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“That’s all very well, but what do you think will happen to us if we’re caught lying to the king by passing you off as my squire?”

A flash of fear crossed her face then, but it passed so quickly I briefly wondered, as I often did, if she actually had a soul. “So leave me behind and watch your future crumble as I spread all the right rumors to get you thrown out of court.”

I chewed on my lip. “No one would believe you. It was too long ago.”

“Trust me, if given the reminder, the senior members of court will recall your father and his downfall easily enough.”

It was an insult to us both. Her mother was well known to be a bit of a nuisance and embarrassment, whereas my father … well, if anyone remembered him, it was only for the bankruptcy that brought him to a horrifying end.

At that moment, I heard the disturbing sound of the executioner’s ax, the gleeful shouts of the crowd. I winced. Anise didn’t. Like so many others, she had become desensitized to the weekly killings. It was a gift from the king, as far as they were concerned. Entertainment.

“My lady,” the guard prompted, approaching to guide me away with an outstretched arm. “We must depart.”

All I had to do was get into the carriage without a word. Allow the guard to keep Anise back. Instead I said, “Fine. You can come,” before quickly getting in and allowing my cousin to enter behind me.

My one moment to be rid of my cousin for good, and I fumbled it.

I hated myself for giving in, for letting fear and paranoia get the better of me. But the dread of losing my position was just as strong as my dislike for Anise, and so I had picked the safer option of the two. At least I’d finally be a knight—the king’s knight, of all people, if person could even be used for such a glorious entity.

And no one, not even my scheming cousin, could take that away from me.

CHAPTER 4BERIC

I sent the remaining knights home without ceremony, ignoring their protests as I shut the audition door behind me. I’d need to clean up quickly if there was to be time to myself. I’d have an hour at most, but it was enough—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had even that much time to do something other than my squirely duties. Lady Vi had died nearly twenty-four hours ago, and I’d spent every moment since making sure the king would survive to see the next day. As soon as I returned to the palace, it would be back to work, getting Calliope acclimated to her new life, preparing the king for the next battle.

Lady Vi was dead … and I’d just replaced her as easily as choosing a new pair of gloves.

Because as far as the public was concerned, she didn’t exist. She was more story than flesh and blood.

The Knight of the God King never made public appearances outside of court, except for one—her wedding day. And even then, her face was concealed. So there would be no funeral, even with her rank and importance to the king. She was just a wheel on the king’s wagon, replaced when needed so we could move on without her.

Vi didn’t deserve one anyway, God forgive me. Not after making my life a living hell for the past ten years. Looking back, I don’t know how I hadn’t killed her before The Dark did. I remember, distinctly, more than a few times, I’d had to talk myself down from wicked thoughts … thoughts I’m ashamed of now, but which felt so justified in those moments when she was healing me from the very wounds she’d inflicted. It was only the thought that the next knight might not be any safer that stayed my hand.

Still, I touched the rosary at my belt, hoping it would be enough not to punish my soul for being glad that woman was burning in hell.

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, I had enough free time to finally feel relieved. I wasn’t glad so much as thankful this one desperate prayer had finally been answered.

Of course, I wouldn’t have wished her particular death on anyone—an injury caused by The Dark was horrible enough without it being severe enough to kill you.

See, Beric? You aren’t completely awful.

And even if I was … I’d learned it from the best.

The auditions had been more tedious than I’d anticipated. Mostly because I’d never conducted any, and because they had been thrown together in less than a day, word of mouth circulating the announcement rather than formal invitations to all the knights. What also made it challenging was that I’d only ever worked with one knight. But I knew what made a good knight for the king, and most importantly, knew what I was looking for—a voice that blended well with mine, good sense of tone and rhythm, able to both lead and follow. And someone who could fit into Vi’s many suits of armor, ideally, which, after tending to her for ten years I think I eyeballed close enough. Bravery would be useful, but it was a little harder to gauge without apparent danger.

I pulled up my sleeve, examining my wound—or what was left of it, which wasn’t much at all. Just a ghost of a scar, only the slightest bit lighter than my brown skin. If I hadn’t been suffering from the wound for nearly a day, I wouldn’t have been able to tell anything had ever been there.

Knights were prevalent, some of them possessing magic only strong enough to produce parlor tricks and basic aid. It was a rare thing to encounter a knight who could defeat The Dark so thoroughly.

And … God, she was pretty. And sweet. Those weren’t requirements in the least, but it would be nice to serve a knight who was actually pleasant to be around. Not that I trusted her to remain so. She might’ve been putting on an act in the audition, just to earn my good graces. Still, only time would tell.

I didn’t quite believe she was highborn—she didn’t carry herself like a noblewoman, and her clothing was worn. In older generations that would matter, but the king left things in my hands now, and once she was dressed in the proper attire, no one at court would even know the difference.

Besides, I wasn’t highborn either. Never had an etiquette lesson in my life. The king had made me a lord five years ago, an odd thing to grant to the Royal Squire, but it had proven rather helpful in getting things done in the king’s name. I barely remembered the faces of the people I’d once called parents, who’d brought me to the palace at the age of ten to audition for the coveted position of the Royal Knight’s squire. I’d beaten out a roomful of adolescents that day, young people far more physically qualified for the role.

Thank God for my perfect pitch.

I sat on a chair, propping my legs up onto the table, and pulled the long ends of my necklace out from inside my shirt, the earplugs attached to the ends of the chain the only things I cared about. I hadn’t been able to wear them during the auditions, as I’d needed to hear all the subtleties of vocal performances, but God I’d needed them. The waiting room had been so loud, even through the heavy wooden door, and I couldn’t very well have told them all to shut up and stop overwhelming me. No, I had to adapt, as I’d been forced to do all my life. I had to somehow appear … normal.