Page 25 of A Treachery of Swans

“Could—could you leave us?” the Dauphin asks them.

They both hesitate. “Monseigneur,” says the one on the right, a man with a curling black moustache. “I do not think it’s wise to leave you with this… this…” He seems to struggle for words, pointedly avoiding Damien’s eyes. I can guess why: One day ago, they had still been comrades, brothers-in-arms. Now one of them has been accused of the worst sort of treason.

“You don’t truly believe that, do you?” the Dauphin says softly. “Please, just for a few minutes. He will not hurt me.”

The men do not move.

“Your future king has given you anorder,” I say sharply, losing my patience. “Why are you ignoring it?”

The men flinch. The one with the moustache gives us all a pained look before turning and heading back up to the entrance, his companion at his heels. They leave the torch in a sconce by the stairwell, too far to provide any true illumination, but close enough to make everything look sharp-edged and unsettling.

“Good men, those two,” Damien says as soon as the guards are gone, looking to Aimé with flinty eyes. “Loyal. Keep them close. Do not trust any of the others. Especially not the ones from noble families.”

The Dauphin frowns. “What do you mean?”

“The Regent has at least half the garrison in his pocket,” Damien says. “The nobles have more loyalty to the one who wears the crown and controls the coffers. It doesn’t help that the Regent told them all that you’ve been using the garrison budget to buy exotic wines.”

The Dauphin’s eyes widen. “But I never—”

“I know this,” Damien says, his voice feverish and unusually cruel. “The more reasonable of the men do, too. But rumor is powerful, and you must admit you have never fought this reputation the courtiers put on you.”

“You know I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t you?” Damien growls hoarsely. I realize I’m witnessing the continuation of some long-standing argument.

The Dauphin sways delicately. In the torchlight, his eyes shine with tears. “Let me help you,” he whispers, stepping up to the bars, reaching for my brother even as the other recoils. “Please. Damien. Tell me what happened last night.”

“I will not let you get involved with this,” Damien says firmly. “I am a lost cause. Forget me, Aimé. Focus on keeping yourself—and the crown—safe.”

“The crown?” the Dauphin stammers. “Surely you don’t think my uncle is somehow responsible for this?”

“I don’t know what to think!” Damien snaps. His gaze flashes to me like a sword strike, pinning me even as I back away into the shadows. “I don’t know what to think,” he repeats, the words aimed in my direction this time.

There is a beat of silence, broken by a distant crash of thunder. I try not to look too closely at the bloodstains on my brother’s shirt. Try to ignore the way my chest twists in pain, seeing him like this. Try to tell myself there’s nothing more I can do for him right now without arousing suspicion. I know I have to try and free him. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to tell him that. Perhaps it’s because a cruel part of me wants to watch him squirm, in revenge for abandoning me five years ago. Or perhaps it’s because even now, I refuse to let Damien win—to give him proof that I’m not as heartless as I want to be. As Ishouldbe.

Show your pain, and it will be exploited.

In the end, in my frustration, all I can manage is a cold sneer.

Damien looks away, his jaw clenching in fury. To the Dauphin he says, with pointed force, “Aimé, listen. Whatever was done to King Honoré… it wasmonstrous.Something no ordinary human would be capable of.”

“But they said he… he was stabbed,” the Dauphin stammers. “Thatyoustabbed him.”

“Stabbed him?” A grating laugh shakes Damien’s frame, a sound immediately followed by a groan. He doubles over, clutching his ribs, and shakes his head ruefully. “I didn’t see what happened. I didn’t even know it was the King I was following—just mysterious shadows on the grounds. By the time I found him and his company… everyone was dead. Why they were out there, so late at night, I do not know. Yes, there was a knife thrown on the ground nearby, and I picked it up, foolishly. That was the weapon they found me with. But it was not the weapon of the killing. All you’d have to do is look at the body to know that—”

He breaks off as a clamor reaches us from the stairs. A moment later, a sapphire-clad figure descends into the prison like a storm cloud, trailed by Aimé’s guards.

“What are you doing down here?” Anne de Malezieu screeches. The Step-Queen’s face is white with fury, one hand clenched, the other lifting her silk skirts high off the ground in a show of disgust. With surprising force she snatches the Dauphin’s wrists and drags him away from the cell, stepping between him and Damien.

“Why are you speaking to this—thismonster? Was thisheridea?” She jerks her head in my direction. Before Aimé can open his mouth to respond, she begins to usher him toward the stairs. “Out,” she demands. “Out!”

I look over my shoulder, trying to catch a final glimpse of mybrother, but he has retreated into the depths of his cell. Sighing, I gather up my skirts and follow the Dauphin into the rainy daylight.

The Step-Queen escorts the Dauphin all the way back to the palace. It has begun to rain in earnest, a slate gray torrent that soaks us all in an instant, turning the ground slick and treacherous. We trail it into the Château hall, dripping rainwater onto the marble floor. Only then does the Step-Queen release Aimé’s wrist, wringing water from her soggy raven ringlets.

“What were you thinking?” she demands. “Going down to see a murderer? It is fortunate one of the garrison guards had the thought to alert me.Yourguards I will have to see about demoting, Aimé. They should have stopped you.”

The Dauphin opens his mouth to protest but cannot seem to make a sound.

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