When I’d left, Jameson had said that I’d come back to him. Did he know even then about Silas? Did he at least suspect? I felt certain that Silas was a well-kept secret until after we were gone. Was he simply prepared to set fire to any other path my life might lead me down so long as the one back to him was clear?

I thought of all the others who’d died in this farce. Jameson knew about the Darkest Knights and wanted to mimic them to hide his own monstrous deeds. Because he wanted Silas to die, so did everyone at our wedding. Mother was spared because we were in the garden, and Scarlet was only alive because my hair was a little too close to Isolten blonde.

Tears blurred my vision as I pressed on. I didn’t know what lay before me. I didn’t have a plan. If I accused Jameson, what exactly did I expect to happen? He wouldn’t admit to it, but I had no doubts now that all of the pieces were in place. But, even if he confessed to me, nothing was going to happen to him. Unlike Quinten, he hadn’t wronged most of his countrymen. Jameson was young, charming, beloved. Furthermore, he had no one to challenge him for his throne, so even if he was to lose it, it would make things worse for Coroa. . . .

What was I doing? I was powerless. I had no army, no proof. I had the word of a deposed king and a stolen horse.

But, in the depths of myself, I knew I’d never know peace again until I went to Jameson, looked in his eyes, and demanded the truth. For better or worse, I had to keep going.

I rode on, noting how quickly the sun was moving and thinking of the carriage ride to the palace a week ago. I’d had a similar feeling in my gut, like I was moving closer and closer to the thing that might kill me. The difference then was that Mother and Scarlet were riding ahead of me. And Etan was beside me.

Oh, Etan. How I wanted to kick him in his shins every time I saw him. The thought brought a smile to my lips. I just wanted to one-up him at everything. Little chance of that now. Hard to get better than being king.

He was going to do so well. He had good parents to guide him, a purpose to direct his passion toward. He had the skill to curb anger and enough wit to disarm anyone daring enough to get close to him.

He was going to absolutely flourish.

I thought of that string in my chest, the one that pulled me to Silas, the one that pulled me to Mother and Scarlet. That thread was now fully unspooled at the feet of Etan Northcott, and I imagined nothing would tug at my heart ever again.

In a way, I wanted to mourn—certainly this was the end of so many things for me. But I was also so grateful. I’d finally gone somewhere. I’d built a family. Even if I failed in Coroa, I’d helped bring justice for those in Isolte. I’d loved, and I’d been loved. It was all more than I’d imagined myself capable of. So I rode into the unknown with doubt in my heart, but my head held high.