A pair of Talons waited outside Father’s chambers, and Akeylah wondered briefly whether Father was maintaining the heightened security because of his condition or because he didn’t trust Florencia, even with her locked in her chambers. The guards marched her all the way to the vast double doors of the Great Hall. There they bowed and took up positions outside, while Akeylah continued in.

It was early, so she didn’t see any other nobles here yet. Just servants laying out place settings and arranging fruit baskets.

She didn’t see her father either. But the dais at the head of the room was set for three people, she noticed. That used to be Andros, Rozalind, and Yasmin.

Now she’d take her aunt’s place.

A couple servers drifted close enough for Akeylah to overhear their conversation. “I guess even kings and queens have marital spats,” one man murmured.

“How long you wager before the Genalese madwoman starts throwing plates?” the other snickered.

Somewhere in the distance came a crashing sound, and both men cackled. Akeylah didn’t hear anything else they said, because she was already hurrying toward the sound, her nerves jangling.

Something was wrong.

Even kings and queens have marital spats. Where was Rozalind? Akeylah had promised Ren she wouldn’t let the queen out of her sight. Then she went and left Roz to her own devices for two whole days.

She reached the back of the hall, which had fallen silent. She froze, trying to figure out which of three passages to take. Then a faint sob sounded from the rightmost corridor, and Akeylah raced that way, heart rabbiting in her chest.

The short corridor led to an anteroom off the Great Hall. To judge by the cloaks and scepters that lined the wall, it was a dressing room of sorts, for royals to prepare before events.

Another sob drew her gaze past the fur cloaks and dress crowns to the far side of the room. The world slowed. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, deafening.

Andros lay on the ground, mouth open in a silent scream. Black spiderwebs wove under his skin, raised the veins on his arms, crept up his neck. A curse, it had to be, though it looked faster and far more painful than the one Akeylah had used.

And there, beside him, skirts hiked up around her waist, a bloodletter clenched in her fist, slick and red…

“Rozalind.” Akeylah forced the word out through frozen lips.

Everything inside her shut down.

The queen turned as if in slow motion. The blade dropped from her fingertips, clattered across the stonewood floor. Cherry stonewood, not so very different in color to the blood staining it now.

On Rozalind’s thigh pulsed a vibrant blue scar, just like Akeylah’s.

“Akeylah.” Rozalind’s voice cracked. Broke. “It’s not what it looks like…”