Garrin tried not to notice exactly how close Senjay was following him. The Thiyaan prince wasn’t armed, as far as Garrin could see, and Elonie was only a few steps behind. If he tried anything, she would stop it. Again, he wished he’d thought to bring a weapon on his frantic search for Arya. Now there was no time to get one.

The King’s Room was just ahead. One door was already ajar, swaying slightly as Garrin reached for it. His skin prickled in warning, but there was nothing else to do but push forward. Either way, they had to go inside.

He glanced over his shoulder and met Elonie’s ready gaze. She nodded, hand on her sword, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. He opened the door.

The King’s Room was dim, lit by a few smoky chandeliers whose weak light barely reached the center of the space, and a single row of thin windows along the northern wall. Two figures stood before the king’s throne, and in the darkness it took Garrin a moment to recognize his father and Senjay’s mother. Queen Asella was half-hidden behind the king, one arm clamped across his chest, the other hand pressing a knife to his throat.

“Stay where you are,” she commanded. Her eyes swept over Garrin’s companions and stalled on Senjay. “Come, my son. Help me.”

Senjay didn’t move. “What are you doing?”

“I am doing what I must,” the queen answered stiffly. “And you will do the same. Come here.”

“Back away from the king,” Garrin said, taking a cautious step forward. “There is still time. You don’t need to do this.”

Asella scowled, her regal face contorting into something Garrin hardly recognized. “Time? We have no time. My people are suffering, and you—your king—has done nothing to aid us. You preach unity and friendship, but you turn your back on those in need.”

“What need?” Garrin asked. “If Thiyaan needs aid, we can—”

“Fyrest has already rejected my pleas for help,” Asella interrupted.

Garrin looked at his father. “Is this true?”

The king swallowed, sending a shiver of movement along the blade at his throat. “The council thought it was best to forgo excessive shipments during the stormy seasons. We could not risk—”

“Stormy seasons?” Asella snapped. “I have been sending you messages for a year. Your ships were safe enough when they traded with Eiliad—why not Thiyaan? The truth is that you wanted us weak so you could take our lands for yourself. I am only acting before you can.”

“That’s not true,” Garrin said. “Fyrest would never attack Thiyaan. We’ve been allies for centuries!”

Asella narrowed her eyes. “You claim I am a liar then? I have proof, Prince Garrin, and your pretense at innocence is not fooling me. If not for Marshal Renton, we would be lost.”

“Whatever Marshal Renton has told you is a lie,” Garrin said.

“Mother,” Senjay said, taking a cautious step forward. “Listen to him. Renton is not to be trusted.”

“I tried to shelter you from the truth,” Asella said. “But I see now that I should have involved you from the beginning. Come, Senjay. I will explain everything in time.”

“I will not be a part of this,” Senjay said.

“You have no choice,” Asella snapped. “You are the future king of Thiyaan. If you do not act now, if you do nothing to help your people, then you are unworthy of that title.”

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Senjay stiffened. “I am prepared to help our people,” he said. “But not like this. Not through threats and violence. Father would never have—”

“Your father is dead,” Asella shouted. “I am your queen and your mother, and you will do as I say.”

“I will not,” Senjay said softly.

Garrin stared at him. He’d never suspected the Thiyaan prince of having such strong scruples, especially not with the flippant behavior he usually displayed. To defy not only Renton, but his mother as well... Garrin wondered if he would have the same fortitude. Would he have acted the same way if Arya had not been threatened? Or would he have continued to live out his life in ignorance of Renton’s treachery, content to let someone else rule in his place so he could fulfill his own selfish desires?

The way things stood, Senjay was a better prince and would likely make a better king. That was not a truth Garrin could allow to remain unchallenged.

“Put the knife down,” Garrin said in a firm voice. “I give you my word that we will discuss Thiyaan’s struggles together and provide a solution. If my father will not help, then I will.”

Asella laughed. “What power do you have? Marshal Renton has already guaranteed me all the help I will need. You can offer me nothing.”

“Marshal Renton is not—” Garrin started, but a hand at his arm stopped him. He turned to see Arya shifting closer to him, staring over her shoulder with wide eyes.

Renton had arrived.

Garrin pivoted to face the marshal, reaching reflexively for a weapon he didn’t have. Elonie turned as well, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword as she eyed the score of soldiers that marched behind Renton. They stormed up the hallway toward the King’s Room, and it was all Garrin could do to stand still as they approached.

“Marshal,” he spat when Renton was close enough. “I know your plan, and I won’t let it happen. You have failed.”

Renton snorted and snapped his fingers toward the men at his back. “Arrest him.”

“What?” Lliane said. “You can’t arrest your own prince!”

“The prince is guilty of insurrection,” Renton announced. “He has come into the king’s presence with an armed guard. Clearly his intention was to dispose of him in order to seize power.”

“An armed guard?” Lliane laughed. “One soldier! You have dozens! We came here to stop Queen Asella from—”

Asella interrupted her with a loud laugh. “I am only here to protect the king from you. I did my best to keep them at bay until your arrival, Marshal Renton.”

Renton nodded. “You see? Arrest them all now!”

The soldiers surged forward. Red cloaks fluttered from their shoulders—Renton’s personal guard, loyal only to him. There would be no reasoning with them, and with Elonie holding the only sword between them, they had no chance in a fight. Garrin looked at Arya, who still gripped his arm, her brow furrowed in frantic thought, and then at Lliane, who hadn’t moved from his side despite the threat. Elonie stood before him, her body tensed for a fight, and beside her Senjay had crouched into a defensive stance.

He had to do something.

“Stop,” he said, shrugging free of Arya’s hold and stepping past Elonie. “I will go with you, but the others have done nothing. Let them go and I will go with you willingly.”

Renton laughed. “You are all guilty. And the penalty for treason is death, is it not, my lord?”

This he addressed to the king, who had said nothing in his own or his son’s defense. Garrin turned to him, but his father stared as if he hadn’t understood the question. “Death?” he repeated feebly.

“The king has confirmed the sentence,” Renton said. “It is his right to pronounce judgement without trial. For the crime of attacking the king, Prince Garrin and his party are sentenced to death.”

“You can’t—” Garrin started, but Renton shouted over him.

“Arrest Prince Senjay, but none of the rest leave here alive!”

Elonie drew her sword. “Run, sire. I can handle them.”

More than twenty against one? He wasn’t leaving her with those odds. “We all go,” he muttered. “No one stays behind.”

“We can’t fight them,” Lliane said.

The soldiers advanced slowly, fanning around them to cut off any chance of them making it through the doorway. At least they didn’t seem eager to kill their prince, though they certainly weren’t going to let him through. “Arya,” Garrin said in a low voice. “Tell me there’s another way out of this room.”

“Just the windows,” she answered.

Not the perfect solution, but it would have to do. Garrin glanced at Senjay. “Get Arya and Lliane out,” he said. “Elonie and I will hold them off.”

“I’m a better fighter,” Senjay argued.

“That’s why you’re going with them,” Garrin said.

The Thiyaan prince hesitated. His eyes darted toward the front of the room—toward his mother, toward Garrin’s father—before he nodded. He reached for Lliane and Arya, pulling them toward the window. “We’ll meet you outside,” he said.

Goddess willing, Garrin thought, and faced the soldiers.