Chapter 1: Four Suspects
The king had cleared the throne room for a private family matter, which explained why only sixty-three people had come to watch.
Collin counted them twice from his place below the dais. There were councilors, guards, physicians, and enough minor nobles to ensure every tavern in the capital would know the details before supper. One elderly baron had brought sugared almonds.
Collin fixed his attention on the lowest step of the throne and tried not to think about executions.
Three men stood beside him.
Jaxsom, the pirate captain, had tied back his black hair and polished his boots, though he still wore a gold ring in one ear and the faint smile of a man who had never taken a royal threat seriously enough.
Wilren stood in ceremonial armor, his ash-blond hair neatly cut and his posture rigid. The royal guard looked as though he would rather face an army than explain himself before the court.
Rodrick had ignored the palace tailor entirely. His brown hair was tied back with leather, a scorch marked one sleeve of his coat, and mountain mud remained ground into his boots. He looked least guilty only because he always appeared prepared for the worst.
Nearly a year had passed since Collin had left the capital with Princess Aurelia. At the time, he had believed escorting her younger sister to a wedding would be a difficult but manageable assignment.
He had been a different man then.
The king sat beneath the carved wings of the royal crest, one hand gripping the arm of his throne. His crown sat slightly crooked, though no one dared mention it.
He was silent.
Collin found that more alarming than shouting. His Majesty’s rages were familiar weather: loud, brief, and occasionally destructive. This quiet belonged to sieges and death sentences.
“Which one of you,” the king asked, “is the father?”
No one answered.
An almond cracked between the elderly baron’s teeth. His wife struck his wrist.
The king’s gaze moved along the line. It lingered on Jaxsom, perhaps because the pirate was struggling not to smile. Wilren became impossibly straighter. Rodrick watched the king with the caution he normally reserved for unstable cliffs.
Collin considered speaking and decided death by silence was preferable to death by volunteering.
At the king’s right sat Princess Rosalie beside her new husband, Prince Evander. Their wedding had survived pirates, poison, an assassination attempt, and the partial collapse of a mountain. Rosalie covered her mouth, though it did little to conceal her amusement. Evander maintained a more dignified expression, but only barely.
At the king’s left, the woman responsible for the hearing lounged in a high-backed chair as if witnessing someone else’s scandal.
Princess Aurelia wore no crown. She claimed they gave her headaches, interfered with her aim, and made tavern owners suspicious. Her pale-gold hair lay in a loose braid over one shoulder. A crimson gown stretched over the pronounced swell of her stomach, altered with considerable skill and almost no regard for modesty.
A cup of watered wine sat beside her. Around her throat hung a gold chain bearing a dragon scale the size of a man’s palm.
The scale flashed when she shifted.
Rodrick noticed. His eyes narrowed before returning to the king.
Aurelia—Lia, as she insisted everyone except her father call her—rested one hand on her belly and looked far too comfortable while four men were considered for dismemberment.
The king tried again.
“Collin.”
His name struck like a gavel.
“Your Majesty.”
“Did you father my daughter’s child?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
The answer came too quickly. A whisper traveled through the gallery.
Lia glanced at him. “He was naked in my bed, though.”
Collin’s mouth went dry. Jaxsom coughed into his fist.
“Under entirely innocent circumstances,” Collin said.
Lia considered that. “You were innocent. I was curious.”
Several fans opened at once.
The king’s fingers tightened around the throne. “We will return to that.”
“I had hoped we might not.”
The king turned to Jaxsom.
“You.”
The pirate placed a hand over his heart. “I can state with complete confidence that I did not put a child in your daughter.”
There were formal ways to deny paternity. Jaxsom had located none of them.
Lia tapped one finger against her stomach. “He did put me in his bed.”
“For warmth,” Jaxsom said.
“And the bath.”
“For cooling.”
“And against the cabin wall.”
His confidence faltered. “That was the storm.”
The nearest councilor shifted his chair farther from the dais.
Wilren denied paternity with a soldier’s precision. Lia waited until he finished.
“He spent most of one night with his hands beneath my skirts.”
“I was removing a poisoned bolt,” Wilren said.
“For several hours?”
“It was barbed.”
“So were you.”
Rosalie buried her face against Evander’s shoulder.
The king turned to Rodrick.
“No, Your Majesty,” the mercenary said. “The child is not mine.”
Lia tilted her head. “You slept beneath me three nights in a row.”
“We were in a cave.”
“You stared up my skirts.”
“You wore trousers.”
“You still stared.”
“I was checking the rope knots.”
Jaxsom leaned past Collin. “For three nights?”
“They kept failing.”
The king rose.
The room fell silent so abruptly that Collin heard oil hiss in the wall lamps. His Majesty descended one step from the throne.
“Nearly a year ago, my eldest daughter left this kingdom under royal protection,” he said. “She was to escort her sister across the sea, secure an alliance, and return home. Instead, she came back unmarried and carrying a child while four men stand before me trading excuses.”
Lia’s amusement disappeared.
The king continued, anger loosening his restraint. “You have made a disgrace of—”
“Do not.”
She did not raise her voice.
The lamps nearest her chair flared white. Heat brushed Collin’s face, carrying the metallic scent of a forge. Across the gallery, the elderly baron lowered his almonds.
Lia sat upright, one hand spread over her belly.
“Question them. Threaten them, if it helps you feel kingly. Parade my mistakes before the court, since half the court has mistaken this room for a playhouse. But you will not call my child a disgrace.”
“I meant your conduct.”
“Then choose your words with greater care.”
For a moment, neither yielded. Collin had witnessed them quarrel in council chambers, on docks, and in a customs house Lia swore had already been burning. Their anger was normally bright and familiar. This was different.
At last, the king returned to his throne.
“Your child is not a disgrace.”
The flames subsided.
“Good.”
“But I will know who fathered it.”
Lia leaned back, though her hand remained over the child. “Eventually.”
A murmur swept the room.
The king stared at her. “Eventually?”
“I have carried the answer for most of a year. You can manage another morning.”
“I have managed because you refused to return my letters.”
“You sent interrogations with wax seals.”
“I asked whether you were pregnant.”
“You asked whether rumors concerning an expansion of the royal succession were accurate.”
“I was attempting delicacy.”
“You should stop.”
Jaxsom laughed before disguising it as a cough.
Lia’s gaze found Collin’s, inviting him to share the joke, and despite every instinct for self-preservation, affection tightened in his chest.
The better part of a year had changed much.
It had not cured him of that.
He lowered his eyes to the documents in his hands. When he glanced sideways, Jaxsom and Wilren were watching him. Rodrick had returned his attention to the golden scale at Lia’s throat.
The king leaned forward. “You know which man is responsible.”
“I do.”
“And you refuse to tell me.”
“I refuse to hand you a name while you are in a mood to decorate the battlements with it.”
“I have decorated no battlements with anyone.”
Jaxsom lifted one finger. “There was that smuggler—”
“Be silent.”
Lia sighed. “The answer will make no sense unless you hear what happened.”
“I require a name, not a travel journal,” the king said.
Lia nodded toward the stack in Collin’s hands. “He kept seven of those.”
“They are complete and reliable records,” Collin said.
Jaxsom glanced at him. “You described my coat as black.”
“It was black.”
“It was midnight blue,” Jaxsom corrected. “And expensive.”
Collin looked pointedly at the pirate’s coat. “It was covered in soot.”
The king struck the arm of his throne.
“Enough.”
Silence returned in uneven pieces.
Lia surveyed the four men below her. Mischief had returned to her eyes, but Collin saw the calculation beneath it. She was not refusing because she was ashamed. Shame had never governed Lia for more than a minute.
She was protecting something—or someone—and had already decided how the hearing would proceed.
“You want the truth?” she asked her father. “Then hear all of it. Hear how each of them became involved in this disaster and why they remained at my side long after duty, good sense, and self-preservation should have sent them elsewhere.”
Wilren’s jaw tightened. Jaxsom’s smile faded into something more private. Rodrick glanced toward the doors as though remembering how simple departure had once seemed.
Collin felt the weight of seven completed journals in his hands.
The king looked at each man in turn. “You will answer every question put to you.”
Then his attention settled on Collin.
“You were the first. You will begin.”
Collin’s stomach sank. “Your Majesty, the relevant facts could be summarized in writing.”
Lia brightened. “But then no one would hear about the stone tablet.”
A ripple of curiosity moved through the court.
“That detail is not relevant,” Collin said.
“It was very large.”
“It was necessary.”
“And the straps?”
“Also necessary.”
“Not strong enough, though.”
Jaxsom leaned close enough for Collin to smell cloves on his breath. “I have several questions.”
“You will keep them.”
The king’s voice cut across them. “Begin with the day I sent you to summon her.”
Collin looked toward Lia. She had settled comfortably again, satisfied that events followed her design. Sunlight flashed on the scale at her throat.
Whatever answer she guarded, it did not belong to any of the four men below the throne.
Collin knew that much.
Unfortunately, the king would not believe him until every humiliating detail had been dragged into daylight.
He drew a careful breath.
“It began at the Gilded Griffin, Your Majesty.”
Lia lifted her cup.
“And,” she added, smiling sweetly at the gathered court, “Collin was the first of them I saw naked.”
