“Carrington has been stealing from the royal treasury for the last ten years. Small amounts at first, though they became larger as his activities went forward without question or investigation. Thus far, we’ve been able to ascertain that he’s stolen twelve million, seven hundred and twenty-two thousand, four hundred and nine pieces of gold. Twice that in silver. And equal amounts in pewter and copper. We have not been able to trace where these funds have gone, but we believe it is to Go’Doan, or this Rising that was behind the attack at Catrame Palace in Firenze. Further investigation is needed and has been ordered.”

“Is this a joke?” he spat.

“It is absolutely not,” Mercy replied, low and firm.

His eyes rounded as he saw her gravity.

Then his face set in stubbornness.

“I cannot believe this,” he declared and began to turn away from her.

“You can, and you will. The evidence will be presented to you and unfortunately, it will include your very signature on every single voucher for withdrawal.”

Wilmer went completely still.

“You sign whatever he puts in front of you,” she reminded him. “I warned you about that. You did not heed my warning. And thus, you…personally…signed away the royal treasury.” She paused before she finished, “And you did this repeatedly.”

He remained still, but now his face was ashen.

“Now,” she said, turning and moving around the desk, “we are in the position where we must control the damage.”

She stopped beside his chair.

She studied it.

She then drew in breath before she situated herself in front of it.

And she sat.

Looking up at him from the king’s chair, the only time she had ever sat there, and likely the only time she ever would, she continued speaking.

“Fortunately, this comes at a time when our people have something to celebrate and thus, they have something to occupy their minds. And they will have more. We will also, with gratitude to Carrington,” she said with some irony, “have a full treasury. Therefore, on the morrow, we can announce much joyous news which I believe will drown out the din that the king’s chief counsellor has been arrested for theft and treason and any further rumblings of discontent at this new levy that has been waged.”

She clasped her hands over her skirts in her lap and sat back.

“For on the morrow,” she began steadily, “you, your son at your side, will announce that you have discovered your counsellor’s perfidy. The moment you did, you had him immediately arrested. After the wedding, he will be tried. After his trial, when his guilt is ascertained, he will be hung.”

“Mercy,” Wilmer whispered.

She ignored him and continued.