“I am.” He tilted his head. “And you, Cécile, are a liar. Aiden du Chastelier, having failed to deliver on his word to me, is likely little more than a drooling mess of madness at this point. Tristan has taken a page from my book, and has someone else masquerading as the lord. Is Aiden still alive?”

“And well,” I lied. “I worked a spell to temper your compulsion. It troubles him still, but not so much so that we cannot keep him in check.”

“If you knew of such a spell, you would’ve used it for yourself.”

“Yes, I would’ve,” I said. “But I didn’t know of it until after I was past needing it. Anushka showed me a good many things before she died.”

“As any mother should.”

Of course he knew. Was there anything he didn’t know?

“Why are you here, Cécile?” he asked. “Why did Tristan send you and his friends to dispatch Roland? And when you failed, why did he take the risk of sending you here in an attempt to discover Angoulême’s location? Why has he not dealt with Roland himself?”

With each question, he leaned closer, until the final one brought us almost nose to nose.

“He’s protecting Trianon,” I said. “We are going after the Duke because he’s an easier target.”

“Folly,” the King snarled. “Kill the Duke and Roland will be free to slaughter at will, which he is sure to do. Capture the Duke, and he will only order the boy to rescue him. This plan of yours is rife with flaws, and not one my son would ever agree to without more cause and justification than you’ve provided.”

“The Winter Queen sent a dragon to attack Trianon – the city needs to be protected.”

He grimaced as though my words were utter lunacy. “Tristan’s two clowns are quite capable of managing whatever that meddlesome trickster sends their way, and he knows it. Winter is…”

I shifted uneasily, and the King noticed, hissing out a breath between his teeth.

“Ah. Winter is the problem. That’s why he remains within the iron ring of the Regent’s castle.” He stared through me, eyes shifting as he thought. “What has she done to him?”

“Nothing.” I was afraid to say more, knowing he’d pick the truth out of whatever lies I spun. He was too intelligent. Too experienced with deception. A true mastermind of manipulation.

His gaze shifted to the spear in his hand. “The sluag.” His fist clenched around the steel. “A life-debt.”

I tensed and then swore silently for giving myself away. Not that it mattered – he knew.

“And what does that thrice-damned frigid bitch want from my son?”

His jaw tightened and the metal of the spear groaned, bending under his grip. I’d seen him irritated before. Angry, even. But nothing like this.

“We don’t know.” My voice shook. “She told me she wanted to meet with him to discuss an alliance. It’s why I’m disguised.”

Thibault’s jaw tightened. “No. No, he must not agree to that. You need to go back to Trianon. Tell Tristan to stay put behind those walls. I’ll…” He grimaced. “I’ll deal with Roland.”