smooth, although his body tensed, just a bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I snorted. “Oh, please. You overheard the same thought that I did when we were walking through the palace earlier. Is Milo really plotting to kill you?”
He didn’t respond, but his lips pressed into a tight, unhappy line.
“Well, if you won’t answer my questions, then I’ll just have to assume that the rumors are true.”
“What rumors?” Leonidas asked in a guarded tone.
“Crown Prince Milo Morricone is quite the legend in Andvari,” I drawled. “Not only is he rumored to be an extremely powerful lightning magier, but he is also said to be exceedingly smart, cruel, and ruthless. Many Mortan nobles and merchants who have visited Glitnir whisper that everyone at Myrkvior is afraid of Milo, including Queen Maeven and the other Morricone royals. Which would include you.”
This time, Leonidas snorted. “I am not afraid of Milo.”
“But your brother is dangerous, and he does want to kill you.”
A humorless smile curved his lips. “Milo wouldn’t be a Morricone otherwise.”
My mind whirred, trying to make sense of this new information. Suddenly, I saw everything that had happened in Blauberg in a new light. “Your brother has already tried to kill you, through Wexel. The captain works for Milo, doesn’t he?”
Leonidas didn’t confirm my suspicion, but I didn’t need him to. Delmira had been thrilled to see him in the rotunda earlier, and Maeven had seemed fond enough of her second son. Neither one of them appeared to have any murderous intentions toward Leonidas, which left Milo as the most likely suspect.
Leonidas’s lips puckered, as though he had bitten into something sour. “My brother has always been . . . ambitious.”
Ambitious? That was a polite way of saying that Milo was just as greedy, vicious, and ruthless as the Morricone kings and queens who had come before him.
Milo had long objected to the tenuous peace and trade treaties that Queen Maeven had struck and maintained with the other kingdoms, but the crown prince seemed to have a special hatred for Andvari. I wasn’t sure why he despised my kingdom so much, other than all the old prejudices that Mortans and Andvarians had against each other. The two kingdoms and their respective peoples had never gotten along, much like strixes and gargoyles were more apt to fight whenever they saw each other, instead of simply letting each other be.
“Given the articles he’s published in the penny papers, everyone knows that Milo wants to restore Morta to what he views as its glory days,” I said. “Back when King Maximus almost succeeded in getting Andvari and Bellona to go to war against each other.”
Back when your mother orchestrated my uncle’s murder. The thought whispered through my mind, but I shoved it down, lest he overhear it with his magic.
Leonidas shook his head. “Milo is much more aggressive and volatile than Maximus ever was. He doesn’t want to sit back and watch a war between two other kingdoms. Milo wants to be the one who starts the war.”
I reared back in surprise. There had long been rumors that Milo wanted to attack the other kingdoms, but I hadn’t thought him bold—or stupid—enough to actually do it. Not given how Grandfather Heinrich, Father, and Rhea had bolstered the Andvarian army and our other defenses over the last sixteen years, and the treaties that guaranteed Bellona, Unger, and the other kingdoms would come to our aid if Morta ever did attack Andvari.
And there was one other large, glaring problem with Milo wanting to start a war—he was still just the crown prince. Maeven was the queen, which meant that she commanded the Mortan army and its legions of soldiers. Not Milo.
Not until Maeven was no longer queen.
Understanding punched into my stomach. “You think your brother is going to try to depose your mother.”
Leonidas’s lips puckered again. “Mother is one of the few things holding Milo back from his . . . ambitions.”
Ambitions? What he really meant was rage and slaughter, and we both knew it.
Leonidas leaned a shoulder against the column, as if suddenly weary. A liladorn vine had twined around the stone, and he idly rubbed his thumb over it. The vine undulated beneath his finger, like a cat arching into a welcome back scratch, although he didn’t seem to notice the motion.
He dropped his hand from the vine and looked at me again. “Yes, I do think Milo has . . . plans for my mother.”
A sea of emotions roiled through me.