Page 33 of A Treachery of Swans

“Or be punished for insubordination,” he echoes unconvincingly.

“It will be painful,” I add.

The Dauphin gives me a flat look.

Unfortunately, the threats fall on deaf ears. The guard sets his jaw. “I’m sorry, monseigneur,” he says to the Dauphin. “But you are not yet king. The Regent was very firm in his orders.”

The Dauphin wilts visibly. He looks away, tugging at his lace cuffs, and then sighs. “Very well,” he says. “I will not force discomfort on you. You are both only trying to follow orders.”

I glance at him, startled by the change in demeanor.

He turns away, then seems to remember something. “Your name is Thomas, is it not?” he says to the larger guard. “Your father was the old captain of the guard. Recently retired.”

The man’s brows shoot up. “How did you know?”

“You look alike,” the Dauphin says. “He taught me to shoot, you know, your father—I miss that man dearly. I would trust him with my life.” He offers the man a smile and begins to walk away.

The guard’s eyes flicker with sudden conflict. Then, he steps forward. “Wait.”

The Dauphin pauses, hope lighting in his eyes.

Thomas and his companion exchange looks. Then, Thomas sighs. “I can give you five minutes,” he says. “But that is all.”

He opens one of the chapel’s double doors for us, ushering us through. Inside, the white of the chapel looks overcast, nearly gray. It has begun to rain outside, threadbare raindrops casting themselves upon the narrow windows.

Once the door is closed, I turn to the Dauphin with a grin. “Impressive. I did not think you had that in you.”

He looks perplexed. “Had what in me?”

“Manipulation,” I say, wiggling my fingers. “How did you know that bringing up his father would make him feel guilty?”

“Oh.” The Dauphin’s brows dip. “That was not my intention. I simply wanted to know if I was right about Thomas’s identity. I try to remember the names of all the men of the guard. The Château staff, too.” He chuckles ruefully. “Sometimes they’re the only people who will really listen to me. I try to pay the favor back when I can.”

Ugh. I could shudder at thenobilityof it. No wonder he gets on with my brother so well.

I make a noncommittal sound in the back of my throat and turn my attention to the chapel. As the rain intensifies, the shadows within begin to twitch and writhe across the white flooring, making the looming Mothers seem to grimace. Someone has left a section of the arched windows cracked open, and water leaks along the wall, dripping monotonously into a slick pool. The high-ceilinged chamber still smells of incense, but the scent is joined by the heavy grimness of decaying flesh.

Suddenly the Dauphin sucks in a breath. I follow his gaze as a chill crawls over me.

On the altar, covered by a sheet of pristine white silk, lies a body.

The Dauphin wrings his hands. “Oh, Mothers,” he whispers. “He’s really dead, isn’t he?”

The wavering in his voice makes my chest clench in discomfort. Mothers, I hope he doesn’tcry.“Took you a while to notice,” I say, trying to keep levity in my voice. Then, impatient, I waltz up to the altar and seize the corner of the sheet. It rustles in the rain-heavy breeze. “Come on,” I urge. “Let’s do this before we are seen.” Without waiting for his response, I tug it away from the figure.

What I see beneath makes bile rise in my throat.

The King of Auréal looks smaller in death. His skin puddles around him, white and bloodless—his face is slack, and his mouth is frozen in a perpetual, almost comical scowl. He lies naked, vulnerable, the thick hairs on his legs standing like the bristles of some wild hog. And…

The silk sheet slips free from my hands, falling at my feet.

Most of the King’s chest is missing.

Deep, violent grooves have all but ravaged his torso: his sternum reduced to a nub, splinters of his ribs scattered over the spongysurface of his exposed lungs. Part of his heart can be seen, slick as ripe fruit, framed by flaps of jagged flesh. As I track my eyes over the damage, I notice there are deep teeth marks in his right arm and shoulder, as though he had raised it in defense.

For a moment I’m entranced by the sight, filled with a mixture of revulsion and grim fascination.

Then I hear the quiet sobbing behind me.

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