Dinner was an agonizing exercise in patience. After the main courses, Garrin had to endure dozens of toasts to him, his betrothal, his health, and his future, and the quantity and lengths of each toast increased with every drink. By the time the king dismissed his guests from the meal, it seemed as though every noble and councilman had spoken.

Except for Renton, who hadn’t so much as glanced in Garrin’s direction since their confrontation.

At least Lliane was talking to him again. She made a teasing, whispered speech of her own during the twelfth or twentieth toast (Garrin lost count) that had Mered in giggles and earned several glares from their mother. It made Garrin smile, easing the tension that had settled in his chest since her arrival. He’d missed her humor.

And now that he knew he did not have Arya’s support, Lliane’s was even more precious.

It was after midnight by the time Garrin could finally return to his bedchambers. Jakin was waiting to help him into his nightclothes, promising to arrange a bath for the following morning so Garrin could soak his sore muscles. With a nod of thanks, Garrin dismissed his manservant and settled into his bed, ready to put the long day to rest.

Then he heard the scrape of a door, and all his hopes for a peaceful night crumbled.

“Go away,” he groaned, not moving from where he was already draped across his bed.

“I have something to tell you,” Arya said.

“Tell me tomorrow.”

She pulled a corner of the curtain around his bed aside, letting in the light from the fire. “It’s important.”

“And so it will still be tomorrow.”

“Garrin.”

Garrin frowned and opened his eyes. Arya was still dressed in her evening gown, her hair pulled down to twist in ringlets around her face. The warm glow from the fire made it shine like molten gold, framing the serious look on her face.

Something was wrong.

He sat up and waited for her to join him on the bed, but she stayed where she was. “I was searching for information on Anarya,” she began in a low voice. “I thought I’d check the records room in the western wing. There’s a passage there that goes between two of the chambers—it was on the castle blueprints as extra storage, but I don’t think it’s been used in decades. While I was in the passage, I heard the door to the other room open, and someone started talking.”

Garrin pulled his legs up to make room for her. “I assume this person said something significant? What was the other room he was in?”

“Just another storage room,” Arya answered. “I’m sure he thought no one else would be around to hear, and that’s why he chose that place for the meeting.”

“Who?”

She folded her arms. “Renton. The other person only spoke in a whisper, so I couldn’t tell who it was, but he said that they shouldn’t risk meeting. Renton said it was more dangerous to risk communicating by letter because it would leave a record, and that nobody used those rooms anymore, so they were safe. And then...”

She trailed off, her eyes straying toward the fire. Impulsively, Garrin reached for her hand and drew her down onto the mattress. “And then what?”

“They talked about your father,” Arya said quietly. “And about you. They talked about... about keeping you from becoming king.”

Garrin stared at her. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“It’s not their first plan,” she said. “Renton thinks you can be controlled through your education and by having his men keep an eye on you.”

“That’s why he’s so insistent on my having an escort,” Garrin muttered.

She nodded, pulling her hand free to fold it in her lap. “If that doesn’t work, they implied being willing to use violence.”

Violence. He couldn’t believe it—not even Renton would be that bold. But why would Arya lie to him? He met her gaze, searching for any hint of deceit, but there was only concern. Over him? Or over the future of the kingdom? After all, if Garrin was replaced as king, where would that leave her?

“Why are they doing this?” Garrin asked.

Arya shook her head. “They didn’t say. But a strong king would mean less power for the council.”

“But to go so far as to threaten me... We have to find out who this other person is.”

“And you must continue your training,” Arya said. “You need to know how to defend yourself.”

Garrin scowled. “At least we know Senjay isn’t loyal to Renton.”

“That doesn’t mean you can trust him,” Arya said. “Not with this. It’s best not to tell anybody—at least not until we’ve figured out who the other person is.”

“What about my father?” Garrin asked.

Arya managed a weak smile. “He’s in no danger as long as he’s king. He doesn’t stand up to the council, so they have no reason to hurt him. The longer he’s in power, the longer you’re not.”

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That was something. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about protecting his father and himself. “What should we do?” he asked. His voice came out smaller than he’d meant it to.

“How should I know?” Arya asked. “You’ve known these people longer than I have.”

Garrin closed his eyes, leaning back against the headboard to think. She was right—it wasn’t fair for him to expect her to have a solution. He was the one who was supposed to be king. He needed to solve the problem. But this was bigger than planning a feast or organizing decorations. He didn’t have the experience or the training to handle a threat of violence on his own.

But he wasn’t alone. And perhaps there was a way to solve two problems at once.

“What if there was a way you could help?” Garrin asked carefully.

Arya frowned. “What way?”

“What if... I didn’t become king?”

She stared at him. A dozen questions flashed across her face, each one realized and dismissed in a heartbeat. He could tell the exact moment she’d figured out his plan by the way her eyes darkened.

“You want me to be queen,” she said in a flat voice. “That’s why you requested I have all this extra knowledge. You intend to abandon your duties and place them on me.”

“Not abandon,” Garrin argued. “Just... postpone.”

“And you’ll let Renton target me in the meantime,” she frowned.

Garrin leaned forward. “It won’t be like that. Renton won’t see you as a threat—none of them will. You’ll be safe while I travel and gather support. Once I have more information, more connections to the people, I’ll—”

“You’ll return to a murdered wife and a kingdom controlled by the council,” Arya snapped. “No one would think twice about disposing of me. I’m just another created princess. Expendable. I wouldn’t last a week.”

“Not if they thought they could control you,” Garrin said.

The darkness in Arya’s eyes had spread across the rest of her face. “It wouldn’t be the same as with your father. I could encounter any number of unfortunate accidents within the castle and nobody would question it.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Garrin said.

She snorted and shot to her feet. “You would be gambling with my life if you left. There’s no way around that.”

Garrin tried to take her hand as she moved, but she pulled away and stalked toward the wardrobe. “It isn’t like that,” he said, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed to follow her. “I would make sure you were safe before I left.”

“And how would you protect me once you were gone?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t go until I knew you were safe,” he said.

“You could never know that for sure.”

“But if you—”

She spun to face him. “This is your problem. You think of everything as if it’s a ballad with a grand romantic ending. It isn’t. Some people will do anything to stay in power, including killing the hero and his betrothed. You are not guaranteed a happy ending just because you are the prince.”

“That isn’t what I think,” he frowned.

“That is how you act.” She turned back to the wardrobe, but her hand stilled on the tapestry as a sharp knock pounded at the hallway door.

“My lord,” called Renton, his voice muffled but sharp. “I must speak to you immediately.”

“Go,” Garrin hissed.

“He’ll hear the door,” Arya whispered.

“Then hide,” Garrin said. “Here. Quick.”

He opened his wardrobe, shoving her inside and yanking out a robe to explain the noise. “No—” she hissed, twisting in the tiny space. “Wait!”

But Renton had started pounding on the door again and covered up her protests. “I’ll get rid of him quickly,” he promised, closing the door. He jammed his arms into the sleeves of the robe and stomped across the room, jerking open the door and glaring at the red-faced marshal.

“Lord Renton,” he growled. “This is extremely inappropriate. Anything you have to say to me can wait until morning.”

Renton glared. “It cannot, Your Highness. The insult I have bourn this night is beyond—”

“I had no intention of insulting you,” Garrin interrupted. “But you insisted on making the confrontation a public one. How can I—”

He stopped, clenching his teeth over the rest of the thought. How can I be a strong leader if my subordinates treat me like a child in public? But Arya had already answered that question: they didn’t want him to be strong. Being strong put him in danger. It was better for Renton and the rest of the council to think him weak and malleable, at least for the time being. Until they could come up with a plan.

So he bit the inside of his cheek and forced out, “How can I be a good host to our guests with such tension in the room?”

“You deliberately went against my orders,” Renton snapped.

Orders. Renton didn’t have the right to give him orders. “I misunderstood,” Garrin said through a tight jaw. “I thought you meant I should not leave the castle alone, which I did not. I shall be more careful in the future.”

“You shall be escorted by two armed guards in the future,” Renton said.

“As you see fit,” Garrin muttered. “But I am certainly not leaving the castle tonight. If you think we must discuss this further, we can continue in the morning.” He started to shut the door, but thought better of the action and added, “Good night, Marshal.”

It was a minor appeasement, but Renton didn’t argue as Garrin closed the door on him. He waited until he heard the marshal’s footsteps recede down the hall before returning to the wardrobe and shrugging out of his robe.

“Sorry,” he said, carefully opening the door. “He wouldn’t—”

Arya tumbled into his arms. He caught her reflexively, his robe falling to hang from one shoulder as she clung to his shirt, burying her face in his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he faltered.

She stiffened, but didn’t let go. For a long moment she said nothing, her forehead pressed above his heart, her hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt. The knuckles of one hand were dangerously close to his bruise, but he wasn’t about to move it. After a while, he relaxed his arms around her and let the hold melt into an embrace. The fire burned at his back, and her breaths warmed his chest as they went from short and shallow to slow and soft.

At last, she pulled away. Her face was red, and for the first time since they’d been alone, she wouldn’t raise her eyes to meet his. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Garrin let her go and tried not to feel how cold his chest was in her absence. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” she said tersely. “The Architects’ doing. Something I will soon overcome.”

Garrin frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Every princess is given a specific fear,” Arya bit out. “Apparently the Architects think it is endearing. Hasn’t your mother ever shown hers?”

“Spiders,” Garrin admitted. “Mother wouldn’t even go into a room if she thought she saw a cobweb. But I never realized... why would the Architects do such a thing?”

“The prince must feel needed,” Arya said bitterly.

“Needed?”

She scowled. “There is nothing for a prince to protect his princess from here. So the Architects create a fear, something that will leave the princess terrified enough for the prince to swoop in and comfort her. Isn’t that romantic?”

“It’s barbaric,” Garrin said. The flash of anger in her eyes said she agreed with him.

“My fear is darkness,” Arya went on. “And this is the last time it will best me. I was unprepared, but that won’t happen again. Don’t expect to have to comfort me again.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Garrin said.

Arya shoved the wardrobe door closed and lifted the corner of the tapestry. “It will not happen again.”

“Arya, you don’t need—”

But she ducked behind the tapestry and was gone before he could finish.