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To His Royal Majesty, the Esteemed King Harristan,

I write to you in regard to the men and women imprisoned on charges of smuggling and illegal trade.

While I recognize that true crime deserves punishment, these men and women are not criminals.

They are acting out of desperation to help their families during a time of need. I humbly request that you might find it in your heart to pardon them.

We of Sunkeep are willing to welcome them into our territory if you will grant clemency.

Yours in service,

Consul Arella Cherry

Iread it out loud, and Harristan looks at Quint. “You dragged me through twenty minutes of nonsense when this was sitting on the table?”

My brother’s voice could cut steel, but Quint doesn’t flinch. If anything, he looks somewhat incredulous. “I brought a day’s worth of issues to you and attempted to fit them into nine minutes. As per your request.”

Harristan swipes the leather folio out of my hands, but he’s still glaring at Quint. “I gave you ten.”

Quint opens his mouth to argue, but I have no desire to see him as the ninth victim today, so I say, “Did Leander issue a request?”

“No,” says Quint.

Harristan scans the letter I just read, then snaps it shut and looks back at the Palace Master. “Anyone else of importance? Or were you going to tell me tomorrow?”

“The usual elites from the Royal Sector,” Quint says. There are a few families who request a pardon for every captive. They’re always denied, but they always ask.

Quint glances at the pile. “A few others are from influential families. Many requests came from the Wilds. No other consuls.”

I look at the folio in Harristan’s hands. I’m surprised Arella submitted her request this way, instead of coming to speak with me directly. “Is Arella still here?” I say.

“She left at dawn,” says Quint. He pauses. “She and Roydan shared a carriage.”

Harristan goes still at this news. After a moment, he says, “That’s enough, Quint.” He sets the folio on the table.

“Your Majesty.” Quint offers a quick bow, then escapes the tension of the room.

Wesit in the silence for a long moment, until Harristan eventually eases into the chair across from me. He picks up one of the pardon requests, reads it, gently sets it aside. Then another. Then another.

I wait.

He reads them all.

He’s been the fierce king for so long now that I sometimes forget how he was when he was the beloved crown prince, the boy who was sheltered and coddled and doted upon. I remember he once told me he was glad that Father took me along for hunting trips, because he’d go pale at the sight of blood, and he hated the idea of putting an arrowhead into a living creature.

When he finally looks up, I see a glimpse of that boy in his eyes.

I lean in against the table. “Allisander was already going to raise his prices before this happened. You have nearly two hundred pardon requests sitting here, but I imagine you’d have three times as many decrying their crimes.”

He holds my gaze. “Arella requested a pardon for smugglers on the same day Allisander claimed his supply chain is being attacked. He won’t be happy. It pits her against him.”

I snort. “Who’s not against Allisander?”

“You,” he says.

I lose any shred of humor. “Only in public.” I frown. “And you well know that.”

“In public is all that matters.” He pauses. “It likely pits her against Lissa Marpetta, too. I find it interesting that she shared a carriage with Roydan.”