Una had dedicated her life to the queen—even loved her. Wren watched a rift tear open within Una. Watched it consume all the light, all the fire, in her eyes. Watched the exact moment she realized everything she’d stood for, everything she’d given, amounted to nothing. Her shoulders curled inward. Her head lowered, and the spill of her dark hair concealed her anguished expression.

Una’s voice was softer and more defeated than Wren had ever heard it. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll forgive your insubordination once and only once,” Isabel said. “As for you, Lieutenant Southerland, understand you are on provisional terms. My tolerance for your disobedience has run dry.”

“I don’t care about my position,” Wren snarled. “I won’t sit idly by while you destroy our country.”

“Wren,” Una growled, a warning.

Once, Wren might have obeyed that implied order. Tonight, she had nothing left to lose. She took another step closer to the queen. “When you kill Hal, you’ll get your war. But as soon as you defeat Vesria, Lowry will betray you. Then what will your precious legacy be? Nothing but ashes.”

“You overestimate him,” Isabel said icily. “I can dispose of him as easily as I can dispose of you.”

“I’ll take what I know to Parliament. They’ll force you to release him when they hear you’ve sold out your own people.”

Slowly, all the anger drained from Isabel’s face. What remained was a sanctimonious glimmer in her eyes and a small, cruel smile. Of all the reactions Wren expected, it was not this. “I see. You’re more like your mother than I thought. Both of you were undone by misplaced affections. I can’t decide if you’re more of a traitor or a fool for loving that monster. Either way, I’ll ensure you’re there to watch him hang.”

Something snapped within Wren. A feral, desperate rage unlike anything she’d ever known blackened her mind. Without thinking, she lunged, her magic blazing like cold fire in her hands. But before she could reach the queen, Una grabbed her by the elbows and wrenched them behind her back. The queen did not even flinch.

Wren thrashed uselessly against Una’s ironclad hold. “Let me go!”

She heard herself—recognized the unhinged shrillness of her voice—but she couldn’t bring herself to care about her dignity anymore. All that remained within her was a single conviction, burning hot as coal. The queen would not get away with this.

“It seems my niece isn’t well, Captain Dryden. I believe she needs rest after today’s events.” Isabel folded her hands primly, her face triumphantly, cruelly blank. “You’ll ensure she remains safely in the Tower until the Reaper’s trial.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Una said.