I press my fingertips onto the conference table and nod. “Well, now you all know I’ve worked with the Resistance.” When I look up, I give each one of the men in the room a piercing look, then turn back to the king. He’s scrutinizing me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. I’m giving him a show, one that he seems to greatly enjoy.

“That means you might want to actually utilize me. I’m good for more than just staring at.”

Next to me, the king’s mouth tilts further up. “Yes, why don’t we?” He places a hand on the small of my back and leads me to his seat while someone fetches him another chair. Finally, for the first time since we’ve met, I can tell the king doesn’t just see me as a distraction.

He sees me as an equal.

“The Resistance has moles everywhere,” I say to the men in the room. “And I do mean everywhere. When I was with them, they’d infiltrated many of your research labs. Now, however, they seem to have focused their attention on King Lazuli and me, which means they’ll focus on the king’s homes as well as those places we visit.”

A muscle in Montes’s jaw jumps. “You mean you believe there are Resistance members here right now?”

“Absolutely.”

The king slams his fist into the table. “That should be impossible. We do intensive screening.”

“Montes, tens of millions of people have died fighting this war. There are plenty of identities one can take on, and the Resistance excels at scrubbing them down. You’d never know.”

This causes the king to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. He pauses and scrutinizes the men in the room. Suspicion flares in his eyes.

“Usually Resistance fighters take on positions that allow them to disappear,” I say. “Maids, drivers, cooks, and so on. It’s unlikely that any of the men in this room are in the Resistance’s pocket … though not impossible.”

One of the king’s advisors, who’s been staring at me with intense vitriol, now speaks. “Your Majesty, how do we know the queen’s not still working with them?”

The king stops pacing.

I tense, and not from the accusation itself. I couldn’t care less what the king or his men think of my loyalties. I owe no one an explanation.

No, my muscles coil up the moment the king’s shoes stop clicking against the floor because something bad is about to happen.

My eyes move over the men at the table. Like me, everyone’s frozen in their seats.

I hear the squeak of the king’s shoe soles as he swivels to face the man who spoke. “Are you questioning your queen’s loyalty?” I can hear the dangerous edge in his voice.

Don’t speak, I want to tell him.