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B y the time Cora entered the council room, all the other members had taken their seats. She was momentarily stunned by the look of the room, for it appeared almost exactly as it had the last time she’d been inside. Not that she’d had much reason to enter it as a child. Still, she’d always been impressed with its imposing grandeur. She felt the same now as she studied the walls of dark wood, carved with reliefs of battle scenes. These were interspersed with portraits of previous kings from the Caelan bloodline, including her father, whose portrait stood at the far end of the room. Beside it hung a purple standard bearing Khero’s black mountain sigil. The head of a large rectangular table was placed directly beneath it, where her brother sat now. Several smaller tables covered in maps and books lined the room.

Cora strolled straight for the table. A trio of servants fluttered about it, filling glasses with wine and water while the councilmen got situated. Conversation filled the room, masking the sound of Cora’s steps. After the servants finished filling the last glass, they hastily made their exits, closing the door behind them. No one noticed Cora’s approach until she placed her hand on the back of the empty chair at the far end of the table and slid it out.

Dimetreus was the first to rise to his feet. Others belatedly followed, some offering hasty bows, while Lord Kevan stood less out of respect and more out of annoyed surprise.

The king rushed over to her. “Oh, darling Aveline,” he said, voice low. “You don’t need to worry yourself with this meeting. I daresay it will be tedious and rather bleak of topic.”

She tried not to feel offended by his tone or his words. When would he stop treating her like the twelve-year-old girl he last knew? Had she not been the one to comfort him all week? To play parent to him and soothe his emotions, all while controlling the narrative surrounding his sudden breakdowns?

Cora did her best to keep her voice level, but she didn’t bother meeting his low volume. “Yes, dear brother, but you should recall that many of these bleak topics have to do with me. Lord Kevan has reminded us of this meeting’s importance time and again, and that we are to say little about anything regarding our pasts and recent events until our stories have been agreed upon by your new council. That is precisely why I’m here.”

Kevan’s voice shot across the table with unmasked ire. “You’re supposed to be showing hospitality to the queen, Highness.”

“I showed her what hospitality was due. Right now my place is at this table.”

Kevan’s cheeks reddened, his mouth falling open.

Before he could speak, Dimetreus addressed the council. “Consider the oversight mine. I should have invited Princess Aveline to attend our meeting from the start. She is right. Today’s agenda involves her.”

That silenced further argument from Kevan, but Lord Ulrich’s snicker still carried across the table. Whether he was amused at his brother’s irritation or laughing to undermine Dimetreus’ authority, Cora knew not. Her nerves were wound too tightly to allow her to extend her senses.

Dimetreus faced Cora with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me,” he whispered, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Her heart softened. “Of course.”

The king returned to the head of the table and Cora finally lowered herself into her chair. She glanced around the table, meeting a few stares from the men around her—some curious, others icy—and held their eyes without falter. All looked quickly away, turning their gazes to the king. The council was comprised of twelve men total, aside from the king, half of whom had arrived today with Ulrich. Kevan and his men sat on one side of the table while Ulrich and his sat on the other.

“Shall we get started, Your Majesty?” Lord Kevan said, tone curt. “Perhaps we shall begin with the topic of Princess Aveline. Then she need not stay for the duration?—”

“We shall,” Dimetreus said, cutting Kevan off. “Lord Ulrich, I’ve been told you bear the responsibility of forging the official statements we’ll be making to the public. What shall we say to prove my sister’s assumed death was false?”

Cora was impressed with how effortlessly her brother spoke on a topic she knew distressed him. It bolstered her conviction that she’d done the right thing in aiding his return to the throne. Regardless of the trauma that continued to afflict him, he was king. Without Morkai’s influence, he could be a great king.

Lord Ulrich shuffled the stack of papers before him. Selecting one, he leaned back in his chair. His casual posture contrasted Kevan’s tense demeanor. “The official statement,” Ulrich drawled, “is that six years ago, King Dimetreus learned of a threat to the crown. While it had been too late to save the queen, he was able to spirit the princess away and fake her death to protect her.”

Cora’s gaze locked on her brother, seeking any sign that mention of his wife’s demise was causing him anguish. The last thing she needed was for him to fall apart before the council. Thankfully, all she noted was a slight twitch beneath his eye.

Ulrich continued. “She was raised in a secret location in the Cambron Mountains by a group of operatives tasked with keeping her safe until the threat could be dealt with. That is why claims of her death are now being refuted.”

“What is being said to clear our king’s name?” asked a man with thinning auburn hair and a heavy mustache that hid his upper lip. Cora recognized him as Lord Danforth, one of the councilmen who’d journeyed with her retinue from Lord Kevan’s estate.

Ulrich rifled through his papers again and selected a new one before returning to his slumped pose. “Although His Majesty first learned of the threat six years ago, it took almost as long to uncover its source. He nearly lost his life when he and his spies uncovered Duke Morkai’s sinister motives, but he was able to flee to Selay. There the king and his allies from Selay and Menah rallied a force to confront the duke, which resulted in the battle at Centerpointe Rock.”

Dimetreus furrowed his brow. “The people are accepting this story?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ulrich said. “It seems the duke kept very few witnesses at the castle, save for those who served him. We’ve questioned the survivors from the battle. Most had minds too addled to understand anything that had occurred, much like you’d claimed. Only a small handful knew of the lie Morkai had fed you about Selay’s and Menah’s involvement in your wife’s death. The general public has no clue that Khero was ever pitted against Selay and Menah, and any rumors will quickly be smoothed over by our official statement. The worst crime your citizens see you as guilty of were your aggressive recruitment attempts, but those too will be forgiven when word spreads that you’d been countering a coup all along.”

“What of the prisoners taken at the end of the battle?” one of the men from Ulrich’s party asked. “Have all the soldiers who served under Morkai been put to death?”

Cora’s blood went cold. While she knew Morkai had earned the loyalties of some of his soldiers, there had to have been countless more who’d simply fallen under his glamour.

“Many have,” Kevan said, running a hand through his thick beard. “Any who revealed hostility or unwavering loyalty to the departed duke were executed at once. Their families have been informed that they died in battle serving the king. As for the rest, we’re taking it one day at a time. We can’t release a host of soldiers claiming to have lost their memories. And those who have retained their memories know of certain facts we can’t let them share. Should too many similar tales begin to proliferate?—”

“You can’t kill them all.” The words burst from Cora’s lips. “Most have been afflicted in the same way my brother has. Duke Morkai’s dark magic is to blame, not his victims.”

Kevan pinned her with a glare. “If you’d waited until I’d finished, you’d have heard me state just that. Considering this is your first time sitting with a royal council, your childish behavior is excusable, Highness, but going forward do respect the speaker and wait your turn.”

Heat rose to Cora’s cheeks. She hated being scolded by him but arguing would only further his point. Pursing her lips, she funneled her rage by gripping the armrests of her chair.

“And going forward,” Dimetreus said, steely gaze on Kevan, “you will speak to the princess as befits any other man on the council. Understood?”

Kevan’s beard twitched as he shifted his jaw side to side. It seemed to pain him greatly to offer the king a tight-lipped, “Understood.”

Ulrich sat a little straighter, amusement dancing in his eyes. “What my brother was going to say is that we are aware that we cannot execute all the soldiers who fought at Centerpointe Rock. Many have only good things to say about their king. We are going to use their confusion in our favor. We’ve begun feeding them a tale that the duke had utilized a chemical poison during the battle which resulted in hallucinations and memory loss. Those who accept this story are being sent home, honorably discharged from service, after a thorough interview.”

Cora relaxed at that, and she regretted her earlier outburst.

“That will help explain away all mention of ghosts and monsters,” one of the men said with an approving nod. “Even if rumors do spread, the official statement will counter it.”

“A similar story has been fed to the soldiers who fought for Menah and Selay,” Ulrich said. “Since they lack the memory loss of those who’d been controlled by the duke, their conviction over what they witnessed is stronger. But it’s less important that they believe the story and more that they understand to keep quiet. No civilians were present at Centerpointe Rock, only military personnel. Anyone caught spreading rumors about dark magic and sorcery will be dishonorably discharged.”

This time when Cora spoke, she kept her tone neutral. “So all word of magic is being stripped from the official story?”

“Yes,” Kevan said. “There is no point in frightening the public. Now that the duke is dead, magic can return to being a thing of myth.”

“But magic is real.” Cora’s heart hammered at the confession.

Some of the men paled while others shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“No, it is not,” Lord Danforth said with a sniff. “Whatever happened at Centerpointe Rock was a singular occurrence. Our story about chemical poisons and hallucinations very well might be true. It makes a hell of a lot more sense than sorcery.”

Cora lowered her shields to sense the emotions coming from the men around her. She was struck with fear, discomfort, and dissociation. Conflict writhed through them, a war between the terrifying truth and the far more comforting lie.

Only now did it strike her that no one had referred to Morkai as a sorcerer or mage, only a duke. They were not only lying to the public…but to themselves.

With her shields back in place, she sank against the back of her chair, regarding the men before her. They knew the truth. They knew dark magic existed, yet they were content to pretend it had never happened.

She supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything more. The average citizen didn’t believe in magic, and anything deemed too different was often met with suspicion. Which included witches—people born with one of the six sensory magics. If their Art caused them to reveal strange tendencies, keen senses, or miraculous abilities, they were often cast out of society. That was the very reason the Forest People, who’d once only been comprised of Faeryn descendants, began to welcome witches into the commune. Just like they’d welcomed Cora. Nurtured her Art.

A heavy sorrow filled her chest as she realized she was right back where she’d been as a child—hiding her magic lest she be judged for it.

It doesn’t have to be forever , she reminded herself. In the meantime, there are still things I can do. Issues only a princess can solve .

She sat up straighter. “What of the unicorns?”

“What about them?” Kevan asked. “They are no more evidence of magic than a horse is. They are simply an ancient species that has recovered from extinction.”

He was wrong about that. Unicorns were fae creatures, and where they’d suddenly returned from remained a mystery. However, that was not the topic she wanted to discuss. “What is being done about those who hunted them? I’m sure you’ve been told in the final report compiled by King Verdian’s inquisitors that I came across multiple parties of unicorn hunters who served Morkai.”

It had been a necessary truth to confess since it explained how she and Teryn had crossed paths. Of course, she’d neglected to admit anything about having poisoned a group of them. Teryn, it seemed, had stayed quiet on the subject as well.

Ulrich answered. “A proclamation has been publicly made against any hunters continuing work in the duke’s name, and bounties have been offered in exchange for the recapture of the criminals the duke had freed.”

Cora narrowed her eyes. “Has unicorn hunting been abolished? It is a cruel practice and should not be allowed, especially when a species is endangered, as Lord Kevan has pointed out.”

“You can rest assured,” Lord Danforth said, “that unicorn hunting has been strictly regulated.”

A sinking sensation struck her gut—a clairsentient nudge. She pried a hole in her shields, just enough to sense Danforth’s emotions, and found him lacking sincerity. He was…hiding something. She glanced from Danforth to Ulrich, then to Kevan. They wore smug expressions and writhed with greedy energy.

She could feel the truth then. They were continuing the hunt. They’d probably only issued warrants to lessen competition. Her mouth fell open, her tongue tingling with accusations…

But what could she possibly say? What could she accuse them of without confessing to her Art?

She’d have to wait and bring the subject to her brother alone. Not that he’d ever listened to her clairsentient warnings before. He may not have condemned her strange abilities the way Linette had, but he hadn’t understood them either.

Damn it. I’ll have to warn Valorre.

“Now, Highness,” Kevan said, tone mocking, “do you have any other pressing matters to bring to the table? Perhaps the welfare of dragons and pixies?”

A rumble of laughter echoed over the table. He could laugh at her expense all he wanted. She was about to see that jovial expression stripped clean off his face.

Sitting straighter, she locked her eyes with his. “I do, actually. I’d like to discuss the North Tower Library.”