inside the dungeons,” Hester growled.
“Inside the dungeons,” the Dean repeated.
Hester’s eyes flared. This was why Dovey was a Dean and she was still a student. She should never have doubted her. Quickly, Hester hewed to the wall, slipped her fingertip through the tiny hole and into the summer heat. She felt her fingerglow activate and sizzle bright red. The first rule of magic is that it follows emotion and when it came to her hatred of Rhian, she had enough to light up all of Camelot.
“Should we really be doing this?” Kiko asked. “If the scim’s out there—”
“How about I kill you, so you don’t have to worry,” Hester fired back.
Kiko pursed her lips.
She’s right, though, Hester thought sourly. The scim could be outside the hole, listening . . . but they had to take the chance. A closer look at the stage would let them see Sophie with Rhian. It would let them see whose side Sophie was really on.
Quickly Hester lined up her eye to the hole, so she had a view of the stage, which looked like a matchbox from this far away. Even worse, just as Nicola said, she couldn’t see the front of the stage—only a view from the side, with Rhian and Sophie’s backs to her, high over the crowd.
Still, it would have to do.
Hester aimed her fingerglow directly at Rhian and Sophie. With half her mind, she focused on the stage angle she wanted to spy on; with the other half, she focused on the dank, dirty cell in front of her. . . .
“Reflecta asimova,” she whispered.
At once, a two-dimensional projection appeared inside the prison cell, floating in the air like a screen. With colors muted, like a faded painting, the projection offered them a magnified view of what was happening on the Blue Tower balcony in real time. In this view, they could observe Rhian and Sophie close up, though only in profile.
“So a mirrorspell can let you see anything bigger from far away?” Hort said, wide-eyed. “Why didn’t anyone show me this spell at school?”
“Because we all know how you would have used it,” Professor Dovey scorched.
“Why aren’t we watching them from the front?” Beatrix complained, studying Rhian and Sophie. “I can’t see their faces—”
“The spell magnifies the angle I can see through the hole,” said Hester testily. “And from here, I can only see the stage from the side.”
In the projection, Rhian was still speaking to the guests, his tall, lean frame and blue-and-gold suit in shadow, while he held Sophie with one arm.
“Why doesn’t she run?” said Nicola.
“Or shoot him with a spell?” said Willam.
“Or kick him in the marbles?” said Dot.
“Told you we couldn’t trust her,” Reena harped.
“No. That’s not it,” Hester countered. “Look closer.”
The crew followed her gaze. Though they couldn’t see Rhian’s or Sophie’s faces, they honed in on Sophie from behind, shuddering under Rhian’s grip in her pink gown . . . Rhian’s knuckles turning white as they dug into her . . . Excalibur clenched in his other hand, pressed against her spine . . .
“That dirty creep,” Beatrix realized, turning to Dovey. “You said Rhian wants to keep Sophie loyal. How is sticking a sword in her going to do that?”
“Many a man has made his wife loyal at the point of a sword,” the Dean said gravely.
Dot sighed. “Sophie really does have the worst taste in boys.”
Indeed, only twenty minutes before, Sophie had leapt into Rhian’s arms and kissed him, believing she was engaged to Tedros’ new knight. Now that knight was Tedros’ enemy and threatening to kill Sophie unless she played along with his charade.
But that wasn’t all they could see from this vantage point.
There was someone else on the stage watching the coronation too.
Someone concealed inside the balcony, out of view of the crowd.
The Snake.
He stood there in his ripped, bloody suit of scims, watching the king speak.
“First, we need our princess to become a queen,” Rhian proclaimed to the people, his voice amplified in the cell by the projection. “And as the future queen, it is Sophie’s honor to plan the wedding. Not some pretentious royal spectacle of the past. But a wedding that brings us closer to you. A wedding for the people!”
“Sophie! Sophie! Sophie!” the crowd brayed.
Sophie squirmed in his grip, but Rhian shoved the sword harder against her.
“Sophie has a full week of parties and feasts and parades in store,” he continued. “Followed by the wedding and crowning of your new queen!”
“Queen Sophie! Queen Sophie!” the masses anointed her.
Sophie’s posture straightened, listening to the adoring crowd.
In a flash, she yanked away from Rhian, daring him to do something to her.
Rhian froze, still gripping her hard. Though his face was in shadow, Hester could see him watching Sophie.
Silence fell over the crowd. They sensed the tension.
Slowly, King Rhian looked back at the people. “It seems our Sophie has a request,” he said, even and serene. “A request she’s been pressing upon me day and night and that I’ve been hesitant to grant, because I hoped the wedding would be our moment. But if there’s one thing I know about being king: what my queen wants, my queen must get.”
Rhian looked at his bride-to-be, a cold smile on his face.
“So the night of the wedding ceremony, at Princess Sophie’s insistence . . . we will begin with the execution of the impostor king.”
Sophie lurched back in shock, nearly slicing herself on Excalibur’s blade.
“Which means a week from today . . . Tedros dies,” Rhian finished, glaring straight at her.
Shrieks rang out from Camelot’s people, who rushed forward in defense of Arthur’s son, but they were stymied by citizens from dozens of other kingdoms, kingdoms once ignored by Tedros and now firmly behind the new king.
“TRAITOR!” one Camelot man screamed at Sophie.
“TEDROS TRUSTED YOU!” a Camelot woman shouted.
“YOU’RE A WITCH!” her child yelled at Sophie.
Sophie stared at them, speechless.
“Go now, my love,” Rhian cooed, giving her a kiss on the cheek before
