past pressed against Audric’s skin.
He glanced around quickly as he strode past the watching saints. A dozen Sauvillier archers stood in the loft, their arrows trained on him. Around the room, swords raised and arrows nocked, were more soldiers, each of them tracking his people as they followed him inside.
And standing on the dais was Merovec Sauvillier himself, resplendent in the mail and armor of his house—a sash of russet, silver tassels, a fine tabard of thick wool dyed midnight blue. His blond hair fell in waves to his shoulders, and his eyes were as sweet a blue as Ludivine’s. Save for his jaw, which was firm and square where Ludivine’s was soft, the resemblance was uncanny.
In his arms, he held Queen Genoveve. Her back was to his front, a thin silver blade at her throat.
“Come closer, and I will cut her throat,” Merovec called out, his voice booming in the empty room.
Audric stopped, gesturing for the others behind him to do the same. It should have terrified him to see his mother held so cruelly. Instead, a calm fell over him, leaving his mind sharp and clear.
“You’re already a traitor and a criminal, Merovec,” Audric said. “You would add murder of your own aunt to that list?”
“My traitor aunt.” Merovec wrenched Genoveve’s head closer to his own, his hand wrapped in her hair. “She insisted I stay here rather than go out with my soldiers to meet the Mazabatian army. First Bastien is killed, then her son disappears, and her niece. She said she couldn’t bear to lose me too.” He hissed against her ear, “Do you think I am unaware of where you’ve been sneaking off to of late, dearest aunt?”
Genoveve did not flinch in Merovec’s grip. Her graying auburn hair gleamed copper in the torchlight. Her eyes were twin coins of steel.
“I think you are unaware of many things,” she replied evenly.
“Red Crown, they call themselves. House Courverie loyalists.” Merovec spat on the floor. “My own people, plotting behind my back as I work to keep them safe, as I undo the evil their own prince allowed into their country.”
Audric locked eyes with his mother, took a single step forward. In the shadows atop the loft, the archers shifted but did not loose their arrows.
“And what have you done to keep them safe?” he asked. “I saw no bolstered defenses at the city borders, no additional watchtowers constructed in the mountains. I have heard of no education given to the people about angels or how to strengthen their minds. Nor do I hear talk of Merovec Sauvillier forging alliances with Borsvall or Kirvaya.”
“Borsvall and Kirvaya.” Merovec’s handsome face twisted. “One without a king, and the other without a queen. Both of them fled into the night, leaving their countries in chaos. I want nothing to do with them.”
Audric took another step. “I heard what you did to Ilmaire Lysleva. He was a guest in your own home, and you beat him, imprisoned him.” Another step, each one measured and careful. “I would say you should be ashamed, but I know you have no capacity for it.”
Merovec barked out a laugh. “Ilmaire? He was weak. A sop of a king who wanted us to open our arms to Rielle, let her do as she wishes. Forcing Rielle to choose between good or bad, light or blood, is folly, he said. It will be our undoing. I see why you like him. He’s as big a fool as you are. He didn’t want the crown, anyway. I did him a favor.”
“And now you hide in my castle and terrorize my people.” Audric kept moving forward, another step with every sentence. The archers would not hurt him, not without Merovec’s command. “You interrogate them and invade their homes. You question their faith and tear apart families.”
“I cannot be sure which of them you and your murderous bride managed to corrupt before she left you.” Merovec tilted his head. A sharp grin widened his mouth. “Tell me, do you pleasure yourself while imagining her moaning in the arms of her new lover?”
But Audric was impervious to him, his mind a spotless shield. “Fear has consumed you, Merovec, and you have turned Âme de la Terre into a nest for it. A place of suspicion and distrust. You have done nothing to prepare our people for what’s to come.”
Merovec looked around the room. His blade cut into Genoveve’s throat. A thin trickle of blood dripped down her white neck, but she did