Then the king burst out laughing. The hall quieted once more, and the king laughed louder. He pointed at one of the nobles, an unassuming count named Burz. Everyone followed the king’s finger and stared at Count Burz.

The count stiffened and reddened, but the king said nothing. His attention wandered and he stared cursing to himself again. For long moments, nobles continued staring at Count Burz, then looked at the king.

Then Chancellor Stiglor, who was seated at the head table, stood up with a cry and shouted, “There’s something in the food!” The chancellor tottered and collapsed back into the chair, his eyes rolling up in his head.

Next to him, a man the king had always hated, Lord Ruel, suddenly slumped forward. His face smacked into his plate and he lay still.

The king laughed. Agon turned to him. The king wasn’t even looking at Lord Ruel, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

Someone cried, “We’re poisoned!”

“The king has poisoned us!”

Agon turned to see who had shouted, but he couldn’t tell. Had a servant said it? Surely no servant would dare.

Another voice took up the shout, “The king! The king’s poisoned us!”

Laughing, the king jumped to his feet and stumbled drunkenly. He shouted obscenities as the Great Hall erupted in chaos. Chairs squeaked as lords and ladies stood. Some of them wobbled and fell. An old lord started retching onto his plate. A young lady collapsed, vomiting.

Agon was on his feet, shouting orders to the soldiers.

The side door by the head table burst open and a man in Gyre livery pushed in, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed. His livery was torn and bloody. A gash bled beside his eyes, streaming blood down his face.

Gyre livery? None of Logan’s servants were here tonight.

“Treachery!” the servant shouted. “Help! Soldiers are trying to murder Prince Logan! The king’s soldiers are trying to murder Prince Logan! We’re outnumbered. Please help!”

Agon turned to the king’s guards, drawing his sword. “There has to be some mistake. You, you, and you, come with me.” He turned to the bleeding messenger, “Can you take us to the—”

“No!” the king bellowed, his laughter instantly turning to rage.

“But sire, we have to protect—”

“You will not take my men. They will stay here! You will stay here! And you, Brant! You’re mine. Mine! Mine!”

To Agon, it seemed he saw the king for the first time. He’d seen Aleine IX as a foul, wicked child for so long that he’d forgotten what a foul, wicked child with a crown could do.

Agon looked to the king’s guards. Disgust was written on their faces. He could tell they ached to go defend Logan, their prince, but duty forbade them from disobeying their king.

Logan, their prince.