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When they tried to take over the Royal Sector. The night they almost succeeded.

“Violet knew it, too,” says Quint. “As I said, she sang all night.”

I laugh without humor. “It’s a shame Violet doesn’t have an army.”

“Who’s Violet?” says Karri.

“A girl,” I say. “She offered me shelter after I was shot, then risked herself to find Master Quint.”

Karri’s eyes go wide. “Did she know you were the king?”

“In the end I had to tell her. But before then, she called me Fox, because I would—”

“Wait.” Karri drops her rag. “That wasyou?” she demands. “Youwere Fox? Did Tessa know?”

“No,” I say quietly. “Not even Corrick knew.”

She blows a breath out through her teeth. “So all that time we were bickering around the table, you were secretly going out and giving people silver.”

I hesitate, then nod.

“Well,” she says. “I’ll see if I can gather the people in the commons tonight. You’ll have to hide here for the time being.” She glances at the window. “I’ll need to get back soon, or Mistress Solomon will grow suspicious.” Karri stands and begins arranging her things.

“Wait,” I say. “Gather the people for what?”

She stops and looks at me. “To take the Royal Sector again.” She smiles, and a dark light glints in her eyes. “Your Majesty, Violet might not have an army, but don’t you remember? Lochlan does.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Tessa

I’m such an idiot.

I spent so much time trying to convince Corrick that Rian was good, that this wasn’t a trick or a trap.

And now Kilbourne is dead. Rocco might be close. We’re all tied on the deck, sweating in the midday sun as those brigantines get closer. A half-starved woman is claiming Rian is the king of Ostriary—and he’s not denying it.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised at myself. I spent years thinking Weston Lark was a friendly outlaw. Look at how that turned out.

A hand appears in my vision, holding a slice of fruit. It’s so unexpected that I almost flinch.

“Eat,” Rian says, and his voice is quiet. “I know you didn’t have breakfast.”

Wind whips at my hair, and I clamp my mouth shut and keepmy eyes on the deck. I remember Corrick feeding me berries, how it felt like a peace treaty.

This feels like an act of war.

“No,” I say tightly. “Your Majesty.”

He ignores my contempt. “Call me Rian.”

“That’s not even your name!”

“It is, actually. A nickname from childhood. The only true lie wasBlakemore—but if you prefer it, I’ve grown accustomed to it. Call me what you like.”

I snap my head up. “Oh, I’msureyou don’t want me to do that. Was any of it true?” I demand. “Or did you make up the entire spy story, too?”

“All of that was true,” he says.