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My fingertips are pressed to my mouth. I can’t breathe.

I’m not invisible now. King Harristan glances at me and then at the Palace Master. “Quint.”

Quint rises without hesitation and approaches me. “My dear, you must be exhausted—”

“Please,” I whisper against my fingers. “Please. He can’t.”

The expression in his eyes tells me that Corrick can, and he will.

I’m so stupid. I let myself think otherwise for a bare space of time, but I knew who he was. I knew what he could do.

I should have run from the carriage when I had the chance. I should have stabbed him with the dagger. I should have done something.

Instead I’m just standing here while Quint takes hold of my elbow.

He’s going to kill them. Corrick is going to execute people right now.

I want to run. I want to scream. I want to throw myself at the king’s feet and beg for mercy.

None of it will do any good.

Quint must be able to read the panic as it washes through my eyes, because he says, “Walk with me, Tessa.”

Consul Cherry stands, and she glances at me before looking at the king. “I’m sure Prince Corrick will be able to learn a great deal about their operation once they’re dead.” She glances at the older man at the table. “Roydan. I’d like to further our conversation in private.”

“A discussion that cannot be shared with your king?” says Harristan.

Roydan looks like he’s going to say something conciliatory, but Consul Cherry faces Harristan boldly. “No, Your Majesty,” she says. “It cannot.” Then she offers a curtsy and turns for the door.

He inhales sharply, but before he can retort, he coughs hard.

Consul Cherry and Roydan turn to look at him in alarm.

In a heartbeat, Quint has let go of my arm and taken Consul Cherry’s. “Arella. Where will you and Roydan be meeting?” His voice is louder than usual as he propels them toward the door. “I will have food sent. Perhaps a bottle of wine?”

They’re through the door. A guard slams it closed behind them.

Harristanis still coughing. Two of his guards exchange a glance.

Maybe I’ve seen enough worried citizens exchange similar glances in my presence, but I know what that look means.

Is he sick? Should we do something?

The platter with a teapot and saucers is still sitting untouched at the end of the table, so I step forward and briskly pour a cup of tea, then add a dripping spoonful of honey. Vallis lilies and lavender are arranged in a tiny vase, and I try not to think of how long I’d have to work to buy a few lily petals for my apothecary kit when here, they’re just being used for decoration. I break a few leaves of each free, crush them in my palm, and add them to the water. The spoon clinks against the china as I stir rapidly before moving to carry it to the king.

One of his guards steps in front of me so quickly that I gasp and almost pour it all over him. Some tea sloshes over the side of the cup.

“The—the vallis lilies,” I stammer, suddenly realizing I’m alone with the king and his guards. “And the honey. For—for his cough. It’ll help.”

“No,” says the guard.

“Yes,” wheezes Harristan.

The guard blinks. He shifts sideways to glance at the king, who’s holding a hand out to me, gesturing for the cup.

I ease it onto the table in front of him, wondering if this guard is going to cut my hand off. The cup rattles against the saucer. He takes a tentative sip and coughs again.

The guard is glaring at me as if I personally caused it.