nothing to do,” Rhian said, glowering at the maid, “fetch the captain of the guard. I need to speak with him.”
Guinevere was still searching Sophie’s eyes—
“Shall we kill your son tonight?” Rhian spat at her.
Guinevere ran out.
Sophie probed at her soup, seeing her own face reflected. A drop of sweat plunked into the stew. Did Guinevere understand? If Tedros was going to survive, she needed his mother to do her part.
Sophie looked up at the king. “So . . . we have a deal? My friends working in the castle, I mean. I could use them for the wedding—”
Two more maids came out of the kitchens, carrying gruel lumped on brass trays as they headed towards the stairs.
“Hold,” said Rhian.
The maids stopped.
“Those are for the dungeons?” he said.
The maids nodded.
“They can wait,” said the king, turning to Sophie. “Like I had to wait for you.”
The maids took the trays back into the kitchen.
Sophie stared at him.
The king smiled as he ate. “Don’t like the soup?”
Sophie put her spoon down. “The last chef was better. As was the last king.”
The king stopped smiling. “I proved I’m Arthur’s true heir. I proved I’m the king. And still you side with that fake.”
“King Arthur would never have a son like you,” Sophie blazed. “And even if he did, there’s a reason he kept you secret. He must have known how you and your brother would turn out.”
Rhian’s face went murder-red, his hand palming his metal cup as if he might throw it at her. Then slowly the color seeped out of his cheeks and he smiled.
“And here you thought we had a deal,” he said.
Now it was Sophie who swallowed her fire.
If she wanted her friends released, she had to be smart.
She poked at her soup. “So, what did you do this afternoon?” she asked, a bit too brightly.
“Wesley and I went to the armory and realized there isn’t an axe sharp enough to cut off Tedros’ head,” said the king, mouth full. “So we considered how many swings it would take to sever through his neck with a dull axe and whether the crowd might cheer harder for that than a clean blow.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” Sophie croaked, feeling ill. “Anything else?”
“Met with the Kingdom Council. A gathering of every leader in the Woods, conducted via spellcast. I assured them that as long as they support me as king, Camelot will protect their kingdoms, Good and Evil, just as I protected them from the Snake. And that I would never betray them, like Tedros did, when he helped that monster.”
Sophie stiffened. “What?”
“I suggested it was Tedros who likely paid the Snake and his rebels,” said Rhian, clear-eyed. “All those fundraisers his queen hosted . . . Where else could that gold have gone? Tedros must have thought that if he weakened the kingdoms around him, it would make him stronger. That’s why he has to be executed, I told the Council. Because if he is lying about being Arthur’s heir, then he could be lying about everything.”
Sophie was speechless.
“Of course, I personally invited all members of the Kingdom Council to the wedding festivities, beginning with the Blessing tomorrow,” Rhian went on. “Oh, almost forgot. I also proposed demolishing the School for Good and Evil, now that it no longer has its Deans or a School Master.”
Sophie dropped her spoon.
“They voted me down, of course. They still believe in that decrepit School. They still believe the Storian needs to be protected. The School and the Storian are the lifeblood of the Woods, they say.” Rhian wiped his mouth with his hand, streaking red across it. “But I didn’t go to that School. The Storian means nothing to me. And I’m King of the Woods.”
His face changed, the cold sheen of his eyes cracking, and Sophie could see the smolder of resentments beneath.
“But the day will come when every kingdom in the Woods changes its tune. When every kingdom in the Woods believes in a King instead of a School, a Man instead of a Pen . . .” He stared right at Sophie, the outline of Lionsmane pulsing gold through his suit pocket like a heartbeat. “From that day, the One True King will rule forever.”
“That day will never come,” Sophie spat.
“Oh, it’ll come sooner than you think,” said Rhian. “Funny how a wedding can bring everyone together.”
Sophie tensed in her chair. “If you think I’ll be your good little queen while you lie like a devil and destroy the Woods—”
“You think I chose you because you’d be a ‘good’ queen?” Rhian chuckled. “That’s not why I chose you. I didn’t choose you at all.” He leaned forward. “The pen chose you. The pen said you’d be my queen. Just like it said I’d be king. That’s why you’re here. The pen. Though I’m beginning to question its judgment.”
“The pen?” Sophie said, confused. “Lionsmane? Or the Storian? Which pen?”
Rhian grinned back. “Which pen, indeed.”
There was a twinkle in his eye, something sinister and yet familiar, and a chill rippled up Sophie’s spine. As if she had the whole story wrong yet again.
“It doesn’t make sense. A pen can’t ‘choose’ me as your queen,” Sophie argued. “A pen can’t see the future—”
“And yet here you are, just like it promised,” said Rhian.
Sophie thought about something he’d said to his brother . . .
“I know how to get what you want. What we both want.”
“What do you really want with Camelot?” Sophie pressed. “Why are you here?”
“You called, Your Highness?” a voice said, and a boy walked into the dining room wearing a gilded uniform, the same boy Sophie had seen evicting Chef Silkima and her staff from the castle.
Sophie tracked him as he gave her a cursory glance, his face square-jawed, his torso pumped with muscle. He had baby-smooth cheeks and narrow, hooded eyes. Sophie’s first thought was that he was oppressively handsome. Her second thought was that he’d looked familiar when she’d noticed him in the garden, but now she was certain she’d seen him before.
“Yes, Kei,” said Rhian, welcoming the boy into the dining room.
Kei. Sophie’s stomach lurched. She’d spotted him with Dot at Beauty and
