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“Kill her then. What is she to us?” Graeson asked, bluffing. Maybe if he could get Domitius talking, he could find an opening. Dani’s throwing knife was within reach. If Myra shifted over . . .

Domitius smirked, cocking a brow. “You might not care, butshewould.” Domitius’ gaze fell upon Kalisandre, and Graeson clenched his teeth.

“If the girl is remotely important to Kalisandre, you won’t kill her.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Domitius asked.

“Because Kalisandre matters to you. If you kill her handmaiden, Kalisandre will hate you.”

Domitius shrugs. “A means to an end.”

“You don’t mean that.” Graeson scoffed. “You need her.”

Domitius huffed, his face contorting into feigned indifference, and it was an expression that Graeson had seen Kalisandre wear one too many times.

With a snide chuckle, Domitius said, “I don’tneedher. I alreadyhaveher. Take Kalisandre if you wish, but a word of advice? Don’t get too comfortable. Shewillcrawl back to me.”

“She won’t,” Graeson spat. “Not this time.”

Domitius clicked his tongue. “Oh, don’t tell me, you think you cansaveher?”

Graeson fell silent.

Domitius laughed, his eyes wild. The careful mask of the perfect king disintegrating, and in its place was that of the bull-headed king. “Son, she’s not yours to save.”

“She’s notyourseither. Kalisandre belongs to no one.” Graeson slowly reached for the blade beside him.

“Oh, but that is where you are wrong.” Domitius tightened his hold around Myra. “Isn’t that right?”

Graeson froze. The back of Graeson’s neck prickled as Myra stared at him.

Terin, voice weak, asked, “What does Myra have to do with any of this?”

Then, Graeson felt something rush over his mind as if someone was prodding it, poking it. Knocking on its door. He searched for the source.

Domitius wore a victorious smile on his face. Graeson’s brows drew together in question. Esmeray never mentioned Domitius having a gift, but what other explanation was there? That prodding sensation only happened when someone tried to infiltrate Graeson’s mind. Was that how he was controlling Kalisandre? If he killed Domitius, then Kalisandre would be free.

“Should I tell him, or do you want to?” Domitius asked, shaking Myra.

Myra released a strangled weep. Her chest rose in quick, rapid breaths as she looked at each of them. Her lips parted, but the handmaiden said nothing.

Domitius shook his head, and a menacing laughter poured from his lips. “Oh. You are all so naive, just like her.” He looked at Kalisandre and clicked his tongue. Domitius grabbed Myra by the chin, his fingers indenting into her flesh. “Sheis the real reason your prince is dead.”

“Myra, what is he talking about?” Terin asked, his voice shaking.

When Myra opened her eyes and peered at Terin, regret filled her watery gaze.

Pressing his cheek against Myra’s, he whispered, “ShouldIbe the one to tell them then about how you betrayed your friend? Should I tell them what you’ve been doing to our little manipulator?” Domitius rubbed his thumb across her face.

Myra struggled against his hold. He put his lips against her ear, but Graeson couldn’t hear the king’s words. Whatever it was, Myra stopped struggling. She swallowed, closing her eyes, and a stream of tears rolled down the contours of her soft face.

“You see, Myra here has been playing our little Kalisandre this entire time.” He snatched her chin. “Haven’t you?”

“Myra wouldn’t do that. Kallie trusts her.” Terin looked between Graeson and then back to the handmaiden. “Right, Myra?”

But Myra squeezed her lips shut, and her tears spilled, rolling over the king’s hand. The cut on her shoulder had stopped bleeding, but now, a long drip of blood covered her arm.

“Awe. Would you look at that? They fell for your tricks, too, didn’t they?” Domitius grinned and rubbed his thumb across her chin. “You’ve done better than I thought you would.”