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“Should I pretend I didn’t feel that?” he whispered.

Skye loved that some things in life were certain—the sunrise, the sunset, and that Taly’s love language would always be physical violence.

She hit him—not hard enough to bruise, but just enough to remind him she cared.

Chapter 36

The family dining room was a small space filled with dark, heavy furniture overlaid with slabs of white marble. A large picture window framed by heavy drapes revealed the dim morning, darkness pressing against the glass.

In it, Sarina Castaro could see her own grim expression reflected from where she was seated at the round dining table.

Kalahad had outmaneuvered them.Her. As much as she hated to admit it, refusing to acknowledge the loss would gain her nothing. Defeat was a bitter enough pill to swallow. Learning nothing from it? That would be a far greater waste.

The mistake was obvious. She’d tried to handle matters privately, away from public scrutiny where it might cause panic—and, on the off chance that Kalahad was innocent, preserve his standing. She’d tried tosparehim. And in doing so, she gave him exactly the opening he needed.

The sheeraudacityof announcing his own parallel investigation, staging a mock trial, even going so far as to drag Skye into the performance to give it a sheen of legitimacy—it was a masterstroke. Aggressive, yes, but brilliantly executed. Now, he’d made such a spectacle of his own selfless martyrdom they had no choice but to play along.

It was either that or publicly accuse a man who had already been found innocent in the eyes of those assembled of a treachery they still had no evidence to back up. If they accused him now, at best, Kalahad and his cronies—of which there were many; he was incredibly well-liked—would have a good laugh. At worst, they would leverage the offense to marshal their forces in a bid for power.

They were unlikely to succeed—there was a reason Ivain had managed to hold the island all these years. But that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be collateral damage. Innocent people would get hurt while the Highborn waged war in the streets. And all the while, as they wasted time fighting each other, the true enemy would continue encroaching.

Sarina chucked mirthlessly into her tea. He’d turned this into a hostage situation. She would’ve been impressed if she weren’t so pissed off.

Her reflection stared back at her, bleak and unhappy.

She’d grown soft.

All these years on Tempris—it had been healing, but it had also dulled her, taken away her edge. Before, if she even had an inkling that he was guilty, she would’ve followed her gut. Hit him hard and, most importantly, hit himfirst.

People most often believed whatever they heard first. The court of public opinion—that’s where battles were won and lost.

But it wasn’t over yet. He’d played the game well. But, games, even his, could be undone with the proper maneuvering. One big display might be countered with another. He’d invoked Skye’s name to bolster this charade, but she could just as easily turn it against him. Most believed the Dawn Court rode to their salvation, so a whisper here, a rumor there about a pending inquiry from the Emrys family would stir the pot most delightfully.

Sarina was lost in her plotting when the door to the kitchen opened. She jumped, but it was just her brother, looking predictably grumpy. He always was mornings after he’d been forced to socialize.

“Well, look who finally decided to reappear,” Sarina said, her voice clipped. “Pity you weren’t here when I needed you most.”

Running on too little sleep and even less patience, Ivain trudged toward the silver teapot in the middle of the table, muttering under his breath, “Can we not do this… I’ve had a rough night.”

“A rough night? You? Funny, I don’t remember seeing you in that ballroom trying to fend off a public scandal.”

Ivain scoffed. “Believe me, I wasn’t exactly having a grand time. Things... got complicated.”

“More complicated than dealing with Lord Ainsley’s public theatrics?”

“Well, I managed to keep the boy from killing himself, so you be the judge.”

Sarina was immediately on alert. “Where’s Skye?”

“Fine,” Ivain reassured her. “Upstairs, probably still convinced he’s bound for the asylum. Which, one could debate. But fine.”

“Then what happened?” Sarina pressed.

“What do you think happened?” Ivain snapped. “Those two”—he stabbed a finger at the ceiling—“conspired to make my life more difficult than it ever needed to be.”

Then, stirring his tea moodily, he regaled her with the tale.

When he was done, Sarina stared at him. “And?” she asked.