“I—”
“Killed a king of sovereign nation. An ally of Norta who had no reason to do anything but defend the new Lakelander queen. But now?” Father scoffs, using his ability to draw Salin closer. “You’ve given them a rather wonderful incentive to drown us all. The ruling queen of the Lakelands will not stand for this.” He slaps Salin across the face with a resounding crack. The blow is meant to shame, not hurt. It works well. “I strip you of your titles and responsibilities. House Iral, redistribute them as you see fit. And get this worm out of my sight.”
Salin’s family is quick to drag him from the chamber before he can dig a deeper hole. When the iron threads spring free, all he does is cough and perhaps cry. His sobs echo in the hall but are quickly cut off by the slamming of the doors. A pathetic man. Though I’m glad he didn’t kill Maven. If the Calore brat died today, there would be no obstacle between Cal and the throne. Cal and me. This way, at least, there is some dark hope.
“Does anyone have anything useful to contribute?” Father sits back down smoothly and runs a finger down the spine of Mother’s snake. Its eyes slide shut in pleasure. Disgusting.
Jerald Haven looks like he wants to disappear in his chair, and he just might. He stares at his folded hands, willing my father not to humiliate him next. Luckily, he’s saved by the scowling Scarlet Guard commander. She stands, scraping back her seat.
“Our intelligence indicates that Maven Calore now relies on eyes to keep him safe. They can see the immediate future—”
Mother clucks her tongue. “We know what an eye is, Red.”
“Good for you,” the commander replies without hesitation.
If not for Father and our precarious position, I expect Mother would ram her emerald snake down the Red’s throat. She just purses her lips. “Control your people, Premier, or I will.”
“I’m a Command general of the Scarlet Guard, Silver,” the woman spits back. I catch Mare smirking behind her. “If you want our help, you’re going to show some respect.”
“Of course,” Mother concedes graciously. Her gems sparkle as she dips her head. “Respect where respect is due.”
The commander still glowers, her rage boiling. She eyes my mother’s crown with disgust.
Thinking quickly, I clap my hands together. A familiar sound. A summons. Quietly, a Red maid of House Samos scampers into the chamber, a glass of wine in hand. She knows her orders and darts to my side, offering me the drink. With slow, exaggerated movements, I take the cup. I never break eye contact with the Red commander as I drink. My fingers drum along the etched glass to hide my nerves. At worst, I’ll make Father angry. At best . . .
I smash the glass goblet on the floor. Even I flinch at the sound and the implication. Father tries not to react, but his mouth tightens. You should know me better than this. I’m not giving up without a fight.
Without hesitation, the maid kneels to clean it up, sweeping shards of glass into her bare hands. And without hesitation, the fierce Red woman vaults over her table, setting off a flurry of motion. Silvers jump to their feet, as do Reds, and Mare herself pushes off the wall, angling herself across her friend’s path.
The Red commander towers over her, but Barrow holds her back all the same.
“How can we accept this?” the woman shouts at me, thrusting a fist at the maid on the floor. The tang of blood increases tenfold as she slices her hands. “How?”
Everyone in the room seems to be wondering the same thing. Shouts rise between more volatile members of each side. We are Silver houses of noble and ancient blood, allied with rebels, criminals, servants, and thieves. Abilities or not, our ways of life stand in direct opposition. Our goals are not the same. The council chamber is a powder keg. If I’m lucky it will explode. Blow apart any threat of marriage. Destroy the cage they want to put me back in.
Over Mare’s shoulder, the commander sneers at me, her eyes like two blue daggers. If this room and my own clothes weren’t dripping with metal, I might be afraid. I stare back at her, looking every inch the Silver princess she was raised to hate. At my feet, the maid finishes her work and shuffles away, her hands pincushioned with pieces of glass. I make a mental note to send Wren to heal her later.
“Poorly done,” Mother whispers in my ear. She pats my arm and the snake slithers along her hand, curling over my skin. Its flesh is clammy and cold.
I grit my teeth against the sensation.
“How can we accept this?”
The prince’s voice cuts the chaos. It stuns many into silence, including the sneering Red commander. Mare bodily removes her, escorting her back to her chair with some difficulty. The rest turn to the exiled prince, watching him as he straightens. The months have been good to Tiberias Calore. A life of war suits him. He seems vibrant and alive, even after narrowly escaping death on the walls. In her seat, his grandmother allows herself the smallest smile. I feel my heart sink in my chest. I don’t like that look. My hands claw the arms of my throne, nails digging into wood instead of flesh.