A wail rose from my father. His brother’s blood stained the floor and Papa buried his face in his palms and wept.

It was the sound of a heart breaking.

The waves of his grief cut through me. I stared at Papa, at his bloodied hands. He was Imonie’s wild boy. The assassin. A reckless coward.

And I was his daughter.

The betrayer’s blood ran through my veins like quicksilver.

I rose, my feet throbbing with pins and needles. I drew a deep breath to steady myself, my gaze roaming the hall. My mother rushed to Papa’s side. Mr. Wolfe remained at a respectful distance, but his eyes were wide with shock. Nura and Olivette walked toward me, but I had no time to go to them, to try and sort the tangle of my emotions.

Someone was rushing to the dais, their boots clicking over the stone floor.

I knew it was the countess before I turned to look in that direction. She was ascending the stairs, furtively glancing over her shoulder to see if any of us were following her. Because of that action, she didn’t see Mazarine emerge from the shadows behind the chair, a crossbow in her hands. The troll shot at the countess before I could yell an order for her to hold her fire. The arrow sank into Lady Raven’s thigh, violently halting her progression, and she emitted a scream that made the hair lift on my arms.

The countess collapsed on the stairs.

Lennox stood and watched like he was hewn from stone, but Phelan rushed to assist her, gently easing the countess up and carrying her to the table.

“You’ll be fine, Mother,” he said as he briefly examined her wound.

The countess whimpered and then promptly fainted from the pain.

Mazarine continued to linger by the throne, guarding it with her crossbow. The hall fell painfully quiet, and then the troll looked at me. She arched her brow and said, “Clem?”

She’d blown my cover. The one who had cast her magic upon me now unapologetically exposed me. And yet . . . I found that I didn’t care.

I was relieved.

“Clem?” Nura echoed.

I glanced at my friends. Olivette’s brow wrinkled with confusion, but Nura was furious. The pieces had just come together for her, and I watched the betrayal brighten her eyes.

I walked to the dais stairs, expecting someone to protest my approach. For all they knew, I was about to claim the sovereignty for myself. But the silence held and simmered, and I paused on the steps and looked at Phelan.

“Phelan,” I called to him. I watched his face slacken in surprise. “Phelan, will you join me on the dais?”

He slowly left his mother’s side, as if he understood my intentions and was resisting. But he ascended as I knew he would, and he stood before me, casting a wary glance at Mazarine.