The Queen seats herself next to the King; I slip into the high-back chair beside Lincoln. Connor drums the tabletop with his palms. “It seems we have the Scala Heir with us today. What does that make Lady Adair?”

Octavia frowns. “A fraud. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Adair only showed Scala powers when Gianna was whispering nearby; such spells are nothing for the House of Striga.” The Queen clicks her tongue. “Gianna’s witchcraft could have changed Adair’s eyes as well.”

“The Houses of Acca and Striga have quarreled for centuries. Now they team up.” The King sighs. “Dark news.”

Lincoln’s eyes take on a steely hue. I know that look: he’s preparing to give bad news. “Their treachery has worsened. Striga asked to abandon the Alliance against Acca.”

The King scowls. “And when did they make this request?”

Lincoln’s features stay stone-cold calm. “Two days ago.”

Connor grits his teeth. The jovial king from a few seconds ago disappears. “Interesting that you waited until now to tell me, boy.” Little bits of spittle fly from his mouth as he speaks.

I sink a little lower in my chair. Connor has serious mood issues. One minute he’s happy, the next? Spitting mad.

“You know why I waited, father.” Lincoln positively oozes cool. “If I told you two days ago, you’d have done something rash. Now, we can consider the news about Striga in the context of what’s really important.” He laces his fingers through mine, and then sets both our hands on the tabletop with a thunk.

Whoa. Up until now, Lincoln and I have kept a friendly distance from each other in his father’s presence. With that particular move, Lincoln couldn’t have marked his territory more clearly than if he’d peed on a shrubbery.

The Prince’s voice sounds with a low and dangerous edge. “I thought you wanted to talk about me and Myla?” Under my palm, his skin is slick with sweat. Poor guy. He puts up a good face but this must be killing him inside. I give his hand a little squeeze.

The King growls out one word. “Perhaps.”

I hate to admit it, but I get how the King goes from happy to miserable to enraged to loving in sixty seconds or less. I know someone like that; I look at her in the mirror every morning.

The Prince and King launch into a mini-staring contest that lasts two excruciatingly long minutes. Octavia spends the time looking placid and Queenly. My face droops into an anxious frown as I rub my thumb in little circles on Lincoln’s hand. After a lot of shifting in seats, huffing of breath, and staring, staring, staring, the King finally looks away. I’m no ace at playing these games of state, but I consider that a ‘big win’ in the Lincoln column. Connor turns to me, his manner turning gentle.