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Ava had had to steer him away too many times to count from the sycophants who tried to pretend that it was all business as usual, albeit under new management.

They must know it wasn’t, and yet they persisted, as if they could change their new reality by simply pretending it wasn’t happening.

As for the men and women of Fernwell that she encountered on the streets, most voiced their suspicion that whatever she and Luc were cooking up was going to be the ruin of them all.

Luc told her that attitude was to be expected. When had the citizens of Kassia ever had a decent leader, he’d asked her?

Ava couldn’t answer. Didn’t know if they had one now.

She wanted to be good. Or even just mildly competent. And she also wanted to pass the mantle on to someone else as soon as possible.

The problem with that was Luc.

He had fought almost his whole life to bring down her aunt and cousin. She wouldn’t throw away his victory by handing things over to idiots.

Speaking of idiots, up ahead, obscured by the crowds, someone gave a shout.

It sent a ripple of worry through her.

This was the other reason she had to justify her daily escape from the palace.

She had saved at least three lives since they’d taken Fernwell. Maybe more with her covert wanderings.

The small group at the stall broke off their conversation and began moving toward the source of the commotion.

Ava increased her pace, weaving through the gawkers enticed by the prospect of a confrontation.

Given the number of Rising Wave soldiers present in the city each day, and the equal number of Kassians who chafed under the new order, Ava was surprised there weren’t more fights.

General Ru and Luc had ordered their people to deescalate, to take the high road, but even so . . .

She burrowed through a crowd of spectators to find two Cervantes soldiers, Luc’s people, standing in a small open circle. With them, but slightly to the side, was a Venyatux soldier, a woman she recognized all too well.

Catja. One of General Ru’s personal guards.

Facing them, fists clenched, was a massive man.

He looked unkempt, as if he was sleeping rough or had been on an all-night bender and had stumbled into the street after spending some time unconscious on a tavern floor.

“You will need to apologize.” The Cervantes soldier who spoke to the man was not someone Ava knew personally, but she recognized her.

Her partner—because they had been told to always move about the city in pairs—was a tall, battle-scarred man who stood loose and calm beside her.

He almost looked bored, but Ava could feel the potential for violence coiled within him.

She felt the faint buzz from her cloak, a strong message this was a highly volatile situation.

If she threw the cloak off and stepped in as herself, as Queen Ava of Kassia, would that help the situation, or merely stoke tensions even higher?

So far, she had managed to avoid revealing herself in these situations. Better they never knew she’d been here, and better no one noticed her appearing out of thin air.

That would not help her popularity. At all.

The last thing she needed was whispers about her Grimwaldian heritage.

The big scruffy Kassian turned his head and spat on the ground. “This is my city. I won’t be apologizing to anyone.”

The crowd almost audibly drew in a breath.