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Chapter Two

Bastien

I t’s never been difficult for me to listen in on chatter around the palace.

As far as both the nobles and staff are concerned, I’m of secondary importance compared to the Darium natives.

I may have been called the emperor’s foster brother, but everyone knows I’m a hostage—a powerless symbol of the empire’s domination.

If they had any idea how much power I’ve wielded behind the scenes… But it’s better that they don’t, because I can still amble through the halls, pausing where I can overhear the conversations of the guards without any of them giving me a second glance.

There aren’t a whole lot of those conversations to listen to.

The imperial soldiers are a disciplined bunch.

But I overhear a commanding officer reminding a couple of underlings to be particularly thorough in their patrol of the outer walls, and a few guards heading off-duty grumbling that the “traitor tribune” hasn’t been apprehended yet.

No one makes any indication that they doubt Aurelia’s claim to the throne, at least as a guardian figure until the imperial heir is old enough to rule. It sounds as though all of the palace soldiers see Tribune Valerisse as a criminal rather than a justified dissenter.

So far. If Aurelia understood her correctly and the godlen of war herself has some hand in recent events, Great God only knows how this internal rebellion will play out.

My niggling uneasiness takes me back into the palace’s hidden passages. I thought to poke around in Aurelia’s ruined bedroom for anything enlightening, but the repair staff are still at work. The smoky scent seeps through the walls to itch at my nose.

I linger by the closed panel for several minutes, listening to the workers, but they all sound horrified by the attempts on their empress’s life too.

Finally, I tramp down to the old servant room where we held Marc last night.

There’s little to inspect in that dim space. The lantern reveals the broken pieces of the chair we tied him to, lying in disarray across the floor. Nothing else looks any different than usual.

Except for something we left behind that I should see but don’t.

As I peer at the settee where Raul tossed the gold wedding band he cut from Marc’s wrist, my pulse stutters. I’d swear the severed band was lying here on the cushions, gleaming in the lanternlight, right before we left when Aurelia went into labor. Nothing remains but worn linen.

I drag my fingers along the edges of the cushions and peer beneath the furniture, but no gold band presents itself. Frowning, I straighten up again .

The broken bangle couldn’t have simply disappeared. Did one of my foster brothers come back and pocket it?

If Marc took it when he escaped… will he use it to try to reclaim the throne? To prove Aurelia’s crimes against him?

The oddly scarred man who’s one half of our former emperor made an emphatic show of devotion when he appealed to Aurelia this morning, but I don’t trust the prick farther than I could kick him.

Is it possible someone else found their way down here? Could Sabrelle have guided one of her dedicats that thoroughly?

I’m not finding any answers just staring at the space.

I return to the regular palace halls to the wafting scents of dinner. A subdued atmosphere hangs over the nobles gathering in the dining room—any spurt of laughter is quickly snuffed out. We’ve all donned the dark mourning clothes that last came out a year ago for Emperor Tarquin’s departure.

The staff have seated all four of us foster princes together. Lorenzo nods to me with a quick gesture to say he’s seen no reason for immediate worry either. Neven, who we spoke to briefly before taking up our separate investigations, fiddles with his knife.

“Everyone’s acting so sad that Marclinus is dead,” he mutters. “And they don’t know— I can’t believe she?—”

I tap his arm to stop him. “This isn’t the place to talk about it. She knew him better than any of us. She ended the worst of it, didn’t she? Just as she intended.”

I hold down my own misgivings about Marc’s new position among us. Why didn’t Aurelia let him burn while we had the chance?

Our empress can be brilliant, but she cares so deeply. She wants to believe the best of people .

If Marc betrays her benevolence, I’ll gut him myself.

I’m about to say as much when a flurry of activity draws all our attention to the front of the room. Raul hurries over to join us with a crooked smile, done with his self-assigned guard duties.

Because Aurelia is entering, draped in black silk from neck to feet, with a full host of guards escorting her to the honored spot at the head table. Her mouth set in a tight smile, she dips her head to acknowledge the nobles who murmur an awkward mix of congratulations and condolences.

In the bundle of black fabric cradled in her arms, the reason for the congratulations stirs.

Aurelia stops by her throne-like chair, eases back the blanket to reveal our daughter’s downy head, and gazes toward her court. Complete silence falls over the room without anyone needing to call for it.

This is the first time most of the nobles are setting eyes on the imperial heir: the baby they all think has the greatest claim on the Darium throne now that her supposed father is supposedly dead.

Watching mother and daughter together, my heart squeezes with a giddy ache like nothing I’ve ever experienced.

Coraya is my daughter. Somehow I helped create the new life now so vibrantly real in Aurelia’s arms. That’s the woman I love and the child I already cherish, as little time as I’ve gotten to spend with her so far.

But there’ll never be much more time, not as long as we need all of Dariu to believe the baby is Marclinus’s. I’ll never get to stand beside Aurelia as her partner and father of her child. Never get to dote on our daughter as she deserves.

It’s a miracle we’ve accomplished as much as we have. I shouldn’t want more than this .

But some part of me craves it, with a burn that runs right down to my core.

Aurelia pitches her clear voice to carry through the large room.

“I want to thank you all for your kind words in this time that should be so joyful but has veered into tragedy. I’ll complete my husband’s private funeral rites tonight, and tomorrow we will all honor Marclinus as he’s due.

I’m sure our daughter, Coraya, will fulfill our hopes for Dariu when she’s grown.

Let us do all we can to nurture that growth and protect her from whatever threats may come. ”

A murmuring of agreement ripples through the crowd alongside respectful applause. Most of the nobles look a bit dazed.

I suppose I can’t blame them for that. None of them could have expected to lose two emperors in the course of a year or to find themselves ruled by a woman from the opposite end of the empire.

Thank all things divine that we’ve spent so much of that year building support for Aurelia, to the point that many might appreciate having her in charge rather than Marclinus. May our work have been enough to see her through the troubles ahead.

Her gaze sweeps over the assembled crowd again, and I manage a swift gesture of my hand in one subtle offering of affection. I love you.

She doesn’t dare return the signal with so many looking on, but a softer smile touches her lips as she takes her seat.

I turn back to my foster brothers to start tackling the troubles I already know of. “Did any of you go down to the room on the lowest level and pick up a broken armband?”

I’m being vague just in case anyone catches my lowered voice, but my fellow princes know enough of the situation to fill in the blanks. All of them shake their heads, Raul’s forehead furrowing .

“Is it gone?” he asks.

“I couldn’t find it when I was down there an hour ago.”

He grunts, the sound more uneasy than annoyed. “I’ll take another look.”

Neven’s fingers tighten around his knife. “If it’s missing, then there’s only one person other than us who could have taken it, isn’t there? What good reason could he have?”

“It wouldn’t get Marc very far, I don’t think,” Lorenzo says, projecting his illusionary voice to us alone. “It’s a simple loop of metal—he couldn’t prove it was part of Aurelia’s marriage ceremony. It wasn’t , was it? Didn’t she say Linus was the twin who participated in the official rites?”

I nod slowly. “That’s true. He could have taken it on an impulse and then realized there was no use for it. But we can’t discount the possible godly influence and whether Sabrelle may have encouraged someone else to meddle.”

Neven’s expression twitches. He sits stiffly silent as a server comes around to set the plates with the first course in front of us.

The moment the server is gone, he drops his voice to a rough whisper. “What do you mean about Sabrelle?”

He wasn’t there when Aurelia mentioned Tribune Valerisse’s claims. I balk automatically, so used to censoring what we discuss around the youngest of our group—but we’ve made the mistake of shutting out the prince of Goric too many times before.

He sided with us and with Aurelia when it mattered most. We might not have saved her from the fire without his gift of strength to bash down her apartment door.

Lorenzo picks up the thread for me, his gift letting him speak much more openly than I could with the nobles all around us.

“When Tribune Valerisse attacked Aurelia, she announced that Sabrelle is on her side—and would support the army turning against Aurelia to get her off the throne. I suppose we don’t know for sure if that’s even partly true rather than delusional ranting, but ? —”

Neven breaks in, his tan face gone sallow. “I don’t think it’s just delusion. I—I should talk to Aurelia as soon as possible.”