Page 116 of A Thieving Curse

For several agonizing seconds, no one said a word. The only sound was the snapping of pennons in the wind on the castle battlements, the gentle splash of the fountains, and the muffled echo from the outer courtyard. Raelyn held her breath, waiting. Henry’s hand fell to his side.

“Impossible,” Henry sputtered. “Impossible.”

“You can no longer hide what you did, Uncle.” Alex took several slow breaths and looked a little less pale. “As you can see, my curse is broken.”

Henry stepped back, his eyes wide. “It can’t be,” he muttered, so quietly Raelyn barely heard him.

Tristan’s brows knit. “He claims you cursed him, but he’s lying…right?”

“Me?” Henry’s terrified expression hardened. “Of course not! His sorceress mother—”

“Lies!” Alex’s voice quaked. “You poisoned your own sister and then defamed her memory! You killed my father and cursed me so you could steal the throne! You are a murderer and a user of dark magic!”

Henry seethed, his eyes flashing. “You dare accuseme—”

“I dare.” Jasper shuffled forward as best as he could with his neck tied between Alex’s and Gareth’s. He made an effort to straighten his back slightly, his face pinching. “Do you remember me, sire?” He didn’t wait for Henry to answer. “I was King Philip’s royal steward. The queen was no sorceress. She never went near the dark arts. But I saw your servants sneaking around the royal kitchens during both her and the late king’s mysterious illnesses. And I know that King Philip was stabbed through the heart, despite your attempt to hide it.”

“And I woke up to you chanting and waving a cursed talisman over me.” Alex’s jaw trembled. Tears glinted along his lower eyelids. “When my screams of pain faded and I couldn’t figure out how to control my new wings and tail, you laughed at me!” He swallowed hard. “Should I tell them what you told me?”

Henry clenched his fists at his sides. “Gag this imposter.”

“You said no one would want a cursed king,” Raelyn supplied. Everyone looked at her.

“They’ll beg me to kill you,” Tristan whispered. “He…can’t be telling the truth?”

“He’snot.” Henry drew his sword. Father did the same, and in moments sunlight reflected off dozens of swords in the courtyard. “I am king! If this…boy is who he claims, then he’s been living as a twisted monster for twelve years!” Henry stomped toward Alex. Alex’s eyes went wide, and he shrank back.

“No!” Meredith pulled Alex close, a look in her eyes like she would fight Henry herself before losing another son. Henry didn’t acknowledge her as he lifted his weapon.

Raelyn cried out and started toward Alex, but Father caught her arm. He drew her aside and strode to block Henry’s advance. “I think you should call your Court, and we can hear everything all parties have to say for themselves,” Father said evenly.

“Don’t tell me what to do inmykingdom, Argent.”

Father gripped his sword’s hilt. Mother clutched Raelyn’s hand so tightly it would have hurt even if she didn’t have healing blisters.

“Your Excellency,” Raelyn said, careful to keep her tone respectful, “Rethalyon’s laws require you to convene the Court of Lords to address Prince Alexander’s claims.”

After a moment, Henry sheathed his sword. “Fine. A meeting of the Court will allow me to have this upstart publicly executed.” He stormed into the palace.

Raelyn extricated her hand from Mother’s crushing grip and sprinted to Alexander. She brushed her fingers over his jawline. Four days was too long to be forced to observe him from a distance. “Alex.” Too many things she wanted to say tangled her tongue, so she just smiled.

“So far, so good,” he said with a weak grin. “I’m still alive, at any rate.”

She laughed nervously. “You—”

“Princess.” Tristan grabbed her arm and tore her away.

“Release her!” Father, Alex, and Gareth shouted in unison. Father and Mother hurried over to them.

Tristan released her but positioned himself in front of Alex and crossed his arms. “Does the treaty still hold, Your Excellency?”

“Tenuously, prince,” Father ground out. “Very tenuously.”

“Then I take exception to my wife—”

“She’s not your wife!” Alexander’s voice had regained some of its usual smoothness.

Tristan pointedly ignored Alex. “We were meant to marry weeks ago. According to the treaty that is actually in effect, she’s my wife.”

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