Settling in the rear seat, he fought the urge to yank the curtains closed even as he struggled to regain control of his thundering heart, the weight of the responsibility he now held only just starting to take hold. The carriage rocked as it started to move, slowly making its way through the cheering throngs.
Throngs that only yesterday had been weeping for the loss of so many soldiers—husbands, sons, fathers, and brothers who’d died on the slopes of Eranahl or drowned in the Tempest Seas. Throngs that cursed his father for all that he had done, and Keris wanted to climb onto the roof of the carriage and scream, It was my plan! It is me you should blame!
Just like she does.
Zarrah.
Her ships had been spotted heading south, though there was no word yet from the spies of whether she was on them or not. But he knew. Knew in his heart that she was alive.
Keris bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and the crown slid from his head to land with a heavy thud on the carriage floor. Gold glinted in the sun filtering through the windows, the Maridrinian rubies that adorned it looking like drops of blood.
She consumed his thoughts. Ruled his dreams to the point he’d had to drown himself in wine to silence her voice. To vanquish her eyes, which always stared at him with the pain of betrayal.
I’m sorry, he silently whispered, wishing he could say it to her face. But she’d been clear: she never wanted to see him again. After all that he’d done, at least he could honor her in that. And by pursuing the future they’d dreamed of, even if it always meant standing on opposite sides of a border.
There was no doubt in his mind about the first step he needed to take as Maridrina’s king.
Bring the villains to justice.
The carriage rolled through the palace gates, and he reluctantly picked the crown up off the floor and placed it on his head. The door opened, and he stepped out, not waiting for the endless carriages carrying his aunts and siblings to arrive before heading into the inner sanctum. There were things he intended to address with his family—for he refused to call them the harem any longer—but that would wait. This, this, had to come first.
Dax, beard neatly trimmed and uniform freshly pressed, met him at the base of the tower. “Your Grace.” He gave a low bow, but his voice was full of amusement as he added, “Nice hat.”
“It’s godawful heavy.” Keris pulled it off once they were inside, hooking it over his forearm. “Now I understand why my father never wore it.”
“Hopefully you bear the weight of responsibility better than that rat bastard ever did.”
Keris cast a sidelong glance at the captain of his personal guard. “Time will tell, Dax. Time will tell. Someone has been sent to fetch him?”
Dax nodded. “It’s all been done exactly as you wanted.” His mouth stretched into a feral grin. “The crowd that will gather to watch that monster’s execution is going to be bigger than that for your coronation, Your Grace. You might make it a holiday.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.” They rounded the stairs of the tower, rising up to the top level, where more of Keris’s personal guards stood at the entrance, the old guard who’d been so loyal to his father dead at Eranahl or dismissed with the warning to make themselves scarce. One of them opened the door, and Keris stepped into the office, surveying what had once been his father’s domain. The place where he’d ruled from high above like some false god.
“I hate this room.” He set the crown on the desk, his skin crawling with the sense his father was watching. That he wasn’t dead, and when Keris turned around, it would be to see him walking through the door, ready to put him in his place.
“It’s your house,” Dax answered, not seeming to note Keris’s tension. “Redecorate.”
Except Keris didn’t think burning every object in this room would be enough to erase his father’s presence. Pouring himself a drink, he unbuckled his sword belt and leaned the weapon against the desk before sitting.
Seconds passed, then minutes, and though he should have been anticipating the sweetness of the moment to come, Keris’s hands were clammy with sweat, his stomach in ropes.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Send him in.” It was a small miracle that his voice was steady, because his heart felt like it was ricocheting off his ribs.
The Magpie stepped inside.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed low. “My most sincere felicitations on your coronation. I was saddened to have missed it, but my flock has shared with me all the delightful details, including your speech.” The spymaster smiled, revealing his rotting teeth. “So inspiring. The cheers of the masses reached me even within the depths of my workroom.”
I have the power now, Keris reminded himself. Not this creature. But the reminder did nothing to steady his nerves, nothing to ease the growing sense that even with the crown in his grasp, he was not in control. “I assume you know why you’re here?”
“Of course.” Serin gestured to the chair. “May I?”
Keris shrugged, struggling to keep his calm in the face of Serin’s composure.
Once the old man had settled into the chair across from him, having carefully arranged his brown robes, Keris said, “When you leave this room, it will be in chains, Serin. You will be taken to prison, where you will be kept under heavy guard until the time of your trial. A trial that will unveil all the many horrors you visited upon the people of Maridrina with my father’s blessing. I will, of course, convict you of all of them, at which time you will be executed.”
Serin’s smile didn’t falter. “Coralyn would be so pleased, Your Grace. I believe she wished for my death even more than she wished for your father’s, and here, you’ve accomplished both.”
“My father died in battle. By the Queen of Ithicana’s hand, if the rumors are to be believed.”
Serin huffed out an amused breath. “You’ve always been a gambler, Your Grace. All your adult life, my flock has watched you shed the veneer of the polished, bookish prince to climb into the heights and slum it with the masses, rolling dice and betting on cards, the rush you gained worthy of the risks you took.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “This was no different. You gave your father a perfect plan, but you bet on his failure. Or, to be more accurate, bet on your sister’s desire to atone.”
It was Keris’s turn to laugh, though it was entirely feigned. “You’re allowing your imagination to get the better of you, Serin. How could I have predicted any of what happened? There was no way for me to know a storm would strike. No way for me to know the Ithicanian queen was alive, much less at Eranahl, to deliver that fatal blow. This was the work of higher powers than me.”