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“It’s the customary coronation apparel,” said Stover, my new valet, as he adjusted the layers of my cape. He was a tall, wiry Mage with brown skin and a shock of white hair. I didn’t know much about him, other than that he belonged to the Rabe tribe and he had been King Nolan’s valet. “It has been worn by the previous kings for their coronation ceremonies for the last thousand years.” The corner of his mouth lifted up slightly. “Although, King Nolan thought it a bit ostentatious when he wore it as well, may Lunaria’s mercy find him.”

I managed a small smile, the thought giving me some semblance of comfort. “May Lunaria’s mercy find him,” I repeated softly. I had felt so unfit for this role, but this one tiny similarity between myself and King Nolan made me feel strangely closer to him. “I hadn’t been born yet when he was coronated. What was it like?”

Stover hummed thoughtfully as he busied himself with the gold cuff on my arm, shifting it so that the amethyst gem in the center was more visible. “It was quite grand. Then again, it was the ceremony we had all been waiting for. His father, Tobias, had been a bloodthirsty tyrant.” Stover shuddered. “The kingdom was quite eager for Nolan to be put on the throne. So the coronation was a time for celebration and merriment.”

A lump formed in my throat. “And this one will feel like a time of mourning.”

Stover sighed, his gold eyes shining with sorrow. “It cannot be helped, my lord. King Nolan was beloved by so many people.”

But not everyone, I thought darkly. Someone—a Mage—had killed him.

And I still hadn’t figured out who. It felt inappropriate to participate in such a grand affair as a coronation when Nolan’s killer was still out there somewhere.

I also couldn’t help but wonder if the killer had been the one to move up the coronation date. Was it possible I’d be walking into a trap?

What if whoever murdered Nolan wanted me—the next king—dead, too?

“Were you with him when he went to the fae lands?” I asked Stover, shifting in my seat to look up at him. The valet was staring out the moonlit window, his gaze distant and full of sorrow.

“No, he insisted on only taking his two guards with him,” Stover said, dropping his gaze with a sniff. “I do wish I could have been with him. Even if I wouldn’t have been able to prevent his death.”

“What happened to his guards?” I asked with a frown.

“Oh, they were unharmed. According to them, all was well when they bade King Nolan goodnight before retiring to their rooms. But when they awoke, he was dead. Poisoned.”

My frown deepened. Why hadn’t anyone informed me about Nolan’s guards? I had assumed his envoy had been killed; otherwise I would have questioned them.

But this meant that either the killer was clever enough to evade suspicion from both guards and Nolan… or the guards had been in on it.

“Was it Berk and Duran who went with him?” I asked, referring to Nolan’s most trusted soldiers.

“Hmm?” Stover sniffed and wiped a tear from his eye. “Oh, no. Berk fell ill, and Duran’s wife had just given birth. I believe it was… Hmm, what were their names? Locke and Vernal? Vernus?”

My blood ran cold, and my entire body went rigid. “Locke and Verne?” I said slowly, my skin prickling with unease as I recalled the two Mages who had tried to kill Cerise.

Stover nodded absently. “Yes, those two.”

So the two guards who had been with Nolan when he died were the same bastards who had tried to kill Cerise. This could not be a coincidence.

“Why?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended. “Why did the king have two amateur soldiers with him instead of more experienced guards?”

Stover blinked, looking down at me with confusion, as if he only just realized I was unsettled by this. “I have no idea, my lord. You would have to ask the chiefs. I believe one of them recommended the two soldiers as replacements.”

Dread rippled over my body, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Which chief?”

“I don’t know,” Stover said with a hint of exasperation. “I wasn’t privy to such a meeting. Now come, we must fit you in the sandals to complete the ensemble.”

I stared hard at the window in front of me, panting as if I’d sprinted a mile. One of the chiefs.

Gods’ breath. Could Nolan’s murderer have been a chief? Tavik had speculated that whoever it was had to be someone powerful, someone with influence.

Someone smart enough to ensure Nolan’s guards were silenced before they could be properly questioned.

What if Locke and Verne hadn’t tried to kill Cerise of their own volition? What if someone had ordered them to? Or perhaps convinced them she was a threat who needed to be eliminated?

What if Nolan’s murderer knew that by challenging me, Locke and Verne would get themselves killed?

My mind was racing as Stover slid the gold sandals on my feet, wrapping the straps halfway up my shins. The contraptions made my skin itch, and my toes felt squashed.