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“I can be both.”

“No.”

“Your Majesty—”

“I will not risk it.” I wished I sounded more like a queen and less like a petulant child.

But Cyara continued on smoothly, unfazed.“Let me go to my family. My father was a librarian in the palace, a century ago. I can question him without raising suspicions, see what he knows to assist Parys in his search.”

A real offer of help. A real way to gain more information. To avenge Arthur.

I didn’t wait for Cyara to nudge me down toward the water. I dunked myself, all the way under.

She didn’t reach in to wash away the suds from my hair. I guessed that she knew I couldn’t bear to be touched, just then. She understood so much. All these months of quiet observation… I should have been more careful.

Not because I did not trust her… but because she was inevitably putting herself in danger.

But hadn’t she been doing that from the moment she became my handmaiden? I was always a risky bet. After Arthur died, with the attempts on my life… horrific realization rolled through my gut.

Everyone who knew me, everyone who came close, was in danger.

Make it stop.

Just a bit longer.

I was getting close. I could feel it with whatever preternatural senses the fae had—I was very close to finding out who was truly responsible for Arthur’s murder. Then I would leave. I would get far, far away from Baylaur and everyone within it. I would stop putting others at risk with my choices, with my deadly secret.

I would be free.

Once, it had beckoned so persistently, I could think of little else. But now, a thread in my chest pulled and pricked—straining at the thought of leaving this place.

My air was running out. I could hold my breath for a long time, but I’d been under long enough that my lungs were beginning to burn. When I crested the water, I had to have a response ready. A decision. A queen’s decision.

I grabbed the sides of the tub to steady myself, water streaming down my face and into my mouth as I gulped for air. I relished the burn of it in my throat, my nostrils. It was nowhere near punishment enough for the words that left my lips.

“Go to your father,” I said.

62

VEYKA

The waiting threatened to tear me apart. So, I tore through my Goldstones instead.

One by one, I challenged them in the training ring. I watched their bodies fall in the compacted red-orange dirt. Only Gawayn held himself apart, staring past my swaggering with his ever-aloof, ever-wise gray eyes.

Gwen was doing a decent job kicking my ass when Arran appeared.

“Don’t think that pretty-faced prince will save you,” Gwen said with a wicked upward thrust of her sword.

I spun out of range, tensing my muscles to parry her next strike.

“Did he teach you all your best moves? Or do you have any of your own?” I countered, snagging the dagger from my waist. It was clear from her fighting style that they’d spent many years—perhaps decades—training together.

Swipe, thrust, she was down.

But in one powerful movement, Gwen flexed the muscles in her back and leapt to stand.

“Nowthatis a trick I’d like to learn,” I said slyly as I met her, steel to steel.