Chapter Thirty-Five
Valeris
My sour mood had plagued me since the fight with Zandyr.
I sat alone in my room, nibbling at a cherry pastry but not really eating.
The sixth and seventh balls loomed before me, but neither were prime ground for forming alliances.
I had visited the ambassador of Ingon to discuss trading fees, but he hadn’t been willing to budge.
Ezrielle had already secured a better alliance with him via other means.
Time was running out.
And it was no friend of mine.
My father called us to his study, and it was difficult to keep from squirming, remembering what he’d dropped on us the last time we had all gathered here.
No sign of my mother. As always. She never dirtied her hands with political affairs unless she was offended or jilted. In which case she would run crying to my father to fix it for her.
“The chancellor has kept me informed on the competition,” my father said. “It appears none of you are failing, but I’m sure you could do better.”
I held in my scoff.
“Since it seems none of you currently have the upper hand, the sixth ball will be the determining factor of who takes the lead—and who might be most worthy to wear the crown.”
His gaze lingered on me during the last phrase. My throat bobbed. Did he want me to win this?
“I expect your best performances, and I want the royal family represented well. Do not disappoint me.”
And with that, we were dismissed. All the alliances we had secured should count for something, but it was just like my father to throw it all out the window. Hinge the entire competition on our performance at the puzzle ball, giving the one of us falling behind an unearned lead on the other two.
One thing was certain: I needed to win. If I didn’t and the kingdom fell to either Zandyr or Ezrielle, the blame would rest with me.
And in the midst of all this, we had an assassin on the loose trying to destroy my family.
I returned to my room and sat at my desk, thinking it over.
If they had started with Rivero, why would they go after my uncle?
He held no political power, nothing to gain by being assassinated. Nothing of consequence.
Except for the ring.
I had never seen my uncle without it, but he didn’t act like it was anything valuable.
When I’d asked him about it once, transfixed by the opal stone, he’d said its value was tied up in sentiment.
The thing was, it didn’t look valuable. It looked pretty.
How much could it be worth? Who else would have such an attachment to that ring they would be willing to kill for it?
Unless something else was going on here.
... or unless my uncle had lied.
Uncle Wylan wasn’t a liar, though, and if he had wanted to mention something specific they tried to steal, why be as specific with a worthless ring?
I reached into my desk, pulling out a small painted portrait of the royal family.
It was a copy of the massive one hanging in the royal hall.
I had never seen anything so fake in my entire life.
The royal family. All standing together as if they cared about one another at all.
I was just a baby at the time the portrait was commissioned, and Rivero had still been at home.
But the portrait lacked my uncle.
I’d heard he left for several years when he was younger after my father was crowned king.
As far as I knew, no one had spoken to him during that time or knew where he had been.
It was a mystery now that I thought about it, only he wasn’t important enough for it to be considered a mystery worth solving.
That time had to have been where the ring came from. Something in his past, something that was evil coming back to haunt him. Evil enough he thought it was connected to my brother’s assassination. Just what had he gotten into that was bringing wrath down upon our whole family?
No matter.
There was little I could do about it now when we didn’t even have a suspect.
I glanced out the window, noting the falling sun. The sixth ball would be starting soon. It had always been my favorite, but now I dreaded it. It held more weight, more purpose. I was no longer a kid who could simply enjoy frivolous affairs. I had a job to do. A family reputation to uphold.
But more than anything, I needed a distraction tonight.
I strode over to the door, flinging it open and catching the sentry off guard.
“I’ll be leaving for the ball in ten minutes,” I announced.
Howland harrumphed from where he’d been sleeping on a couch across the hall.
I shut the door behind me and searched my closet for something to wear. It didn’t need to be fashionable, but functional and practical. I picked out a pair of trousers and a tunic, lacing up a freshly shined pair of boots.
I would win the competition at this ball.
A small smile lit my face.
And I knew exactly who I would go with.