I think we all shudder daily considering what Az might do if he gets his hands on the throne. Az, the boy I was infatuated with my entire childhood. Az, who came running to rid my family’s hovel of snakes and spiders anytime my sister, Dinah, or I screamed. Az, who slit the throat of his lover, just to keep her from spilling his secrets. Az, who ordered Dinah killed if I didn’t do as he asked.

Az, who hates the fae despite the fact, or possibly because, they are secretly part of his heritage.

No. No one can find out that Kiran isn’t the rightful heir to the throne.

Still. Fin has searched. Kiran has discouraged it, but Fin reminded him that while we were trying our utmost to keep their illegitimacy a secret, a loose end remained. It was very possible that their father was out there somewhere, well aware that his son occupied the throne of Naenden, and was biding his time until revealing such information served him.

Best we find him first, Fin had contended.

Kiran couldn’t argue with that. None of us could. But in the past year, Fin’s efforts turned up very little by way of his heritage, and he eventually grew discouraged.

Kiran and I thought it for the best when Fin abandoned his efforts, but now it seems he hasn’t abandoned them at all.

He’s just found himself a bigger library.

So I pluck a census off the pile on the desk and start to read.

We come up with very little in the several hours before the sun rises and dabbles sprinkles of light over the pages.

My eye starts to drift, and the sleep my body so craves begins to catch up to me.

It probably isn’t for the best if I become nocturnal, but hey, if Blaise can do it, I don’t see why I can’t.

I’m in the middle of one of those weird falling sensations accompanied by a jerk when Fin’s chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

“Asha. Asha, I think I found something—”

He is quickly interrupted by a hush from the librarian, at whom he shoots a rather disarming grin, but is met only by another round of scolding.

He rolls his eyes as she walks away.

“It really is a shame that can’t work on everyone,” I say. “I mean, how will you sleep tonight knowing there’s someone out there immune to your charms?”

A grin tugs at Fin’s lips. “What are you even talking about?”

He shoves his book at me, pointing to a piece of script. It’s a list of merchants with permits to cross the Sahli and trade in Meranthi around the time Kiran and Fin were born.

“If our mother was trying to sire an heir she could claim was Rajeen’s, who better to pick than a male who wouldn’t stick around? Someone who had a permit to get out of Meranthi?” Fin asks.

Before I can examine the document further, someone else enters the library, alerting us to her presence with a rather squeaky cough.

Fin’s eyes go wide. He quickly raises a hand, as if he’s scratching the side of his face.

“You’re really awful at making it look like you’re not trying to hide from someone, you know,” I murmur as Imogen, Ellie’s lady’s maid, approaches us.

“Think you could scare her off for me?” Fin asks under his breath.

“Why would you want me to do that, Phineas?” I say, imitating the way Imogen is often prone to using Fin’s full name.

“You know why.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you and Imogen would make a cute couple. You both have that…” I screw up my face, struggling to find a torturous enough comparison.

“Asha.” Fin is practically growling under his breath.

“You really should give her a chance, Phineas. The two of you would be adorable together. Unless, of course, there’s someone else you have in mind.”

Fin’s eyes flash in irritation. His cheeks flush with heat at the not-so-vague reference to my sister, whom Fin has been avoiding any discussion of for the better part of a year now. Despite finding excuses to encourage the kitchen staff to leave leftovers out for my sister’s food bank, happening to be in the library anytime she’s there, or asking about my father incessantly, knowing the conversation will turn to news of my sister’s wellbeing.

“I hate you,” Fin whispers, but the lie must cause his throat to close up, because he winces and adds, “hyperbolically, of course. Just please make her go away.”

“Sure. I’ll just make sure to train my non-eye on her. You know, let her get a good look at the fleshy bit of skin.”

“You are the best sister-in-law a male could ask for. You know that, right?”

Normally, I might feel guilty about purposefully trying to scare off one of the many girls who fawn over Fin.

Such is not the case with Imogen.

As she approaches, I make a show of waving my hand at her dramatically to get her attention.

“What are you doing?” Fin glowers at me. “You don’t even act that excited to see the people you actually like.”

“She’s going to come over here anyway,” I whisper through the side of my mouth. “Might as well make it uncomfortable for her.”

The conversation goes about as I might have expected, with Imogen refusing to acknowledge my existence except when propriety demands a one-word answer from her.

Eventually, Fin decides he’s had enough and scolds her openly for her rudeness, at which point Imogen rushes away crying.

The whole interaction leaves me with a gnawing sensation of guilt for some reason, and when I remind Fin I don’t need to be defended, he tells me, “Yeah, well I’ve already gotten that ‘I don’t need you to defend me’ speech from Lydia, and frankly, she’s scarier than you, so I’ve got to take my brotherly protectiveness out on someone. Besides,” he says with a sly grin as he peers up at me, “you weren’t doing a good enough job scaring her off.”

I throw a crumpled piece of parchment at him.

He tosses it back, hitting me in the eye—the good one, too.

CHAPTER 12

ELLIE

I like to think of myself as the type of person who comes to meetings prepared.

Attentive. Pen and parchment in hand. Ready to listen, absorb, then succinctly state my opinion.

“Princess Elynore?” says a mildly scolding voice.

I snap out of the trance I’ve let myself wander into. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

King Marken sits at the head of the table, looking as regal as ever in his freshly pressed blue robes. Silver cufflinks shimmer at his wrists, matching the thread woven into his sleeves and collar. My father-in-law cranes his head at me, scanning me up and down with those stone-gray eyes of his.