince Kazia,” Bretka says with a bow. “The king and queen will see you in the throne room today.” There’s a slight wildness to her eyes, a fracture in her usual icy composure. She gestures towards Lucien. “How fortunate, you’ve already brought the prisoner. They require both of you.”
“Why do they need Lucien?” Kazia demands. That’s different. Kazia doesn’t like different. His mind leaps to his father’s words the day before—that the negotiations are over.
Imrik hadn’t said they reached anagreement.
“That’s for His Majesty to explain,” Bretka says. She signals, and the new drasgard surround Lucien. “Could Your Highness please order Commander Vaire to cooperate?”
Kazia doesn’t want to. But Lucien nods, the message clear.
This is what they wanted. For Lucien to confront the king and queen in the throne room. They just weren’t supposed to know he was coming. And Kazia was supposed to be long gone.
Kazia straightens his shoulders. “Follow the drasgard like a good dog.”
“Should I bark?” Lucien asks, grinning. His nerves are barely noticeable.
Kazia can’t keep up the cheerful banter. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he takes off down the hall.
The route is familiar, too long and too short all at once. A thousand plans collide and shatter in Kazia’s head, but Kazia has never been good at plans. He should have known this one would fall apart.
Outside the throne room, Bretka orders the drasgard to search Lucien for weapons.
Kazia steps forward to protest. “Hands off, do you think I don’t know how to neutralize him?”
He jerks back when Bretka grabs his arm—but her hand only tightens.
“Continue,” Bretka instructs the guards, and pulls Kazia aside. Once they’re out of earshot, she bends closer. “Listen to me and keep your voice down. I know you and Marek are planning something.”
“I would never plan something with Marek,” Kazia says, struggling to keep calm. Fuck, Bretka is the worst person to discover the plan. She tells Imrik everything.
But Kazia has never seen this intensity in Bretka’s eyes before. She continues, urgent. “I’m on your side, and this is your last chance to make a choice. Whatever you’re planning, do you need to get close to the king, or escape?”
Kazia’s mouth dries. She’s asking for trust. And Kazia is too desperate not to risk it, even with the most unlikely ally. “We need to get close. Lucien’s null-ring is fake.”
Bretka’s eyes light up. “Perfect. I can keep the drasgard out, and I can distract the king for one moment. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do, but when you see your chance, take it.”
Kazia grabs her arm before she can turn away. “Wait, why are you doing this?”
Bretka straightens up, her usual serenity intact—except for a tiny smile. “Because you didn’t break your phylactery. You broke mine.”
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
