No one wants to remind the king or his brother of what happened. In whispers, the people often call it Traitor’s Landing, after what Barnard did, but no one says it in front of us. The Trader’s Landing sector has no new consul, and Harristan is in no rush to appoint one.

It’s the one directly beside me, where Consul Barnard used to sit. The eight consuls ease into theirs, leaving one seat empty. Harristan eases into his chair at the head of the table, and I ease into mine, directly to his right. The table is shaped like a rectangle at one end, narrowing to a point at the other, like the head of an arrow. The consuls fall silent when we enter the room, each offering a short bow to my brother before moving to their chairs, though no one will sit until Harristan does, and no one will eat until we both have taken a bite. I pulled that arrow out of Harristan’s shoulder and stabbed it right into Barnard’s neck. My brother was on top of me, his breath panicked and full of pain in my ear. After Harristan saved my life, I saw Barnard coming after him with a dagger. There used to be ten, but Consul Barnard led the plot to have my parents killed. I’m the ninth, but I have no interest in lively conversation. Though the stewards stand in silence along the wall, waiting to serve, the eight other Royal Consuls are engaged in lively conversation by the window. A few feathers have been artfully placed along the gilded edge of each platter, held in place by a glistening drop of crystalized honey. Roasted pheasant drips with honey and berries, nestled among a dense bed of greens and root vegetables. The midday meal is already arranged on the sideboard when we enter. “You don’t want a nursemaid? Then stop lazing around. I move to the closet and pull out a laced shirt to toss at my brother. Our parents were loved-and they were loving in return. “Not to my face.” No, to my face, I’m Your Highness, or Prince Corrick, or sometimes, when they’re being especially formal, the King’s Justice.īehind my back, I’m called worse.

“The medicine is working again.” His voice is quiet. I stare back into his blue eyes and look for any sign of sickness. It should have been the other way around. He took an arrow in the shoulder when he dove to cover me. The image still haunts my dreams sometimes. The arrows pinned them upright, their heads hanging cockeyed, their eyes wide and glassy as they choked on their own blood. Shot through the throat in the throne room. Back when everyone expected Harristan to have decades before he’d take the throne, that he’d rule with firm kindness and thoughtful care for his people, just as our parents did.īut four years ago, they were assassinated right in front of us.

Defy the night brigid kemmerer