On our final morning at sea, I wake to find Corrick fully dressed and laced into his boots before the sun has fully crested the horizon.
He’s also cleanshaven.
I put a hand against the warm smoothness of his cheek when he bends down to kiss me. “No more rebellion?” I tease.
“We’ll have enough shocking revelations for Harristan. I’ll spare him this one.”
That makes me smile. I can hear the eagerness in his tone. “How soon until we reach Artis?”
“Less than two hours.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “I’m going to go up top and discuss our plans for arrival with Olive and Rocco. The ship isn’t a secret this time, so there might be a bit of fanfare at the docks when we draw near. I’ll want to be on deck so everyone can see that I’ve returned safely.” He pauses. “I’d like for you to be by my side.”
Everyone.I wonder if he means his brother.
But I nod quickly. His excitement is infectious, and my own heart thumps. “I’ll get ready right now.”
He kisses my knuckles again. “We’re almost home.”
I take hold of his hand, gripping tight. “Almost.”
For a long moment, his blue eyes hold mine. But then he gives me a nod, a quick caress of my cheek, and he’s gone.
I’m shocked by the number of people lining the docks when the ship sails close. I’ve lived in Artis all my life, and the docks have never been so crowded. I’ve never seen tents before either, but they stretch along the shore for a mile at least, and I can see more in the distance. Corrick mentioned fanfare, but there must be thousands of people waiting on our arrival. The sun is bright overhead, and I can see guards and patrol officers moving among the crowds. No palace guards, though. No hint of blue-and-purple livery anywhere.
Corrick has been by my side along the railing, but his earlier excitement has turned into something darker. “This isn’t right,” he says.
“What’s wrong?” I say—but I can feel it, too.
“There should be palace guards here. The ship would have been spotted from Port Karenin days before we made it to the river. Word would’ve been sent to the palace.” He turns his head toward the bow of the ship, where Erik is standing with Olive. “Rocco!”
Beside us, Lochlan is also looking out over the crowd, searching for any hint of blue and purple the way I am. “Maybe the king couldn’t come?” he guesses. “Maybe something happened and he had to stay at the palace.”
Erik—well, Rocco again, returned to his palace livery—has joined us by the railing. He looks out over the crowd, too, surveying the complete and total lack of guards. “His Majesty still would have sent a contingent of guards. With crowds this big, it’s clear that your arrival was expected.”
At my side, Corrick’s expression has gone very still, very cold.
The face he used to wear when he had to do the most terrible things of all.
“Advise,” he says to Rocco.
The guardsman shakes his head. “I cannot.”
But then we draw closer to the dock, and I’m able to make out individual faces. Just as I recognize my best friend standing with a group of people, Lochlan sucks in a breath.
“Karri,” he says, and the relief in his tone is obvious. “But who’s that she’s standing with?”
Corrick says nothing.
I glance up at him. His eyes are ice cold and fixed on the shore.
I reach out and take his hand. For an instant, he doesn’t move, and his fingers simply tremble in mine. But then he grips tight.
“Corrick,” I whisper.
He says nothing. I don’t think he’s breathing.
“Miss Karri stands with Consul Beeching,” says Rocco, when no one answers Lochlan’s question. “Along with Thorin and Saeth of the king’s guard.”
Thorin!My eyes jerk back to the dock, and I realize he’s right. Thorin is there beside Consul Beeching, along with Saeth, who I barely know.
I can’t make out their expressions from here, but neither of them are in their guard livery.
A bolt of fear pierces my chest.
Corrick’s fingers are gripping my hand as if it’s all that’s keeping him tethered to the deck of the ship. I don’t think he’s taken a breath in more than a minute. His jaw is like granite, his eyes harder than I’ve ever seen them.
But when he speaks, his voice is so even and cool that he could be a stranger. “We need to dock immediately.”
“Corrick,” I say again, but he doesn’t look at me. His cold eyes are fixed on that dock, on his brother’s guards, on the complete lack of blue and purple anywhere at all.
It reminds me of the night that Consul Sallister forced him to execute the prisoners. This is the most distant Corrick of all.
But his hand stays tight on mine. It seems to take forever for the ship to be tethered to the moorings, for a gangway to be rolled out. Corrick is quiet and still the whole time, his eyes never ceasing the search along the shoreline. I know who he’s looking for. I don’t say a word, but I look for him, too. So does Lochlan.
None of us find any sign of the king. No sign of Quint. No other guards.
Then the ship is rocking against the dock, and Rocco is indicating that we can disembark. Corrick has been frozen in place for so long that I don’t think he’s going to be able to move, but he does. His stride is strong and sure—but his hand trembles against mine again, his fingers suddenly fluttering in my grip.
“It’s all right,” I whisper, but it’s a lie. Nothing is all right.
“Keep breathing,” says Lochlan, and Corrick’s head shakes, almost imperceptibly.
Then we step onto the bridge to shore, and the people begin to applaud.
For an instant, Corrick’s step falters, but Lochlan puts a hand on his shoulder. I grip his hand more tightly. The applause grows in strength, but I don’t hear it. I don’t feel my feet striking the narrow bridge. I only feel the weight of expectation, of fear, of dread.
As soon as our feet land on the solid ground of Artis, the people send up a cheer, and so many of them try to press close that I’m worried we’re going to be overrun. The sound is deafening. But Rocco is there, and to my surprise, Mouse is at our back. Even still, there’s too much noise, too much shouting, and I can’t make out the words. I can’t make sense of anything.
But then I realize that people are beginning to kneel, in a slow, rippling outward fashion, the way they do for King Harristan.
And then I realize what they’re saying.
Long live the king.
My breath catches and freezes in my throat. Beside us, Rocco has put a hand over his heart, and he’s dropped to one knee himself. So has Lochlan.
So has everyone.
I look up, and Corrick’s eyes are finally on mine, and for a blazing second, he looks terrified, before the cool blue ices over and I realize I’m the only one standing.
Oh, I’m such a fool. A sob chokes free of my lips, and I begin to drop to one knee myself.
Corrick grabs hold of me before I can. He pulls me hard against him, his arms tight against my back. His breathing is quiet in my ear, but the beat of his heart is so hard against my chest. I wrap my arms around his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so very sorry.”
His face presses into my neck, and it’s only then that I hear his breath shudder. I stroke a hand over the back of his head, and I remember all the times we talked about appearances, and cynicism, and vulnerabilities, and I hope I’m not weakening him now. But he’s clutching at me so tightly and his breath is shaking against my neck and I don’t know what else to do. He shouldn’t have to learn that his brother is dead while people are cheering for his safe return.
“Corrick,” I whisper again, and I realize I’m crying, too. “Oh, my love. I’m so sorry.”
“Your Majesty,” says a voice, and Corrick snaps his head up. The desperation on his face is so absolute. His eyes are wide and searching, as if his brother has suddenly appeared, as if this has all been a moment of grand confusion.
But Harristan is dead.
This is someone addressing Corrick.
Seeing the realization dawn in his eyes is like watching him learn the truth all over again. His gaze fractures, his shoulders nearly fall, his body jerks like he’s taken a blow.
But Corrick draws himself up at once. All emotion put away, locked down.
The man who spoke is Jonas Beeching, and he’s risen to his feet. “Forgive me,” he says gently. “I know that this is a shock. But much has happened during your absence, and there are many matters that must be addressed—and swiftly.”
Corrick goes rigid. I didn’t think his eyes could go colder, but they do. His hand slips out of mine, and he turns to face the consul. I shiver at the sudden distance, and I want to grab his hand back. Not just for me, but for him, too. I wonder if it was like this for Harristan when their parents died. Were the former king and queen lying in pools of blood, while the consuls suddenly turned to Harristan, at age nineteen, and started making demands of him?
With a shock, I realize it must have been exactly like that.
And now they’re going to do the same thing to Corrick.
Lochlan steps forward, and he must be realizing the exact same thing. “Look,” he snaps at the consul, who blinks at his brazenness. “The man just lost his brother, so you can give him a few minutes—”
“I assure you,” says Consul Beeching, “we cannot—”
“Enough,” says Corrick, and for as cold as his voice is, he sounds exactly like his brother. So much so that everyone around us goes quiet. I think he even startles himself. But after a bare hesitation, he continues. “Consul Beeching, please have your people see to Princess Olive of Ostriary. This is her ship, and she graciously returned me home. We can take care of whatever needs addressing for Kandala immediately.”
“Good,” says the consul. “I do have a carriage waiting.” He gestures ahead.
Rocco moves to clear a path, and Corrick nods, moving to follow. Consul Beeching looks to some of the people surrounding him, and I realize Karri and Thorin are back behind several guards who have followed the consul. Those same guards are now moving to separate me and Lochlan from Corrick, drawing us away, propelling us in the opposite direction.
I gasp. “Corrick!” I call, but the crowd is too loud, and I don’t think he’ll hear me.
“Miss Cade,” says the consul, “you will go with—”
“No!” Corrick turns around at once. His eyes meet mine, and again, I see that flicker of panic, of desperation, of need. But only for a moment, and only for me. Then it’s iced over. “Miss Cade will remain with me.”
There are a few gasps around us, but I don’t hear who makes them.
“Lochlan and Karri should follow us as well,” Corrick says.
The guards go still. Now it’s Lochlan’s turn to look at him in shock.
Consul Beeching’s mouth works silently for a moment, and he glances at Lochlan a little dubiously, but then he says, “Yes, of course, Your Majesty. This way.”
I’m worried that we’re all going to be forced to share a carriage, but there are several waiting, and I’m glad to see that Karri and King Harristan’s guards Thorin and Saeth have also followed us.
“Tessa and I will share a carriage alone,” Corrick declares, and that’s all he says before he barely allows time for a footman to open the door to one. Once we’re inside, the door slams, and the ice simply melts from his expression. His face falls into his hands.
Then he doesn’t make a sound.
It’s so silent in the carriage, but I climb onto the bench beside him and wrap my arms around him. After a moment, he picks up my hand and pulls it to his heart, the way a child would clutch a treasured doll. When the driver cracks a whip and the carriage begins to move, we remain just like that.
I have no idea how long we have, but it won’t be enough time.
I brush my fingers through his hair, stroking his back, letting him breathe.
“I should never have gone,” he whispers.
“You don’t know what happened.”
“I know I wasn’t here.”
“If you hadn’t gone, you never would have learned the truth about the poison. Kandala would have been no better off.”
That seems to settle him, but just a little bit.
Then his head lifts, and he finally looks at me. His eyes glitter with unshed tears, and he says, “I loved him so very much, Tessa.”
The emotion in his voice breaks my heart. I shed the tears he can’t, and I nod. “I know,” I say. “I know you did. And he knew, too. I swear to you, he knew.”
“What am I going to do?”
I look into his desperate face, and I put a hand against the warmth of his cheek. The cheek he shaved this morning because he didn’t want to disappoint his brother. I brush a thumb along the smoothness of his jaw to remind him of it. “You’re going to be a great king.”
