Page 140 of Prize for the King
They nod and shuffle until the elderly Minister of Agriculture steps forward and answers clearly.
“Yes, my queen.”
A triumphant smile curls around the corners of my lips when Ronan speaks for the first time since the trial began.
“It wasn’t my hand.”
I stare at him, nonplussed, and speak before I have time to think. “What do you mean it’s not your hand? Isn’t it your book, Minister?”
He nods easily. “Yes, it is. I must admit to some negligence, however. I had my nephew write in my book while I dictated. He must have betrayed me and the king.”
His eyes brim with insolence, lips curved in a smirk that only I can see. I don’t believe him for a second. He’s the one responsible, and this is just a ruse—a ruse to spare his life while his nephew gets the blame.
Because if the only crime Ronan is supposedly guilty of is trusting the wrong person, I can’t sentence him to death. I can imprison him for up to a year, and then he’ll walk free, a traitor ready to get us all slaughtered.
My first trial will be a disaster with catastrophic consequences forRoharra.
The floor wobbles under me, and I desperately dig my nails into my palms to regain composure.Think, Caliane! What would your father do?
Strangely, that helps me calm down. Oh, he was a horrible father and a cruel king, but a skilled politician. It doesn’t matter his lessons were only an excuse to grope me. I’ll use them.
“Very well,” I say, doing my best to sound unaffected. “What’s your nephew’s name? I want him brought forward to testify.”
“I only have one nephew,” Ronan says, his eyes glittering with triumph. “His name is Bodra. He should be here, Your Majesty.”
“Bodra, come forward,” I command.
A boy of no more that sixteen, gangly and big-eyed, steps out of the crowd. I watch him grimly. On Lirande’s veil, will he actually admit to his uncle’s crimes and sacrifice himself? I hope not, but I have a bad feeling. Ronan is too confident.
“Have you written those entries?” I ask the boy, gesturing at the documents.
He doesn’t even look at them, his voice trembling. “Y-yes, Your Majesty.”
The crowd erupts in shouts of surprise and a few laughs. My hands shake, covered in cold sweat, and this time, I don’t know what to do.
The Agnidari treat an admission of guilt as the ultimate proof.
“Are you aware you will die for this?” I ask among the cacophony of excitement in the room.
The boy looks up, his eyes filled to the brim with terror. He nods, his entire body trembling. My heart sinks.He didn’t do it.And yet, Ronan must have threatened him somehow, done something to him.
The boy is going to die for his uncle’s sins unless I do something, but I have no idea what. No more of my father’s lessons rise from my memory to help.
I have failed.
XLIII Rolling
Without realizing what I’m doing, I turn to look at Magnar, letting him—only him—see my despair. I’m a failure. I’ll never have the council’s respect. I’m a useless queen, useless wife. Good for nothing.
As if he’s only waited for a sign from me, Magnar rises fluidly and comes over. The crowd falls silent when he grips the back of my head as he tilts it, supporting the crown so it doesn’t fall off. He leans in, bowing low to reach my lips, and gives me a slow, tender kiss.
“Do you want my help?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
“Good. You did wonderful for your first time, my prize.”
He straightens and walks down the steps, and I stare after him, blinking from shock.Wonderful?I failed. In the past, failure always meant punishment.
