On their first full day of marriage, Beatrice and Anryn learned much about each other. Beatrice learned that Anryn suffered nosebleeds and ground his teeth when he was angry. Anryn learned that Beatrice could curse worse than a sailor and that she could throw a butter knife hard enough across a room to embed itself in a wall.

　　"I`ll pry it out later," Beatrice promised. She pinched the bridge of Anryn`s nose and wiped the blood from his lip, helping her prince ready himself to confront his father when the King finally sent for him.

　　"Where did you learn to do that?" Anryn asked.

　　"My mother," Beatrice said. "Growing up in a house full of brothers, she said that we should always make sure to have a few tricks up our sleeves."

　　Anryn regarded her with a measure of awe. "I hope you have more."

　　 Beatrice raised her eyebrows and for once did not try to make a glib reply. They still had much to learn about each other. She wanted to trust the prince, but Ciamon was a lesson to her in what could happen when she trusted too easily. So she did not tell her new husband about the tapestry in the throne room—and the little door hidden behind it.

　　She went back to her own rooms to make as if she planned to go to church. She sent a runner to summon Sarah Tommasi to walk with her—then sent a second runner to Aunt Alys, at Gruffydd`s mansion. If Beatrice timed it right, the two ladies would arrive at the palace at the same time and entangle themselves in gossip in the entryway. By the time someone came to tell the new princess that they`d arrived, Beatrice would have asked another servant where the kitchen was, and asked someone else to saddle her horse. Everyone would be thoroughly confused about where the princess truly was.

　　She slipped into the servants quarters, and pulled her plainest, darkest veil over her head. With her soft-soled dressing slippers underneath her gown, she made no sound slipping down the narrow staircase toward the library on the second floor. The palace still hummed with the tension from before the wedding—only now it took on a new, hushed pitch. The whispers between maids were quieter. The glances between the valets were shorter. The whole of Mahaut seemed like a guitar string plucked too hard, the sour note reverberating in the air long after the song ended.

　　 Beatrice reached the landing below the library. Cautiously, she lifted her veil and looked around. No one was in the hall at the moment. She waited for a man to come through the door, pushing through with full ashtrays in both hands, on his way down to the washrooms in the basement to empty them. Then she darted to catch the door before it could close all the way.

　　 The King still yelled. Beatrice was shocked he had not lost his voice yet between this and his furious shouting from the day before.

　　"So help me, if I have to tell you one more goddamned time, Teqwyn I will hang you by your ankles from the window. How many are there? Lawson said it was only four hundred at most&"

　　 "The man lies—we know that he lies," Lord Eyiffoen said. "What difference does it make how many he reported? We should round up all those in the jails and send them to work the galleys in the Golden Fleet—that will take the fight out of them."

　　"An accurate count is necessary, if we are to derive any monetary advantage from this catastrophe&" Gruffydd said. Beatrice recognized the tone of his voice from previous councils—hungry, ambitious.

　　"Sell them. You want to sell them," King Anathas said. "You think I am a fool? You mean to auction them off to Nynomath. To our enemy."

　　"I& would only open a discussion as to revising the witch laws to allow for extradition. As a tactic to put them off guard," Gruffydd said. "We could entice them to the border while Sanchia`s navy goes around the Horn&"

　　 Beatrice listened for any mention of Riccardo. She guessed that Professor Lawson had been blamed for allowing Prince Anryn to bring witches into Mahaut, leading to his arrest. Naturally, all Gruffydd cared about in the exchange was money.

　　 "I must refuse you, cousin," the King said to Gruffydd. "I owe you more than most. Which is why I will never trust you. You will not signal cooperation to Nynomath when I mean to attack. I will not sell them the witches I have spent decades depriving them of at any cost."

　　 "Your Majesty worries too much about them," Gruffydd said. "There has been no movement at the border. They suspect nothing&"

　　 "We cannot worry too much about them," Eyiffoen said. "The man may consort with heretics, but you saw the scars on his legs. If Little Griff`s tale is true, then they`ve been here far longer than we realize."

　　 Gruffydd, sensing a threat to his honor, spoke: "I`ve had the mountain patrolled every day since the prince returned to Amwarren telling tales of assassins."

　　 "That certainly was no tale," Eyiffoen said. "An arrow was recovered from the scene of the infernal rosebush. Well-made. Painted black. Fired at near-distance, likely from a rooftop. The work of a hired professional, certainly—an expensive one&"

　　 It was Gruffydd Beatrice thought. The red envelope in his library—the thunk of the heavy little things on the floor that had nearly given her away. Her mind started to race, wondering if the envelope was still there—if one of the bolts had rolled beneath the desk, perhaps. She would need evidence against Gruffydd that could be presented to the King&

　　Her mind stopped whittling when the King yelled, "Send for Prince Anryniel!"

　　 She dug her fingers into the wood frame of the doorway. If anyone tried to drag her away now, they would have to tear her nails from her hand to do it. She held her breath and waited. It only took a dozen minutes for Anryn to arrive.

　　 Anryn wasted no words. "Why is my new brother-in-law under arrest?"

　　Beatrice smiled, pleased that her new husband was so bold. The King might yell and hit when he was angry, but just as she`d imagined, her prince wasn`t afraid of monsters.

　　King Anathas spoke to his son between clenched teeth. "I believe him to be behind the attempts on your life."

　　"On what evidence?" Anryn asked. "The son of Sanchia has neither come nor gone from Mahaut in the months that I was away. He serves at his father`s pleasure. If the Duke did not want the marriage, there were easier ways to prevent it." The author`s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

　　"Gruffydd spoke against him," the King said. "There were letters discovered among the marquess`s things. They were searched after the scuffle in the street."

　　"What do the letters say?" Anryn asked. "What was the order?"

　　Gruffydd spoke up. "They were coded messages. He was to kill the Prince of Ammar. By any means. Before, or after the wedding. When you were not expecting it."

　　"To what end?" Anryn demanded. "I`ve already married his sister. He is my brother in the eyes of God and the law."

　　"He was overheard to say that there would be no wedding if you never came back," Gruffydd said.

　　Beatrice sucked in a breath. They had lived in this man`s house for almost nine weeks. While their servants drifted away one by one, Gruffydd replaced them with his own. What hadn`t been overheard? What hadn`t been searched? What careless things had they said to one another when Gruffydd had servants nearby to hear? Between the two of them, the lord could easily blame an assassination on Sanchia, whether or not the bolts of the crossbow used in the attack were found in his study.

　　Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slight movement. She turned her head and saw Queen Eva standing on the steps, in the exact spot where Beatrice had encountered her months before. Beatrice met the Queen`s eyes, and then turned her head back to the door, defiant.

　　After a moment, Queen Eva stood beside her. She reached past Beatrice to push the door open a little wider. They stood there together, listening.

　　"And he would make an enemy of you?" Anryn asked the King. That stubborn tone was still there. Beatrice was relieved. It meant that her prince believed her. "Sanchia means to renege?"

　　"Perhaps it is not Sanchia the marquess acts in the name of," Gruffydd suggested.

　　"He thinks we don`t know that he takes money from the archmages to turn a blind eye to the border once a month," Queen Eva murmured.

　　"He does?" Beatrice whispered. She glanced at her mother-in-law sidelong.

　　"Oh yes," the Queen whispered back. "Greedy pig sits in the castle his family built for him and fills it with coins from every nation. That`s why we gave him the mint—to keep his hands busy and the money counted."

　　Prince Anryn was speaking again, and what he said made all the chairs in the room squeak with tension. "You`re implying Nynomath. You don`t want to say so because you know that it`s not true. Nynomath has no reason to want me dead."

　　The King cleared his throat. "How can you know?"

　　"My death would not change Your Highness`s plan to attack. It might even strengthen it," Anryn answered his father. "Rather, someone else may have believed that Sanchia would back down if my life, or the lives of my wife and her brother, were cut short. I think, Sire, you`ve played into someone else`s plot to weaken your invasion plan by alienating the Duke."

　　"Not another word," the King shouted.

　　Beatrice startled at the sudden sound. Queen Eva`s hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder. Her cool, hard fingers dug into Beatrice`s collar, holding her in place. Beatrice glanced at the Queen. How many times had the woman heard the Lightning King erupt like this, she wondered. It must have lost its shock value long ago.

　　"You think to play the lord here, little boy?" the King shouted. "Or perhaps a martyr? To ignore such an audacious act of aggression as an attempt on your own life is weak and pitiful."

　　"I survived three separate attempts on my life in two months," Anryn snarled back. "Am I weak, or am I lucky? It`s too much for you to imagine that I am capable."

　　"I think you are foolish. You keep the company of witches, heretics, and drunks. Sway your opinions to suit the chattering buzzards of Amwarren," the Kind said. "Never mind. You are young. God willing you live long enough to keep your own council. Or to take the good help given to you by the friends that you should keep."

　　Griff spoke up. "I give your son only the best council, my liege."

　　Beside her, the Queen`s veil stirred, near her mouth, as though she snorted through the silk.

　　"Oh, such council does he give me," Anryn said. Now the prince`s voice dripped with sarcasm. "What was your advice to me? Be my own man? Wasn`t that what you said in Java?"

　　"Now, now, we need not bring the schoolyard into the King`s council&" Tommasi said.

　　"Or, as you said, it was your father`s idea I should go to Dorland," Anryn said. "That I might get scared and call the wedding off—you really think you`re in a position to offer me advice, when you`re under your own father`s thumb?"

　　"What are you saying, son?" Gruffydd asked.

　　"I`m not your son," Anryn said. His tone could have cut glass. "What I am saying, Lord Gruffydd, is that the man who compasses my death is in this room, and I am looking right at him."

　　For a moment, no one spoke. Beatrice blinked into the crack of light through the door, wondering if somehow Anryn had heard her thoughts. How else had he worked out Gruffydd was behind it? She jolted in surprise when the sound of a chair clattering to the ground broke the silence.

　　"You really have lost your mind. Professor Lawson has poisoned you against my father!" Griff`s voice did not sound so confident now. It bounced off the walls, high and shrill: "Where is your proof?"

　　Beatrice heard the whisper of metal on leather. Another Ammarish council dissolving into posturing. A second chair scraped across the floor as the Prince of Ammar stood. Beatrice heard his voice, smooth and loud, carrying ever so much more beautifully than it did when he argued.

　　"You`d better put that sword away," Anryn said. "Unless you`re prepared to use it, Griff."

　　"Look for me at dawn," Gruffydd the Younger replied. "In the public garden."

　　"This is barbaric," Lord Teqwyn interrupted. "Put up the sword, lad. That is the son of your King&"

　　"Who has been led astray by drunks and witches& who urge him to scheme and take the throne for himself," Gruffydd the Elder said quietly.

　　"You`re goddamned right. I plan to be the king because one day I will be King, as God and my father intended for me," Anryn yelled. "And if I consort with witches on my way to the Blood Throne, it`s because they give better advice than your two-faced son, you murdering traitor."

　　"Enough," the Lightning King roared, twice as loud as his son. "Everyone out. Out my lords!"

　　The Queen let go of Beatrice`s hand, and moved toward the stairs. Beatrice was shocked that Queen Eva intended to obey the King`s command, even if he could not see her. For a moment, Beatrice thought of following her. The Queen did not look back as she ascended the stairs. Beatrice decided to stay where she was and hear what the King had to say to Anryn.

　　For a long moment, the King said nothing. Beatrice could feel the tension in the room stretched to its limits, like a piece of fabric pulled yanked across too much skin.

　　Anryn tore first. "He tried to have me killed, Father. I know it."

　　Beatrice sucked in a breath. She wished that she could have poked her husband in his ribs. Prince Anryn could have outlasted the King if he`d held his tongue a little longer, maybe even flounced out of the room to buy himself some more time. Beatrice would have to teach him how to win the arguments he started.

　　"But, you have no proof. Instead, you now have an enemy. The little lord Gruffydd—who now must challenge you as a matter of honor, to defend his father. As you would fight to defend me, no doubt," the King said. "Why bother having sons at all, if they won`t live up to their fathers?"

　　Beatrice thought of the Lightning King kissing his lady in the dark. Her competitiveness flared and that protective jealousy she felt for her family now spread itself over Anryn.

　　Just you wait, Beatrice thought. My King will be a better King than you, old man!