“A woman? Hah!” Vorae scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“As I’m sure you’ve already guessed, Lord Steward, I’m half-fae,” she said, and the room exploded.

Armor clanked as Avilyard and his guards closed in, weapons unsheathed, surrounding Marai and Ruenen in seconds. Ruenen jumped out of his chair, reaching for her, narrowly avoiding being skewered by a spear.

“I wasn’t aware any faeries survived the great purge,” Holfast said calmly, betraying nothing.

Marai’s words were as shocking as if she’d tossed a glass of wine into the faces of Fenir and Vorae. They blanched, tan faces ashen, leaping to their feet.

Holfast, however, showed no such shock. “Why exactly are you helping a human? Especially one who considers himself a descendent of the very king who started the mass killing of magical folk.”

King Talen, Ruenen’s grandfather. But it had been Rayghast who’d slaughtered the camp Marai had lived in as a child. It was Rayghast who’d killed Marai’s parents.

Marai remained calm and cool, despite the blades pointed at her face. “My goal is for Ruenen, the rightful king of this country, to ascend the throne. I care not what you think of me, but I assure you that I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Marai had no physical weapons, but she didn’t need them to kill every single person in the room. Lightning could do more damage than a blade. She could open a portal and disappear with Ruenen in an instant.

“I beg your pardon—” said Fenir, swelling up like a croaking toad.

“I bet you do,” Ruenen muttered under his breath.

Fenir ignored him. “This cannot be tolerated. A dangerous creature we deemed eradicated is standing freely here in the Witenagemot chambers. We cannot allow it to live, nonetheless continue its presence here!”

Ruenen’s blood boiled. “You will not speak about Marai in such a hateful way. She’s risked her life countless times protecting your prince. She’s more trustworthy than any of you, and deserves your respect.”

He glanced back at Marai, and saw her regarding him with that usual severe expression. But her violet eyes danced. She was here for him. No matter what, she was still standing there for him.

Fenir opened his mouth, but Holfast raised his hand, silencing the man. “I’m willing to let the faerie stay, if she can agree to remain civil. We’ll require assurance that no magic will be used in this room. Do we have your word that no harm will come to us or our people while you’re on Kellesaran soil?”

“But you can’t trust them,” Vorae said. His face was as round and red as a tomato.

“If she wanted us dead, Lord Vorae, I believe she would’ve done it already,” replied Holfast coolly. His focus hadn’t left Marai since the moment she’d declared herself fae.

Marai glared daggers at the humans, but folded her arms across her chest. “As long as Prince Ruenen’s not harmed, you have my word that I’ll stand by and cause no disturbances.”

Holfast’s lips tightened, then he said, “Very well. Let us continue.”

“My lord—” began Avilyard.

Holfast held up a hand. “Trust goes both ways.” He gestured to the guards, who lowered their weapons, and took several steps backwards.

Ruenen was the first to move back to his seat. The Witan settled, although noticeably agitated and disgruntled, and sat back in their chairs. Marai crept closer behind Ruenen, hands casually in her pockets.

Despite the near clash, a seed of hope began to crack open inside Ruenen’s chest. The Steward would have either killed or dismissed Marai and Ruenen if he didn’t think there was a possibility of truth to Ruenen’s claim.

“We’ll return to that particular conversation in a moment,” Holfast said once everyone seemed relatively calm. “The faerie is right, however, we must see if Master Ruenen is indeed Vanguarden’s heir.”

Ruenen glared at Holfast’s clear stab at Marai’s heritage by not addressing her by name.

“The young man does look strikingly similar to our beloved Queen Larissa,” Fenir finally said, pointing at the wall to the queen’s perfectly painted face. “He has her eyes, her nose, and Avilyard says you have a rather recognizable birthmark.”

Ruenen stood and approached Fenir, offering up his left wrist for inspection. Fenir rubbed a finger across the sunburst mark, checking for smudges indicating makeup or paint. The councilman nodded in approval, and Ruenen returned to his seat.

“We know about the destruction of the monastery, and the events that occurred in Chiojan,” said Vorae.

Ruenen blinked in surprise. Had Nevandia been tracking him all along?

“We were well aware of whom Rayghast sought,” the bald councilman continued. “Not entirely sure how he discovered the lost prince, but his spies are everywhere. Our own spies within Tacorn told us what occurred in the dungeons of Dul Tanen.”

“So . . . you believe me?” Ruenen asked, gossamer wings of hope spreading, lifting him up and up into the sky.

Holfast glanced sharply at Commander Avilyard. “Leave us.”

For a moment, the commander seemed torn. His eyes flashed to Marai, but he eventually gestured to his guards. They exited the chamber; the clang of their clunky metal armor receding into the hallway. Heavy wooden doors closed with a creak and a thud.

Caution folded Ruenen’s hopeful wings. Something was amiss.

After several breaths, Holfast got to his feet and walked up the dais steps to the throne. His fingers gently stroked the armrest. The man suddenly appeared quite tired; his eyes closed as if he wanted to keep them shut forever.

“The truth is, Master Ruenen, it’s impossible for you to be the Prince of Nevandia.”

Ruenen’s anger and shock flared, twisting within his gut. “And why is that?”

Holfast turned to him, his eyes suddenly distant and incredibly sad.

“Because the real lost prince died eight years ago.”

Chapter 12

Marai

Undiluted shock, like a pouncing wildcat, slammed into Marai. Its claws shredded through her brain, leaving no thoughts behind but silence.

The real prince?

“What do you mean?” Marai whispered.

In his chair, Ruenen sat frozen, color draining rapidly from his skin. All around him, Marai watched his world unmoor and shatter to pieces.

“King Vanguarden and Queen Larissa did indeed have a hidden son,” said Holfast, a rich and deep melancholy entwining his words. “Lord Fenir, Lord Vorae, and I were present in the birthing room, as is customary here. It was I who took the newborn Prince Kiernen from the Queen and delivered him to the Priestesses of Lirr in a temple along the Northern coast.” Holfast hung his head. “After King Vanguarden was murdered, Lord Fenir and I went to retrieve our prince, but found that he had perished in a terrible fire eight years ago, along with all the priestesses and monks. We believe the fire was an accident, since we never had proof Rayghast knew of Prince Kiernen’s existence at the temple.”

This can’t be . . . breath came up short in Marai’s lungs. A tinny ringing began in her ears.

Images of a burned out temple flashed through Marai’s memories. Weeks ago when she and Ruenen were traveling through Grelta by the Northern Sea, they’d come across a temple of Lirr that had extensive fire damage. Ruenen’s eyes widened as he, too, connected the dots.

“We lost our king, our queen, and our prince within a year,” said Fenir with a sad shake of his head. “And with that, we lost all of our hope. The royal line has ended.”

“Then . . . who am I?” Ruenen asked, voice cracking. His hands shook in his lap. His shoulders caved, his face contorted. This was a man beginning to fall apart. “Why was I placed in the monastery? Why did Amsco and Nori tell me I was the prince?”