His son, on the other hand, is impressionable. Shy. Without much money or many prospects, he was ready to sink to his knees and do whatever we suggested if we backed him in order to become king. He’s the perfect heir to mold and to guide into acting in both Fifth’s and Third’s best interests, and he has enough magic to justify wearing a crown.
His magic of impenetrable skin will do him well, because arguably, he looks easy to get rid of, so his magic will probably save his life a time or two once he’s king.
Hagan’s pale face turns a little green, and loath as I am to do it, I follow his gaze back to Prince Niven. The sight of the dead prince makes my stomach churn in disgust. It’s been five days since he dropped in a heap in his own ballroom, choking on poison. The body didn’t look good then, and it looks even worse now.
“If you put my body up for display like this after I’ve died, I will come back and haunt you,” I murmur beneath my breath.
Manu continues to look ahead as if I hadn’t said a thing, keeping the same politely piteous look that’s on both of our serene faces. “Dear sister, you should know I would never let you look so garish. I would display you dressed up and dazzling with beauty so that you could gain even more admirers and love in your death.”
The corner of my mouth threatens to curl up, because I know he means every word. “That’s why I trust you most in this world.”
We’re the only ones on the portico who don’t have some purple patched on us. Instead, the two of us, as well as Keon, are all wearing the traditional Third Kingdom’s cream and blue formal attire. My black hair is lifted up in silver coils, while my brother’s hangs down his back like a sleek midnight river, just as thick and shiny as my own.
“Poor Prince Niven,” I say, loud enough for the people behind us to hear. Several of them nod their heads, murmuring it themselves.
It’s amazing how the very same people who whispered and snickered about the spoiled boy prince now pretend to grieve for him. Then again, death always manages to create misplaced adoration and loyalty. But murder? That brings an entirely different level of fanaticism.
There are two things that I’ve learned firsthand while being here in Fifth. One, it’s always cold. And two, the people of Ranhold love nothing more than to warm themselves by spreading the flames of gossip. It’s a good way to keep spirits heated.
As the queen of whispers, it couldn’t be more convenient.
The rumors of that fateful night have run rampant throughout the kingdom. That the gilded pet cheated her way through Midas’s heart and stole his power. That when he announced his engagement to me, she went crazy in a fit of rage, using his magic against him before she tricked King Rot into helping her flee.
Unfortunately for poor Niven, his death has been overshadowed by better, far juicier news. Like the fact that the king of Sixth Kingdom is dead, his corpse gilded and stuck against the wall in the ballroom in Ranhold Castle.
I have to admit, it’s all quite scandalous.
Then, of course, there is the gossip about Hagan Fulke. The obscure relative who never thought he’d ever sit on a throne. He went from a nobleman bachelor, who nobody was interested in, to a man about to be crowned king. He still has stars in his eyes about it, doesn’t even seem to bat an eye over his father’s death or the prince’s.
Not when he gets to be the new king because of me.
But they aren’t the only ones the people are talking about. My name has its fair share of churning in the rumor mill too.
To them, I’m the heartsick queen who lost her betrothed and is now going to step up and help piece together a riot-torn Highbell, bringing stability back to Sixth Kingdom.
This wildfire gossip has burned through the city. I wouldn’t doubt that thousands of messenger hawks have spread from here to all over Orea by now. Manu and I have confirmed the narrative, and now, once these passing rites are finished, I can continue to herd the fires in the direction I want them to burn. So long as they keep seeing me in a favorable light, I can get what I want in Sixth Kingdom and solidify my alliance here.
A singing voice drones out across the promenade, hitting my ears in an unwelcome wave. Keon shifts his legs, no doubt hating the fact that we have to sit here just as much as Manu and I.
Finally, the last bell is rung, and Fifth’s advisors shroud the prince’s body in the same purple tapestry hung up along the streets. They carry him away in a chorus of that awful singing until finally the rites are over, the prince’s body taken in to be properly buried in his tomb right beside his father.