“Your Grace,” someone said. “I’m sorry, but your sister has no magic.”

“So?”

“It is the law—”

“Then I will take the throne as king,” Galen said, and for the first time his smile was cold. “I will change the law—and resign.”

More shouting. More panicked voices climbing in the air, piling on top of one another, and through it all Aramis said nothing, frozen in place, her eyes wild and fixated on her brother.

He truly hadn’t warned her, then.

Galen watched them with steel in his eyes. “You will have Aramis—or you will have no heir at all. It’s your choice, really. And hers, if she wants it.” He paused and turned to his sister, who stood as if in a trance. “You do want it, right?”

Aramis shook herself, looking like she’d never wanted to sink into the ground more. “Can I talk to you, Galen? In private?”

Galen shook his head. “You’ve spent your life protecting me, acting in my name, sacrificing to make things better for me—but it was never what I wanted. It’s time I make a choice on my own terms, and this it. You already govern better than I’d ever care to. You’re what they deserve.”

Aramis’s mouth opened and closed like that of a fish cast upon dry land. “I don’t know if I… I’m not…”

A new voice cut through the clamor. “Do you expect the witches to simply fall in line?”

Ursay stepped forward, their face neutral. They didn’t flinch at the glares some of the human Council members leveled, nor did they preen at the satisfied nods of the witches.

“Ongrum’s methods were wretched, but her concerns were real—and echoed by your own people.” Their dark eyes gleamed. “Where is our say in which direction this country heads? Winalin is still at large. The monsters who created it and shipped it to our shores remain unscathed, and it is the covens that suffer. It is our lands the winalin witches now roam through. Why should we support either of you?”

Galen looked at Ursay, shrinking momentarily.

“You shouldn’t.”

Heads turned.

“I mean,” Aramis continued. “Not without good reason.”

Ursay’s eyes narrowed.

Aramis looked squarely back at them. “The covens are right to be wary. The Council has always been a mess—and the witches have always been underrepresented. Someone else pointed that out to me once.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Ranka. “The witches deserve a place on the Council—two seats for each coven, with the Bloodwinn in their own formal seat. Participating, voting, and proposing laws instead of sitting spectator.”

More voices cried out. The witches looked stunned, although Ursay’s face revealed nothing. Some of the Council members looked furious, but others, most of them northerners who had grown up in times when the covens and humans depended on each other, looked thoughtful.