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“Yes,” he says. “Violet didn’t have much of a story, really. If she protests, I rather doubt anyone will listen. It’s a lot easier to believe that a man tricked a few children into thinking he was royalty.”

He’s right, but Violet doesn’t really deserve that. I can’t believe she took the money for boots and used some of it to make people think the Fox was still making rounds. A new thread of guilt joins the first few that are already tugging at my heart. At least I can make sure she has warm feet for a while.

I think of the way Quint glanced at Toby’s feet, too, how he added a note to his little book.

“Forgive me,” I say. “What were you going to say to me?”

Quint blinks at that. “I was going to ask how you were injured.” He pauses. “When we arrived at the barn, you did not seem relieved to see us.”

“How did I seem?”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty—”

“Just tell me, Quint.”

“Terrified.”

“Ah.” I run a hand across the back of my neck. Just the memory of … ofallof it causes me to shudder. “Well.” I try to draw my leg up, but my knee protests, and I wince and shift my weight. I give up and sigh. “I heard there was going to be a meeting. I wanted to see if I could learn what was said.”

“What did you learn?”

That sending the King’s Justice away has emboldened dissenters, just as we feared.

That sedition and treason still wait in the shadows. That the consuls are still working against me—and they have the support of the palace guards.

That my brother is gone, and I can trust no one.

That I am very much alone.

I can’t say any of that. I’m the king. Even the barest utterance of uncertainty can sow discord and distrust.

I don’t even know how much I can tell Quint.

I wish I had Corrick.

“Your Majesty …,” Quint begins, but he stops there, as if he expects me to cut him off again.

“Go ahead,” I say. I fix my eyes on the sunlight that streams around the draperies.

“Corrick did not share everything with me in the beginning,” he says. “In fact, it took him quite some time before he saw fit to share what he was doing, even though I had my suspicions.” His voice is very quiet, very serious. “You trusted me enough to tell me that you hoped to help the people in the same way he once did. You trusted me enough to come to your aid this morning.” He hesitates. “Surely you must know your guards will have some suspicions.Corrick did not do this alone.” Another hesitation. “There’s no need for you to do it alone either.”

That draws my gaze back to his. My thoughts keep spinning, and I know now is a time to issue warnings and orders and begin making plans to protect the palace—and the people. I draw a breath to tell him about the consul, about the guard captain.

Instead, I open my mouth, and I find myself saying, “A man died. He was—he tried—” I have to breathe past the lump in my throat that feels ever-present. “His name was Maxon. The night patrol shot him.”

Quint doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away. “What happened?”

Corrick did not do this alone.

I don’t know how to do it any other way.

But I draw a slow breath and tell Quint everything. At first, my words are tight and formal. A sterile recitation of events. I expect him to interject with questions or take notes, as if we were sitting in a meeting at the palace and advisers would need a written report later. But he’s quiet and attentive, and as the carriage rolls along, I find myself sharing details I wouldn’t otherwise. The food stall. The crowds. The honey and cheese on warm nut bread. Arella and Captain Huxley and their announcement—followed by the panic over the arrival of the night patrol.

Maxon’s generosity—and his death.

“When you arrived with guards,” I say, “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he says, his tone full of contrition. “I apologize.”