The riots were mostly quelled, for the moment. Alfyn had to order Lord-General Harmin to deploy a company of soldiers and a handful of knights to the lower quarter to get the rioters to quiet down. Unfortunately, so far none of the rioters they’d managed to capture and interrogate would point the finger at who was in charge.

  The only name that had been mentioned was Lord Asconce, who was now kneeling before Alfyn, wrists clasped in chains. The last time he’d seen the man was at the fealty ceremony where he and his 4-year-old son were both pledging fealty to him.

  That was what frustrated him more than anything. The man before him, in chains, had taken the Laryn Oath and was honor bound to never betray King Alfyn, and yet, his name was the only name that came up when Harmin’s men began investigating the cause of the rebellion.

  “It wasn’t me! I obeyed your father’s orders. I made a new heir and moved on.” This Asconce was a far cry from the strong, intimidating warrior that he had been. He was dirty, bloodied, and had the look of a man haunted.

  “Then why was yours the only name that came up in my investigation?” Harmin asked.

  Asconce bowed further down on the floor. He reached out to grab Harmin’s feet, but the guard beside him kicked his hands away, making him fall face first on the floor. The earl just lay there, letting his blood drain out onto the throne room floor.

  Alfyn wondered what his father would do in this situation. He had been harsher on Asconce than he had been with Egnever’s father when they both cried for justice. Asconce was a knight-general and could have caused some troubles with his father had he wanted to.

  But he had not. Despite the man’s intimidating appearance and prowess in battle, he was, in his heart, a coward. And that cowardice was a better witness to Asconce’s innocence much more than his pleas.

  “Are you plotting against me, Lord Asconce?” he asked. “As revenge for your son being killed?”

  “No, Your Grace! I am your loyal servant!”

  Harmin kicked him in the chest, knocking him over onto his back. “Then why is yours the only name that has come up?”

  The man struggled like a turtle on its back. With his arms chained before him, he couldn’t use them to flip himself back over, until Harmin nodded to the guard, who lifted the man up. Asconce immediately fell back to his knees.

  “I don’t know!”

  Harmin shook his head. “This is going nowhere, Your Grace.”

  “Agreed,” he said. He wished Asconce would have talked. He actually had liked and respected the man. What had happened to Rurik had been an accident. They were all supposed to teleport away and leave Aeolwyn behind. But somehow, their wands of teleportation had failed.

  Rurik had been his friend, and Alfyn had mourned his death—if only in private.

  “I’m sorry it has come to this, Lord Asconce,” he said, turning to Lord Smyton. The Lord Chamberlain had brought in a desk and was recording the conversation onto parchment. He needn’t have bothered. Jor Wiret was up in the balcony magically recording everything that transpired.

  “Lord Smyton, please record this for posterity, and include my official seal. Stilgar Asconce is hereby stripped of all lands and titles. These will be returned to the crown until a suitable candidate can be found to accept them. His mines and any profit from them shall be seized on my order.”

  “Please no, Your Grace!” Asconce shouted.

  “He shall be placed under arrest and put to the question. His new son Halfdan shall become my ward. His wife and daughter will be given to Archstar Boress where they will take their oaths and enter service to the Temple of Laryn.”

  “Have mercy!” Asconce fell to the floor again and reached out towards the dais. The guard once again kicked him away. The man had broken into tears, which were leaving tracks in his dirty face as they ran to the floor.

  Alfyn ignored his pleas. “If he admits his guilt and names his coconspirators to Lord-General Harmin’s satisfaction, he will be banished from Camulan, where he will fall upon the mercy of others, should he find them. If the lord-general is not satisfied, he will be taken to the docks, placed in a gibbet, and hung from the defensive walls as a warning to others.”

  Asconce whimpered something Alfyn couldn’t make out.

  “What was that?” Harmin asked.

  Asconce whimpered again.

  “Speak up, man!” Harmin yelled. “Show some damned backbone. You’re a soldier for Laryn’s sake!”

  “It was Lord Erias,” he said. “He has someone who he believes has a better claim to the throne than you. He plans to raise him up as king.”

  Alfyn was the eldest son of the late king. Who would have a better claim than him? His father had been an only child. There were no brothers or sisters to rival his claim. If Erias had somehow convinced Aeolwyn to put in a claim to the throne, he would string the fat blob of a man up no matter how many ropes it took.

  “Who?” Harmin demanded. “Who claims to be king?”

  “I never met him,” Asconce said. “He only named him Wearfwyn.”

  According to law, the only people who could use the suffixes -yn or -wyn in their names were those of the royal family. It was a crime punishable by death. Not only to the parents, but the child as well. As such, no one dared use it. Both were used to denote male members of the royal family who were directly in line for the throne of Camulan.

  Thus, his father had decided that, among his family members, only himself, the recently deceased Wolfryn, and his youngest brother Aeolwyn were his official heirs, and were recorded as such. His sisters could assume the throne only by special decree and used the feminine -ya suffix to be denoted as such.

  Ulfnar was the only one who was missing the suffix, though he had been named Ulfnarwyn at birth. But, after disobeying their father one too many times, King Llarwyn had issued a decree removing the suffix from his name.

  At least that was the way it was supposed to work. In practice, however, succession was a messy thing, and every member of the family had as equal a claim to the throne as their birth order allowed. So, if it came to that, Ulfnar would still have a claim to the throne.

  He turned to Harmin. “Have the birth records scoured for someone named Wearfryn.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “As you command, Your Grace. And him?” Harmin gestured to Asconce.

  “Nothing in my decree has changed. Put him to the question. We need to know if there’s any truth to his statement, or if he just made it up to protect himself and his family.”

  “No, Your Grace! Please!” Asconce pleaded as the guard dragged him away. He kept on screaming until the doors closed behind him. He was sure to tell the questioner everything he knew, especially if he believed that would save him from the gibbet, which it might. It would not, however, save him from death. Alfyn knew better than to keep a noble like him alive.

  Who was this Wearfryn? Alfyn needed to consult with Jor Wiret. The mage had exceptional scrying ability. Though, he had, as of yet, been unable to find out where Aeolwyn had gone. By all accounts, the army had just disappeared after finding Fort Camulan closed to them. Alfyn had expected his brother to lay siege or try to take the fort by force, but he hadn’t. His army had marched north to the ruins of Lannic Outpost, and vanished.

  But where Aeolwyn had gone didn’t concern him. Without a home, and only half an army, his brother wasn’t a threat to him anymore. Lord Erias and his new claimant were. He wondered if he should take preemptive action against Erias.

  He wanted to, but he knew he couldn’t. Unlike Asconce, Erias had real power. The man commanded fleets of trading vessels. At a word, the man could cripple shipping. He would need leverage first. Perhaps Alfyn could send someone to kidnap his son Eiflan.

  He might do that. But first, he needed proof.

  ***

  The gardens of the Spires were just as grand as they always were. Ulfnar still wished that his father had built something like this in the palace at Teorton. Not that he would ever see the place again. He’d all but given up on returning home. Especially after his visit with Rovaielle.

  Lady Larella held onto his arm as they walked the gardens. They had received many congratulations on their unofficial betrothal, though neither of them had said anything about it. He would have preferred it be kept a secret, but Lord Marshal Olean let it slip while Ulfnar was back in the parlor playing cards. Lady Vavid was especially pleased, saying that the two of them were a perfect match.

  Now that the secret was out, they needed to be seen out together as much as possible. Ulfnar hated every moment of it. Not only was this the woman who had held him captive for two years, but she had also sent assassins after him.

  He tried not to think of Tylenna and how he felt he was betraying her, despite the fact that she was the one who told him to cozy up to Larella in the first place. If she could sacrifice her finger for this plan, then he could sacrifice whatever feelings he had towards Tylenna.

  “The day is quite pleasant,” Larella said.

  Pleasant? It was freezing. Not literally, of course, but the temperature had begun to drop as winter continued to approach. Marshal Olean had installed braziers around the gardens to make the walks more comfortable, but Ulfnar still wore a thick cloak in addition to his coat.

  Larella did not. Instead, she wore thin dresses that barely covered her. If she weren’t who she was, he would have enjoyed looking at her and imagining seeing the places that the dress covered. But instead, he just felt disgust.

  ‘I wish we could kill her,’ Lina said.

  Ulfnar agreed. He often fantasized about it. His latest had been to escort her to the top of the highest spire, strangling her to within an inch of her life, then throwing her off the balcony and laughing as her body plummeted to its doom.

  “I don’t know how you’re okay with all of this,” he said. “I am a prince of Camulan. What right does the archduke have to just marry me off like I’m one of his subjects?”

  She gave him a look that suggested he couldn’t be as naive as he was acting. He didn’t understand why. He wasn’t one of the archduke’s subjects and couldn’t just order him to marry someone.

  ‘We should just run.’

  “You aren’t just a simple guest here, Ulfnar,” Larella said. “You’ve come here under his protection, and the archduke will do as he pleases to ensure that protection.”

  That made absolutely no sense. If he was afforded guest rights, then the archduke was expressly forbidden to do something as important as choosing a wife for him. That was the exact opposite of guest rights.

  “Maybe I’ll just leave,” he said.

  Lady Larella laughed out loud so hard she started snorting and honking. For a second, he thought she was going to choke. He wondered if he would be obligated to help her, or if he would be free if he let her choke to death. Some of the other courtesans enjoying the gardens started to stare. If they were watching, he would have to help.

  “You may try,” she said after recovering from her laughing fit, “but I think you’ll find that bracelet on your wrist may hamper your efforts.”

  “What does that mean?” He knew the bracelet was magical, but neither the archduke, nor the lord marshal had explained what sort of properties it had.

  “It’s a keeping bracelet. It’s meant to stop you from leaving. If you go too far outside its partner, you’ll find yourself unable to catch your breath, no matter how hard you try to breathe. If you stay that far away, you’ll suffocate yourself.”

  ‘Well, that would make killing yourself easy.’

  “Painful, too,” he muttered.

  Despite his apparent freedom, he was a prisoner here. It might be more pleasant than the tower, but it was no less constricting. He suddenly felt the walls of the gardens closing in on him. He coughed as though he couldn’t get enough breath. He should never have agreed to do this.

  He grabbed at the bracelet and yanked. He tried to pull it over his wrist, but it wouldn’t budge. It was too small to fit over his hand, and he couldn’t get it to unclasp.

  “How do I get this off?”

  “Fear not,” she said, patting him on the back as he struggled to breathe. “After the wedding, the archduke may be merciful and grant me the ownership of its partner.”

  He was nothing more than a slave. He had been a slave to her since his imprisonment at the tower. Even after being rescued by Lady Tylenna, he was a slave. Even the freedom his rescuers had offered came with strings. Would he never be truly free?

  ‘When have you ever been free?’ Lina asked.

  She wasn’t wrong. Even when he was back at the palace, he was a prisoner. His father was in charge of everything he did. All the royal duties, his ability to enter and leave the palace, even who he married would have been up to his father, and now, his brother.

  He sighed.

  “If I had known what would have come of it, I wouldn’t have killed Lady Tylenna,” he said.

  “Don’t ever say that again!” Larella admonished. “Not where people can hear, at least. She still has sympathizers here. If any found out you were the one, their revenge on you would be swift, and extremely unpleasant.”

  So Tylenna had some sympathizers here? That was good to know. He would have to find out who they were. Maybe they could help him get this bracelet off and get out of the palace.

  He could ask Larella, but that might raise some suspicions, especially when the reports came back that there was no sign of Tylenna’s body. He shelved that idea. Maybe he could casually bring it up at one of the card games and see what sort of pot that stirred up.

  “As long as neither of us have any choice in this marriage, I might as well know what I’m getting into. How is it you came to be one of the archduke’s closest advisors despite being not of the Spires? I’ve only heard you called Lady Larella. Do you even have a title?”

  “I have no wish to revisit my past, Lord Ulfnar.”

  That was a first. Some of the other courtesans referred to him as a lord, but Lady Larella never had. He had always been Ulfnar to him. Not Lord Ulfnar and never Prince Ulfnar. Rovaielle hadn’t outright said it, but the use of Ulfnar’s proper title had been all but banned here.

  He wondered if that was a chink in her armor though. Lady Tylenna had wanted him to get close to her. What if he could somehow use her past to turn her against Rovaielle? Maybe then she could get his bracelet’s partner and let him out of it. Then he could leave and go wherever he pleased.

  ‘Or we could help Tylenna kill her.’

  Why would Lina want to help Tylenna at all? She was already jealous of Ulfnar’s feelings for her. If anything, shouldn’t the doll want Tylenna dead?

  ‘No, Ulfnar, I don’t want her dead. I just want you happy. I’m a doll, and I can’t please you the way she can. The only way to your happiness is to stay here and do what Tylenna asked. Then when she brings her queen, we can kill Larella and the archduke together. Then…’

  Then he could be with Tylenna and be truly happy. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He was in love with Tylenna. She had sent him here to play a role. He had come here to help her cause, not run away from it like a little coward.

  He had always been a coward. That was why he’d fled Teorton. He was afraid of facing off against his brother. If he’d stayed, maybe he could have protected Aeolwyn from his father’s wrath. Maybe he could have protected his father from Alfyn’s treachery.

  But he didn’t. He’d fled, and now his family was in pieces.

  That stopped today. He would not be a coward any longer. He would stay here and do what needed to be done. Not for him, not for the kingdom of Tambryne, and not for the cause. He would do it for Lady Tylenna.

  If that meant marrying the woman who imprisoned him? That was a small price to pay.