At the celebration in honor of King Edulf’s reign of forty-two years, Silas partook of the feast prepared in the Great Hall. Tables had been filled with food: an assortment of meats, including roast, veal, and salted pork; salads of greens; beans; onions and beets; and fresh bread.

Casks of ale, mead, and wine had been served. Of which, Silas had drank heavily.

The king sat at the head of the long table, overseeing the grand festivities. His golden crown glittered against the deep golden velvet of his cloak.

To the king’s left, Falco laughed heartily. He had finished his heart-felt toast to his grandfather. The Lord High Steward, Sergius Lothar, slapped Falco’s shoulder. For the last few years, Lord Joyce Moryn had served loyally as the Earl Marshal, who joined in the revelry.

High Arch Priest Cassius sat next to Silas’s father, Prince Fenwick. The priest wore a dramatic dalmatic, ornate red fabric adorned with a woven hawk, flame, and chalice embroidered design. His cincture was heavily ornamented with precious jewels. Yet, one’s eyes fell upon the brilliant ruby ring he wore on his left hand.

Cassius had held position within the Great Temple for most of his forty-two reigning years. He rose to his position of power ten years ago with the favor of King Edulf.

Silas watched his father interact with the old priest. He should have been a priest himself. His father had always held to the following of the Great One. His ambition never held toward the crown.

That dream had been his mother’s.

A dream crushed by Falco’s appearance.

He looked down the table to Lady Dogmar beside Queen Beatrix. His mother was not one to ignore. She dressed for effect. Her coppery hair was arranged high with a deep-red headdress. Her gown matched, deep red, with her bodice cut down on the swell of her breasts.

Most of the court had knowledge of Lady Dogmar’s long list of lovers, including Lord Pigoc. Revolting, in Silas’s eyes, the way a heavy, stout man with salted-brown hair indulged his mother. Moreover, Pigoc had claimed the seat to her right.

His father chose to look the other way. In truth, Prince Fenwick had no interest in his wife, nor any other woman. His father disgusted Silas.

The man had not been a father to him. The most he had done was donate his seed for Silas’s existence. Nothing more.

King Edulf had overseen his upbringing. It was to his grandfather Silas gave his loyalty and admiration.

Silas filled his goblet with mead. In one sip, he downed the entire contents, relieving a growing frustration.

His eyes fell upon his sister, Belasquita.

She smiled at him.

Well, she should.

She had what she wanted.

A crown.

Silas remembered Belasquita as a small child: sweet, caring, and painfully shy. He paid little attention to his sister until he had noticed a dramatic change in her after his first tour of Scarladin.

At nine, she had become confident, taunting, and daring. While she grew older, she had become more womanly, ever more beautiful, and ever more manipulating.

Belasquita had learned the art of manipulation well. She had almost caused a civil war.

Never in his life had Silas seen his grandfather concede to a demand. He had never considered the king would have done so with his mother and sister’s ultimatum.

A woman telling King Edulf what to do! Never! Yet, it had happened.

What’s more, King Edulf had not seemed to care. The king seemed more interested in tournaments and feasts.

There had been a change in his grandfather since the Battle of Payelaga Desert.

Basking in victory, the king had been exhilarated, with cause. The kingdom had the most powerful Euchoun, bonded with their bravest warrior.

There lay the problem.

The Euchoun.

Her power spoke to the danger Scarladin faced. Yet, King Edulf had exiled her to the Forbidden Forest and her warrior to the Payelaga Desert.

Yet since victory, turmoil swirled.

Prince Pieter steadfastly refused to marry Belasquita, calling instead for the original agreement to be held to. He called into question King Edulf’s honor, threatening the Meitfe Oath.

The Brixtone prince was in his rights to call into question Scarladin’s actions. If he did so, it would result in the king’s death.

Lady Dogmar demanded a crown for Belasquita. She cried that the loss of status at the appearance of Falco should be repaid. She reasoned that the only solution became Falco’s union with Belasquita.

His cousin had been attached at birth to a Witheleghean in the House of Felstead. King Edulf had not considered it a serious attachment, but he had never been one to give one of his grandchildren on a whim.

Only weeks before, there had been talks with Ulric House, head of the Acciptritutes clan. His eldest daughter, Millicent, was of age to become attached. It had been a union King Edulf would have given favor to keep the clans of Scarladin content.

King Edulf had always insisted his granddaughters’ attachments provide strategic advantages for Scarladin. It was the reason that the king wanted Belasquita for Brixtone. If Prince Pieter broke the agreement, even in ignorance, the Meitfe Oath would have been nullified.

Instead, Millicent had become Silas’s wife because of the discord that his mother had caused. Belasquita had become Falco’s bride. In turn, Prince Pieter had become increasingly impatient.

The man had refused to leave Yucca, demanding Kela’s appearance.

That had not happened.

It worried Silas.

The musicians began to play. He looked over at his bride. Millicent quickly lowered her gaze with her hands in her lap.

He would not bother her this day.

The night they wed, he had done his duty. The frightened girl had been submissive and laid silently during the intimacy. It had been a necessity to consummate the marriage.

Otherwise, he would have waited until she had grown older.

Young, Millicent was fourteen and looked younger. He was a grown man with no desire to have a child bride. Yet, like his wife, he had not been given a choice.

Even in the dark, Millicent had turned from him to undress and winced on his touch. She weighed on his nerves as she cried uncontrollably afterward.

He gave her no comforting words. Instead, he left her to her misery. He himself had found other amusements.

Marrying for convenience was a barbaric practice. His marriage would not have been anything but a political alliance.

The poor girl had not laid eyes on him before the ceremony. Though, she had been fortunate that the custom of bedding was no longer observed.

His bashful bride would not have survived the men ripping off her clothing and carrying her into the bed she would share with her husband.

Falco led his bride to the dance floor. Unlike Silas’s marriage, Falco seemed content…no, enthralled. The heir apparent could not take his eyes off Belasquita

Dancing so beautifully, Silas’s sister looked exquisite. The gown she wore was a deep-violet samite and cloth-of-gold, which lined the violet along the long dagged sleeves and the bodice that was cut low down between her breasts. A cloth-of-gold belt hung around her waist.

It was a woman’s gown.

All eyes were upon Belasquita as she switched dance partners. It mattered little who she danced with. She laughed and flirted daringly, charming each as if she had all the world at her command.

“She is lovely.”

The words hung in the air. Glancing over his shoulder, Silas watched the prince of Brixtone walk up to the dais.

“Prince Pieter.” Silas acknowledged the man with icy courtesy. “I did not expect to see you tonight. I would have thought you would have returned to Brixtone.”

Pieter had not dressed in his unusual fashion. Instead, he wore a white drop yoke shirt under his hunter-green doublet with a ring belt. Over his shoulder, he had swung back his fencing cape.

“I believe I made my position perfectly clear.” Pieter leaned down for Silas’s ears only. “It is pertinent that we talk.”

Feeling at a disadvantage, Silas rose from his seat. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“I doubt that is true.” Pieter’s attention turned to Silas’s new wife. He smiled a silken smile. “My lady.”

Silas saw Millicent close to tears. He stepped toward the foreigner. “What is your game?”

“As I told you, there is a matter of importance to be discussed,” Pieter said firmly. “Unless you want me to announce it to all.”

Swallowing the rage swelling within him, Silas had no desire to have the prince cause a spectacle. Prince Pieter held power in his hands against King Edulf.

“I will be back shortly.” Silas addressed his wife. He saw a wave of relief pass across her face. He looked over at his grandfather. King Edulf gave the exchange between Silas and the Brixtone prince no notice.

Rubbing the growing stubble on his chin, Silas nodded for Prince Pieter to follow him. He led him out into the Ysmay Garden off the Royal Garden.

The garden was simple, with only grass covering the ground, a fountain and a long bench situated in the middle of the walkway. Enclosed by open pillars connecting the Great Hall to the Gold Tower, King Edulf used it often to hold his private conversations without the ears of court to hear.

“Allow entrance,” Silas commanded the guard. “Let no other within.”

The guard bowed his head in acknowledgment. Silas’s mood worsened. He pivoted around and faced Pieter. “Now, speak. I swear it better be of importance.”

“I am done wasting my breath with you,” Pieter said. “There is danger within Yucca to all with King Edulf’s actions. If you can’t see that, then all is doomed.”

Silas heaved a sigh. “Another talk about Kela…you know…”

“That she is dead?” Pieter challenged. “I thought we had gone beyond that pretense. She lives. She is your Euchoun. She is my attached. The question now lies with where is she?”

“You know nothing.”

“I know that it was you who killed an innocent to convince me that Kela died,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “What would Kela think to know that you have done so? Moreover, her friend. What was her name? Cassie, was it not?”

“Do not threat me, Brixtonen!” Silas uttered between white lips. Helpless fury raged within him. He needed not a remembrance. Damn the Brixtone spies! Yet, he could not deny the girl haunted him.

Silas had killed many a man without a second thought, but in battle, it was kill or be killed. Never had he had ever considered harming an innocent.

In truth, there had been atrocities performed in the name of peace. Rapes and looting of villages conquered. Yet, never had he participated. Never had he allowed his men to do so.

Never had he harmed an innocent until his grandfather commanded him to do so. There had been little choice. At least, it was what he told himself.

“I threaten you, Sordarin?” Pieter continued. “It is not me, but do not lie to me more. I know many secrets.”

“I ask you why you have carried out your threats,” Silas pressed, done with conventional formalities. “Do you truly believe Scarladin will allow you to take our Euchoun? You are nothing more than a trickster!”

“Nay, I gave to you your Euchoun. Did I not come to King Edulf? I could have instead gone to my father. What then would you have done?”

The Brixtonen silenced Silas for a long moment. “Explain yourself.”

“My patience is done,” Pieter said. “I understand the importance of a Euchoun as powerful as Kela. I have no intention of keeping her from her destiny. I never have.”

“You say.”

“It is not for you to understand. I assure you I would not have come to you unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“Tell me then. Tell me what is of the utmost importance.”

“There has been a darkness that has been cast upon those close to you. King Edulf. Prince Falco.”

Silas shook his head. “Impossible. Dark magic in Yucca? Never.”

“This I tell you true,” Pieter insisted. “Tell me how then you came to marry Ulric’s daughter?”

“Millicent was proposed for Falco until your refusal of Belasquita. You know better than I, the marriage was a political match. No more, no less.”

Pieter smirked. “You have no knowledge of who you married. Her name is not Lady Millicent, but Syybyl. She is Ulric’s youngest daughter. Lady Millicent died from a fever no more than a month after the agreement. Upon the reversal of Falco for you, Lord Ulric was insulted.

“I was told Lord Ulric felt vindicated with exchanging daughters without knowledge of your grandfather. I ask you how King Edulf could not have known. Why would have Lord Ulric dared?”

Stunned, Silas stood speechless. He wanted to protest such a thing would have never happened. Such insolence from a Sordarin clan! King Edulf would have none of it. Yet, something told Silas the Brixtonen had not lied.

The most telling—it dawned upon Silas that perchance his bride’s nervousness was not due to him, but the fear she was to lose her head at the deception.

“That is not all. Sareta has been rumored to be a strong Witheleghean. Where then is her magic? At the Soaring, Falco had to demand she use her magic. Moreover, it is unusual, for magic is instinctual within a Witheleghean.”

Prince Pieter’s precision in his deductions could not be denied. Silas had made his own inferences.

Dark magic lived within Yucca.

“I do not believe we have a choice,” Pieter said finally. “There is a great need to work together to uncover what this darkness is before it’s too late for either of us.”