“Why did you come back to help us?” I ask. “Does that mean …” I can’t quite bring myself to say it without hearing it first from him.
Magiano leans back against the wall and pulls his veil down. He gives us a wry look. “Do you know how much more notorious I could have been, if you were always close enough for me to mimic your power? Do you know what I could do, if we traveled together? And your sister, with her ability to take away an Elite’s power?” He looks curiously at her, and she coughs uncomfortably under his gaze. “Very interesting,” he murmurs. “Very interesting, indeed.”
I stand there and listen, still lost in a haze. I find myself wondering what he aligns with. Ambition. Greed. Something wicked, perhaps, like me. Again, I find myself wondering what’s going through his thoughts.
If you were able to kill a king, then perhaps you really can strike back against the Inquisition.
“Are you going to join us?” I ask.
He studies my face. Then he holds out a hand to me.
Raffaele Laurent Bessette
Raffaele sits atop a horse and enters the Estenzian gates behind Queen Maeve. With them are three of her brothers. Two of them, Augustine and Kester, ride beside her. Kester is an Elite, although Raffaele has yet to see his power in action. And the third brother is the youngest, the prince with the eerie energy, Tristan. Maeve’s white tiger prowls in front of her horse.
Raffaele keeps his head high and eyes level. A long blue cape trails behind him and spills down the hindquarters of his steed. Gold shackles adorn his wrists and neck. Inquisitors have fenced off a wide path for Maeve and her companions. People have turned out in droves to see her. They bow their heads, but with Inquisitors lining the path, they seem too afraid to cheer or applaud the malfetto queen. When they do dare to look up, they take in the sight of her enormous white cat with awe.
Raffaele stares at Tristan’s back. The entire two weeks they’d been at sea, the youngest prince had not said a word. Even now, whenever Maeve leans over to murmur something to him, he remains silent. His energy pulses in a strange, dark pattern. It distracts Raffaele. He shakes his head to clear it.
The prince is alive, he reminds himself. His strange energy is nothing to worry about. Enzo can live too. Isn’t that what I want?
The procession finally reaches the sprawling main square of Estenzia, directly in front of the palace. Today, the square is decorated with a series of white tents, their canvases billowing in the wind, and flags of both Kenettra and Beldain fly side by side over each tent. Under the largest tent, Queen Giulietta is seated on her makeshift throne, a large, ornately carved chair. The tent across from her has a second, empty throne. Reserved for Maeve. Between them is a wide stretch of pavement, where two lines of Inquisitors stand as a guard between the two queens.
Raffaele’s eyes fall on the Lead Inquisitor at Giulietta’s side. Teren. He stares back. Raffaele knows he recognizes him.
They make their way through the path until they reach the tents. Teren approaches. His pale eyes flick to Raffaele, settling there for a moment. Raffaele forces himself to look back. Teren seems surprised to see him. The Inquisitor would probably kill him, if the Beldish queen were not here. Instead, Teren stops before Maeve’s horse. He holds out a hand. Beside him, the white tiger growls but keeps his distance.
“Your Majesty,” he says. “A little help?”
Maeve gives him a cold stare. Her black and gold braids are woven in a high blade down the middle of her head, trailing down in tassels over her back. Gold slashes decorate her face. She hops down in one easy swing and pushes past Teren. She strides toward Giulietta’s tent as Raffaele and the others dismount.
“Your Majesty,” Maeve calls out to Giulietta. Her hand rests on the sword hilt at her hip. She does not bow her head.
Silence in the square. Then Giulietta smiles and spreads her arms. “Your Majesty,” Giulietta replies. “Welcome to Kenettra. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
At that, the crowd finally cheers. Raffaele looks to see many of them waving Kenettran flags. Giulietta’s smile remains, but it is cold. Raffaele studies her face and imagines Enzo beside her. He shivers at how closely she and Enzo resemble each