Page 102 of The Artist and the Dragon

“I can hardly believe it.” The chair groaned as Lord Buell plopped into it, drink in hand. “I thought for sure you were against us.”

A few murmurs of agreement fell from the other men.

Malik grinned. “That’s the purpose of a secret identity, isn’t it? To hide one’s true motives until all the pieces are in place?”

Lord Buell took a long sip and sighed, showing the red still on his teeth. “Well, I’ll be. The younger Mr. Caddick swore you were on to him and were going to end him. Er, you as the prince, that is. And then when he disappeared a week later? Well, I was sure he was right.” He let out a small version of that hated, grating laugh.

Malik slid his feet from the table and leaned forward. “I did end him.”

Everyone drew silent, staring at him.

Malik shrugged. “He let fear get the better of him and turned traitor. He was willing to rat anyone out to save his own skin, and we can’t have that, now, can we?” Really, he’d done them a favor with that one.

“Of course not,” Lord Osric said, voice brimming with confidence. “We all knew the importance of secrecy and holding to the cause. Your father ingrained that lesson in us.” At Malik’s flat look, he added, “If you don’t mind me saying so.”

“He taught us all in different ways,” Malik admitted.

“Goddess grant him peace.” Lord Buell set his glass aside and made the sign of the Goddess in front of him.

Malik’s nose curled like he’d smelled something foul. Such praise for his father had that effect.

“What happened to Mr. Davies?” one of the men asked. “He was the one of us who really knew you. When he died, I feared the movement might end with him.”

“So little faith in me, Harold?” Malik tsked. “An unfortunate loss, yes, but he’d been seen by too many people. And, as you say, he knew me. What would have happened had he been taken alive? Forced to speak against us all? There’s a reason I was waiting backstage that night and was present at many of our other demonstrations. Who else would be better positioned to make sure our tracks were covered? To assuage doubters and push the nobility to see that the current monarchy is weak and ill-suited to protecting them?”

Rising assent filled the silence. The fervor of it tingled in the air.

“You’re right. I couldn’t see it before, but you were always there,” Lord Osric acknowledged. “I, for one, would rather die in the service, at your hands, Your Highness, than be turned against you.”

“Just as well it was Davies,” Lord Buell said in his booming voice. “Always bothered me that one without our gifts had such privilege.”

Lord Osric looked at him, aghast.

Malik raised a careful brow. “You question my choices?”

“I…” The man’s throat bobbed. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

“Now”—Malik sat back in his chair—“if you’re done doubting me, let’s get on to business. But first, a toast.” He grabbed his glass and raised it high in the air. “To the future!”

He watched in satisfaction as each man took a long sip.

Only when they finished did he continue. “Now, the fruit of our labors is beginning to ripen. After all, what sort of king runs off on a wedding moon when there is such upheaval in the capital? When the people rally for the change that we can bring?”

The fervor rose again, a heady sensation that one could easily get swept up in, and Malik stoked it higher.

“The nobility are primed for change. I hear it. I see it daily. And so, I have revealed myself to all as I did to you.”

A heavy pounding came at the door, and silence fell over the room.

Malik stood, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The other men turned toward the sound as it came again.

“Uncle Pembroke, cousin Perry, are you in there?” called a voice.

The two men, father and son, startled. “Nevitt?” asked the elder.

With a sigh, Malik strode to the door. Young upstarts had the worst timing. He unlocked it and swung it open. The young man stormed in, nearly knocking him down in the process. Just as well. Malik closed and locked the door once more.

“You have to leave!” Nevitt cried. “This is a sham!”

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