Tristan’s expression soured, but the King waggled his fingers at my father to continue.

“The Miners’ Guild is not the only group who uses the labyrinth to dispose of undesirable property,” my father said. “Only the most consistent user of the resource. Yet if you were to eliminate the practice for them, how long until those with more… liberal sympathies eliminated the avenue for the other groups.”

“I did not realize good economics were the sole domain of the liberal-minded,” Tristan snapped. “The same principles apply for the other guilds, as they do for private owners. Sell your undesirables if you no longer wish to retain them.”

My father grimaced. “Good in theory, Your Highness. But how long until the markets are flooded with inferior half-bloods with poor skills and work ethic. Who will buy them? The answer is either the crown–” he gestured at the King “–or the guilds and private owners will be forced to keep them and shoulder the burden of feeding and clothing them for the rest of their lives. Worse yet, it will create legions of malcontents of the belief that they can escape the labor that is their due through poor performance.”

“What say you, Tristan?” the King asked. “His Grace makes a compelling argument. As usual.”

There was no mistaking that Tristan wanted to argue. The muscles of his jaw flexed and the press of power he was exuding made more than a few trolls step back. I glanced at Marc out of the corner of my eye to see how he reacted, but he showed no sign of concern, his shoulders relaxed.

“Tristan?”

The crown prince scowled, then gave the slightest shake of his head. “The numbers speak for themselves, but it appears His Grace has given the social and political ramifications a great deal of thought and consideration, and I find myself in no position to argue his points.”

In no position, but not unable. Pursing my lips, I picked through Tristan’s words, seeing the way he manipulated the truth. But to what end? There was something off about this exchange. Something… scripted.

“The law stands.” The King stood up, through with audiences for the day, and strode between Tristan and the Duke without acknowledging either.

The crowd dispersed, but it was flush with heated conversation over what had been said. Marc offered me his arm, leading me over to where Tristan stood with Anaïs, my father having already left the throne room.

“Stones and sky, but your father drives me to the brink,” Tristan said loudly, crossing his arms. “Must he argue with everything I say?”

Except my father almost never came to these audiences – they were for commoners and the lower levels of the nobility. The only reason he was here was because my sister had given him reason to be.

“He argues with everyone,” Anaïs replied. “Let’s go. I’m hungry and I fancy a float on the lake.”

Marc and I followed them out, exiting the palace gates just as a gust of wind blasted through the city, carrying with it countless sheets of paper. Half-bloods and full-bloods alike snatched them from the air or picked them up off the ground, and without thinking, I did the same.