There was no one stopping us from walking right into the king’s quarters. Etan pushed the door open in a swift and easy move, his sword—Jedreck’s sword—at the ready.

In the room, King Quinten sat, bent over at his desk, as Princess Phillipa stood beside him, hands tucked in front of her, unmistakable worry painting her face. Meanwhile, Quinten looked up, seemingly unsurprised by our arrival.

“King Quinten, you are hereby under arrest for gross acts of treason against your people. I am here to escort you outside, where your citizens will hold you accountable for your crimes. Following their condemnation, I will take your crown, as is my birthright as a descendant of Jedreck the Great.”

“That birthright belongs to Prince Hadrian and his offspring,” Phillipa said, her voice wavering.

Right. It wasn’t only Quinten who had to go, but Hadrian and Phillipa as well. And, while Quinten was clearly evil, I couldn’t say as much for Hadrian. In many ways, I pitied him. But what else were we to do about his presence?

It turned out Quinten had an answer to that problem.

He sighed heavily as he rubbed at his forehead, looking up at us from his chair. “Fortunately for your claim, sir . . . my son died this morning.”

Twenty-Nine

UNCLE REID, ETAN, AND I all paused. In the midst of our triumph, this was a hard blow. Hadrian’s only sin was being Quinten’s son. What’s more, it looked like this was crippling to Quinten. Perhaps he was pained to lose the final link in his line for the throne, but the way he swallowed hard and didn’t want to look into our eyes hinted that he was equally pained to have lost his son.

“But, but,” Phillipa said pointedly to Quinten, “I could be carrying his child as we speak.”

“You’re not,” Etan replied flatly. “We know about that little plot, too.”

She smashed her lips together angrily, turning to Quinten. “You made me so many promises.”

“If you were stupid enough to believe them, that’s really your problem, isn’t it?”

Her face went red, not in embarrassment but in rage. Her chest heaved as she stood there, wordlessly demanding this wrong to be righted. Unfortunately for her, that would never happen.

“You will stand,” Etan ordered. “And you will take up your crown. The people in the back need to be able to recognize you.”

Quinten raised an eyebrow. “You must have brought an impressive crowd of witnesses.”

“Not witnesses,” Etan corrected him. “An army. Of men and women, poor and wealthy, all ready to finally call you to pay for the crimes you’ve been committing for decades.”

He made no attempt to deny this, bothered only that he’d been cornered. His head was heavy, his posture weary. He stood, walking to the coronet resting on its indigo pillow. He ran his bent fingers over the sharp tips of gold, seeming to remember an entire reign in seconds. I wished I could have said he looked to be mournful, regretful. But no.