“Not yet. I doubt she has even received my letter.” I hesitate. “But I did receive one from Zander.”
She gasps, grabbing hold of my forearm, forgetting her anger for the moment. “Is he well? Where is he?”
“Can you pretend for a moment that he isn’t your favorite brother?”
Her lips twist with disdain. “He’s not trying to marry me off to a Ybarisan.”
“He would if it made sense politically,” I counter. “He and Romeria are in the Venhorn Mountains with her Ybarisan soldiers. Romeria received a letter from Neilina, confirming their coming attack at the rift on Hudem.”
“Romeria is your source?” Her mouth gapes. “And you believed her?”
“I have no choice. It’s too big a risk not to.”
“And what of the eastern lords? Did she tell you about that plot, as well?”
“No.”
She hums. “Bexley, then. She’s always had a soft spot for you.”
I ignore her. Bexley and what the east is doing isn’t important, and besides, they’ll be dealt with accordingly soon enough. “Even if Neilina does agree to my proposal, we cannot trust her to honor that deal.”
Annika throws her hands up in frustration. “Then why are you wasting my time with this Ybarisan prince?”
“Why not? You have something better to do?”
“Yes. Find myself a new tributary.” She’s trying her best to hide the fact that discovering her usual tributary—a young mortal named Percy with a brilliant smile and an empty head—had been tainted didn’t scare her. It scared me. Annika is all the family I have left within these walls, even if she despises me.
“Aren’t you glad I had Wendeline mark him?” Percy was fine yesterday morning but woke up with his mark glowing. At least we know the priestess’s brand works as it should. Who poisoned him, though, no one can figure out. Saoirse has an ironclad alibi, and she wouldn’t admit to a conspirator within our household upon questioning, but she also hasn’t admitted to hiding the vial in the library and had the gall to demand we reveal her accuser.
“I hear Dagny’s son might be willing.”
Annika’s brow furrows. “She has a son?”
“Dear sister, sometimes you are so oblivious, it frightens me.”
“Regardless, why are you dragging me here? Execute him and be done with it!”
“I didn’t execute Wendeline, and she proved useful. Maybe Tyree still has value as well. And who knows? You two could fall madly in love with each other as Zander and Romeria have.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you need a battalion of guards to keep him from escaping, but I’m sure he will take one look at me and decide he’s ready to abandon his scheming, murderous ways.”
I ignore her sarcasm as we close in on his rooms, though her words are a stark reminder that I have ten soldiers on one prisoner when they’re needed elsewhere. “Any issues?”
“None, Your Highness. The prisoner just finished his evening meal,” a guard answers.
I nod toward the door, a wordless command they know to follow.
The three guards unlock it and enter, their swords drawn and ready.
A cool breeze flows in through the open balcony. Maybe ordering Wendeline to seal it as she did with Romeria would be a better plan.
“Behave,” I warn Annika.
In moments, Tyree strolls through, the points of the swords pressed against his neck. He has bathed—thankfully—and changed his clothes into a simple black tunic and breeches. Where his arm was mangled by merth blades to hinder his affinity, silver scars remain.
“Seems pointless for you to have your caster heal me, only for these guards to injure me again, doesn’t it? Or do you plan on having her heal me regularly?”
I wave a dismissive hand and the guards step back, removing their blades but keeping them at the ready.
Tyree’s blue eyes shift to Annika. “My bride-to-be. Are you as thrilled by this match as I am?”
“I would rather suck on a vat of Romeria’s blood than consummate that union,” she snarls.
“I promise, your tune will change.” He scrapes his gaze over her frame, a secretive smile on his lips.
I’m no fool. My twin sister is desired by most males who cross her path, not only for her royal position, but even more, her beauty.
But if there is one thing she doesn’t react to well, it’s cocky males. “We’ve intercepted a letter from your mother,” she says with haughty indignation. “We know her plans to cross at Hudem, and we are already preparing to meet her there and crush her. So there is no use for you but kindling for a pyre, which is what you will be if my brother ever suggests I stand in a room with you again.”