Ulfnar had spent weeks in the palace and still hadn’t met the archduke. He expected that the death of the person trying to overthrow him would have been higher up on his list, but no. He was too busy with “affairs of state” to meet with the man who killed her.

  He supposed that Lady Larella had told him the deed was done, and he lost interest in Ulfnar after that. Larella had assured him that the duke still wanted to meet him and was certain he was going to be called for an audience the next day. At this point he had stopped believing her.

  At least the food was good.

  He had spent as much time as he could trying to get closer to Lady Larella, as Tylenna had requested. He hadn’t tried to kiss her or anything like that—that just felt wrong. But he would spend some time every day walking the gardens with her, telling her about his life in Teorton, his time with Tylenna, and what was going on between him and the doll in his pocket.

  He tried to avoid answering that question.

  Today he was in one of the many parlors in the palace, playing cards with four of the courtesans. Even though they all lived in the palace, none of them had the hand tattoos, nor were they of the Spires, as it was called. He still wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but it had something to do with the archduke and the line of succession.

  They all had a strange way of greeting each other. Instead of a bow, an embrace, or a handshake, they would hold up both hands in front of each other, showing the palm first, then turning the hand to show its back.

  They had all seemed offended when Ulfnar hadn’t returned the gesture, so he began to copy it. When he asked Lady Larella about it, she told him that it was a way to show the other person whether you were of the Spires or not. Those with tattoos were and were owed deference to those who were not. Among those of the Spires, the more elaborate a person’s tattoos were, the higher their rank.

  The card players were a strange assortment. Earl Ygronne and his wife Lady Vavid were the biggest gossipers. The earl dressed better than his wife. She wore a plain green dress with a pearl necklace, but he wore an extravagantly bright yellow silk shirt and matching headscarf. He had large earrings in each ear, a nose ring, and three gold chain necklaces that hung deep on his exposed chest. The incessantly talked about their son Siryn, who was abroad on some important mission to Camulan. Ulfnar wished their son and taken him with.

  Next to him sat Count Voff, who was the highest-ranking member at the table besides Ulfnar himself. He was always wearing some sort of large floppy hat. Today it was red and embroidered with stars and flowers.

  The last member of the group was Sir Wolcom. He barely counted as a member of the landed gentry, as he only had a small farm far to the south. He wasn’t a lord of any kind, just a simple knight. His father had been someone important, which was why he was allowed at court at all.

  Of the assembled group, Wolcom was the wealthiest, by a large margin. It wasn’t clear what he had done to obtain his money—he had left it deliberately vague no matter how Ulfnar pressed him. He suspected the knight had some shady business dealings going on somewhere.

  “So you don’t tattoo your hands in Camulan?” Ygronne asked as he laid down another bet.

  Ulfnar matched his. He’d had to take a loan from Lady Larella to be able to even play cards with the nobles, but he’d made enough from the foolish members of the court to pay her back—at least partially. It turned out Lina was really good at cards.

  “No.”

  “Well how do you tell who is of the…” Lady Vavid paused, as she realized that no one in Camulan would be of the Spires.

  “Royalty, you mean?” he finished for her. “We don’t need to. Everyone knows who the royalty are. Besides the king, there’s only six of us.” He paused, remembering that his father had been killed and Alfyn was now king. “Five of us.”

  “But what about the cousins and uncles and whatnot?” Vavid set down her cards and pushed her old bets into the pot, signaling that she was out for the rest of the hand.

  “There are no cousins,” he said. “At least in this generation. But when there are, people just know who they are.”

  “I see,” Lady Vavid said, still clearly confused.

  The door to the parlor opened and Olean, the Lord Marshal came in. He was the equivalent to Lord Smyton in his father’s household. He was in charge of managing the king’s day-to-day affairs, including the servants, and wrangling the courtesans when it was necessary.

  “Ulfnar of Camulan,” the Lord Marshal called out. “His grandness will see you now.”

  They were all still hesitant to call him Prince Ulfnar, because, he assumed, that a prince would technically outrank an archduke. It wouldn’t be proper if the ruler of Tambryne had to give deference to a foreign dignitary who was depending on his hospitality to live.

  ‘Finally,’ Lina muttered.

  “Too bad for you,” Count Voff said, pulling his chips into the pot. He hadn’t even folded yet. But the implication was clear. When called for an audience with the ruler, there wouldn’t be time to finish his hand. He didn’t have a good one anyway.

  He scraped his chair back and stood up. Lady Vavid grabbed his hand.

  “We’ll see you at dinner?” she asked. Even if she didn’t understand the customs of his nation, she was still very friendly and interested in his life. If he didn’t know she was married, he would think she was making subtle invitations to her bed.

  “I hope so, Lady Vavid.” He nodded to the rest of the group. “Gentlemen,” he said.

  “Good luck,” Sir Wolcom muttered as he walked away. What was that supposed to mean? He hoped that it wasn’t anything sinister. He doubted it, they all seemed to be in awe of the archduke.

  He’d tried to puzzle out what had happened that put him on the throne. Everyone was tight-lipped about it. All they’d say was that he’d ruled for around a decade now, and a woman tried to usurp his rightful claim to the throne. They were so secretive about it, even that was told in hushed whispers in dark corners. It had all been very dramatic, and she’d been exiled after her failed uprising. Her name was forbidden to say, and her very existence was denied.

  Lord Olean took him to a room known as the Room of Whispers. Not the most comforting name that he could have been told, as the palace in Teorton also had a Room of Whispers; it was where people were tortured for information.

  The room he was taken to couldn’t be anything further from that. It was a light and airy chamber high up in the largest spire. It was colored in basically two colors: green and alabaster. The green came from the beautiful plants that were growing in neat rows that ran in parallel lines from one end of the room to the other. The alabaster came from the marble floors that lay in between the plants.

  Fine golden chains hung like frozen raindrops from the ceiling. At the tip of each was a jewel. Each had a different type of jewel based on its length. The ones that hung lowest were rubies, followed by sapphires, then pearls. The ones closest to the ceiling were finely cut diamonds.

  The views from this high up were just stunning. A large balcony made from the same black stone stretched out from two very large arches. He could see ships in the distance sailing north towards Camulan.

  Lady Larella was already in the room speaking to a man who he assumed was the archduke. He was a tall, thin man with skin a dark ebony. His hair was thick with tight curls and cut into a narrow tower atop his head. He wore an ornately inlayed golden circlet around his forehead.

  The man was dressed in a plain white dressing gown made of silk. It hung listlessly along his body and accentuated the muscles underneath. It left very little to the imagination.

  “Ulfnar of Camulan, Your Grandness!” the Lord Marshal shouted when they entered.

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  Both he and Lady Larella stepped forward, and held up both hands, palms out. Then after a short amount of time, flipped them over to show the backs of their hands. While Lady Larella had no tattoos, the archduke had a series of incredibly ornate lines running up and down and around his hands, circling up to the tips of his fingers. He wore an ornate gold ring on his left pinky.

  ‘Show your hands, you dolt!’ Lina admonished.

  Feeling slightly awkward and uncomfortable, he raised his own hands, showing his untattooed palms, fingers, and hands. The archduke gave him a wide grin when he returned the gesture.

  “Welcome, Ulfnar of Camulan,” the archduke said. “I am, as you may have expected, Archduke Rovaielle. Do you have it?” he turned to Lady Larella. “Does he have it?”

  Lady Larella shrugged. “Show him.”

  Ulfnar wasn’t sure if he should correct the archduke and tell him the proper way to address him was either ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Prince Ulfnar,’ but that might start them off on the wrong foot. He was, after all, in this man’s country, and he was its ruler.

  He decided to let it go.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the cigar box. He held it out to the archduke. The man only stared at the box, not moving. The lord Marshal looked scandalized. Had he done something wrong?

  “Open it,” Lady Larella ordered.

  He supposed the archduke’s hands were too precious to even indirectly touch Ulfnar’s hands. Was it part of their culture that no one could touch the ruler? Maybe he was afraid there was a knife in it and Ulfnar would use it to assassinate him. That was probably more likely.

  He opened the box. The finger was getting pretty disgusting. It had turned a shade of whiteish green, and had started to shrivel, making the ring on it look like it had been on a child’s finger. He held it out.

  The archduke nodded to Lady Larella who stormed over and took the box and brought it over to Rovaielle. He still didn’t touch it. Instead, he leaned down slightly and looked into the box. His lips curled up when he caught a whiff.

  “How can we be sure it is genuine?” he asked.

  “I saw it when it was in…better condition. The tattoos were unmistakable. And that is without a doubt the Ring of Rafune.” Lady Larella closed the box and set it on the table behind them.

  “But that is only a finger. How do we know she is actually dead.”

  “Your Grandness,” Lady Larella said, her voice taking a slight condescending tone. “She was of the Spires. She wouldn’t willingly allow her finger to be taken. Much less part with the Ring of Rafune.”

  ‘Careful,’ Lina said. ‘If things go south, the safest exit is out that window.’

  He wasn’t sure if she was being facetious, or if she meant plummeting to his death was a better option than torture. He was inclined to agree with her. But he’d rather try to run down the stairs and escape than go through the window.

  “Have it magically authenticated,” the archduke said, turning back to Ulfnar. “You have eased a great burden for me, Ulfnar.” He gestured to the table. “Before we get to your reward, would you care for some refreshments?”

  He didn’t want any refreshments. He wanted to leave, to run from this place. Something about the archduke made him uneasy. He was pleasant enough, but his smile looked just a little too forced. His body language suggested that his friendliness was just a fa?ade, and there was something quite sinister underneath.

  ‘This isn’t an offer you can refuse.’

  Lina was right. He couldn’t refuse it. Not just because he wasn’t allowed to, but because his mission here wasn’t just to deliver a finger to the archduke. He also had to try to generate more sympathy for Lady Tylenna and her cause. He had to get close to Larella and find out what she was up to.

  “I would love some, Rovaielle of Tambryne,” he said, giving the archduke a lopsided grin.

  Lady Larella frowned, and the Lord Marshal gasped. He had clearly breached protocol that time. He meant it as a joke, but it looked like the joke had fallen flat on its face. His hand unconsciously reached up and rubbed his neck. He didn’t want to be parted with it just yet.

  Then the archduke broke into another wide grin and laughed. Lady Larella laughed with him.

  ‘Phew. You got lucky on that one.’

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  “That was a good joke!” the archduke said as he sat down. Lady Larella followed his example and took the seat beside him, leaving a single chair opposite the archduke for Ulfnar.

  The archduke stopped laughing and his smile turned serious. “Don’t do it again.”

  The implication was clear. While it was funny the first time, he wouldn’t tolerate any more disrespect on Ulfnar’s part. Rovaielle was comfortable with the boundary being tested, but he had shown where the line was.

  He sat down as Lady Larella poured the wine into three of the four cups. She was careful not to touch the archduke’s cup. It seemed that the archduke didn’t like other people touching him or his things. How did that work with his food tasters? Did he just overlook the fact that they touched his food and put it in their mouths?

  “Now tell me, Ulfnar of Camulan. How did you kill my cousin? Why did it take so long?”

  He’d expected that this question was coming, and he knew better than to try to avoid an answer. The archduke was already suspicious enough. If he failed to provide a plausible answer to this question, that would only increase the archduke’s suspicion.

  “The reason it took so long was because it was difficult to get close to her—with a weapon, at least. She was surrounded by bodyguards constantly.” That much was true. Harnfoot, Furis, and Arden were constantly at her side. He’d only been allowed to be alone with her when certain conditions were met. Not that he complained.

  The archduke looked at Lady Larella. “This was the same issue I’d had, Your Grandness. Those fools Furis and Arden made it impossible for any assassin to get close to her.”

  “Dillon did,” Ulfnar admitted. “Right before the end.”

  “Dillon? Your manservant?” the archduke asked Larella. “The one that disappeared?”

  “Yes, Your Grandness. I found him skulking around with the Star Children. He managed to get close to her in Tophton, just before Ulfnar finally did her in.”

  “Sorry about having to kill him,” Ulfnar said. “He almost blew my cover. But he was just the inspiration I needed to get the job done.”

  “He made a worthy sacrifice, then,” the archduke said. “Now tell me how it happened.”

  ‘Don’t mess this up.’

  Ulfnar took a deep breath. He’d rehearsed this many times. It needed just enough of an element of truth in it to make it believable, but it couldn’t sound overly rehearsed, either. He decided to just embellish the finger cutting.

  “It was right after the assassination. Everyone was paranoid and Lady Tylenna was planning to move on. We were alone inside the thatched room that we all shared packing her belongings. After Dillon’s attack, her bodyguards trusted me enough that they went on ahead to scout out the path and make sure there were no more assassins lurking.

  “While she had her back turned to me, I went up behind her and cut her throat, cut the finger off, and slipped out.”

  The archduke smiled and took a deep drink of his wine. “The last threat to my rule is dispatched. It is indeed a time for celebration. I think I shall host a ball. What do you think, Lady Larella?”

  “An excellent idea, grandness.”

  He turned back to Ulfnar. “I do have one question though. You don’t seem to understand our ways. How did you know to cut off the left pinky?”

  ‘I told you he was going to ask that,’ Lina said.

  “Shh,” he mumbled as he drank from his cup. The archduke looked strangely at Larella, who just shrugged. He would have to be more careful when he talked to Lina. Tylenna’s acceptance of his quirk made him complacent.

  “Tylenna stared at her hands a lot. She only explained that the tattoos meant she was of the Spires, but didn’t say anything else about your culture. I don’t think she ever expected me to be having a conversation with you, Your Grandness.

  “As for the ring, she was always protective about that, even when Arden told her she should take it off so she could hide her identity.”

  Rovaielle nodded, and Lina breathed a sigh of relief in Ulfnar’s head. He wanted to as well, but that would only bring up more suspicions. He just acted as casual as he could.

  “And you left the body there? In a hut in Tophton?”

  “Yes,” he said. “There wasn’t time for anything else.”

  The archduke scowled and shook his head. He suddenly looked very angry. A jolt of fear raced from his head down to his toes, and back up. Had he said something wrong?

  “That will not do at all,” the archduke said. “She may have deserved death, but she was still of the Spires and deserves a proper burial. I will send someone to retrieve the body.”

  ‘Uh-oh.’

  What would he do when he found the body wasn’t there? If the archduke found the body missing, that would raise more suspicion. Ulfnar fought down the urge to rub his neck. There was nothing he could do. Protesting would only raise more doubts.

  “If the scavengers haven’t gotten to her first,” he said.

  That was the best he could do, plant a plausible explanation for why the body wasn’t there. His only other option was to feign ignorance when the archduke’s servants found no sign of Tylenna’s death.

  Rovaielle smiled and pulled out a box of his own. “Now for your reward! Please put this on.” He slid the box over to Ulfnar.

  Ulfnar opened it, hoping it was a massive bag of gold. Though, with the winnings from the card games, he was building up a very respectable stockpile of funds.

  Inside wasn’t what he was expecting. It was a thick gold bracelet inlayed with four rubies. It glowed slightly with magical energy. It was beautiful. Ulfnar wondered what sort of enchantment it had on it.

  The archduke was nearly jumping in his chair, he was so excited. “Put it on!” he shouted like a 5-year-old who’d made a parchment necklace for a parent.

  Ulfnar slipped it over his wrist as a magical coldness washed over him. “Thank you, Your Grandness,” he said.

  “It is my pleasure,” he said. “For your other reward…”

  The archduke trailed off as Lady Larella looked uneasily to him. Another reward? Hopefully it was the next carriage out of Tambryne. He was ready to be out of here and on his way anywhere else. He couldn’t, of course. He still had plenty of work to do for Lady Tylenna.

  “I insist you stay here, in my court,” the archduke said, and Ulfnar’s heart sank. It was one thing for him to stay here willingly, and quite another for the archduke to insist on it. He knew what that meant: Ulfnar wasn’t allowed to leave.

  Rovaielle then looked to Lady Larella, whose face was the picture of anxiety. Apparently, she knew what was coming, and wasn’t particularly fond of the idea. Ulfnar suspected he wouldn’t, either.

  “And you have my permission to court Lady Larella.”

  Ulfnar could only sit there with his mouth agape. This wasn’t just a father giving his permission to court his daughter. This was a ruler acknowledging that a union between Ulfnar and Lady Larella was a good match and could be a benefit to his kingdom.

  It wasn’t two people seeing if they were a good fit for each other—it was a precursor to marriage.

  ‘Tylenna is going to be furious,’ Lina said.

  She was indeed.