Page 82 of The Uncrowned Prince

“How shocking.” Vaniell’s eyes widened. “I do sound like a shameless reprobate, don’t I? But I don’t believe it was ever mycharacterin question here. Only my identity, which you have so kindly confirmed. Perhaps, in addition, you would confirm your reasons for so quickly attempting to discredit me, instead of establishing the credibility of your sources.”

“My… sources?” The ambassador’s face began to appear rather fishlike.

“Yes,” Vaniell explained patiently. “Your sources for the rumor of Queen Evaraine’s death. Wherever did you hear such a remarkable story, and why did you hasten to bring such a tale here, to Iria, instead of merely sending a messenger?”

“You would know my reasons,” the ambassador burst out, “if you had remained at home where you were commanded to be. Where any decent son would be—standing by his father’s side. Mourning with decency and respect. Or have you not yet heard that the assassins struck Garimore as well? That Her Majesty, our beloved queen, now liesdead?”

Karreya sucked in a breath at the cruelty of that abrupt announcement. But if Grendish had hoped to shock his prince with the news, he was entirely out of luck.

Vaniell’s jaw hardened, his eyes glittered, and his smirk turned sharp and deadly. “Believe me, Lord Grendish,” he said softly, “I have grieved for my mother’s death. She meant everything in the world to me, and I will never cease to regret that I was not there to protect her. To tell her how much I loved her.”

His chin dropped briefly, and his eyes closed, but when he raised his head, he only stood taller. A slender figure whose choice in clothing only now made sense to everyone in the room.

Black for mourning.

Red for Garimore.

In his own way, Vaniell had made both his knowledge and his intentions clear without the need for words. And yet, words were one of his most potent weapons, and he wielded them now without mercy.

“So, yes, Lord Grendish.” His voice was hard as flint, with no remaining trace of the playboy prince. This was a warrior bent on vengeance. “I grieve my mother’s death. She was an innocent pawn in the games we all play, and therefore I will never stop trying, never give up, until the one responsible for her murder has been dealt with according to the enormity of his crimes.”

Grendish was forced to pause to consider his next move. Wondering how Vaniell already knew. Perhaps he was even remembering Vaniell’s smirk when he discussed hiding in “corners”…

“You speak as if you know the identity of her killer,” Councilor Faraden mused quietly from his place at Prince Torevan’s side.

The black-clad prince turned his head to meet the councilor’s eyes.

“I do,” he said simply. “The only question that remains is, are you ready to hear it?”

“We have already been informed by Ambassador Grendish that Queen Portiana’s life was taken by a Zulleri assassin,” Faraden announced heavily. “This is not news to us.”

Vaniell did not even hesitate. “It is also a lie.”

The room was silent no longer, but erupted in cacophony, as the members of the Irian council voiced their protests at this outrageous statement. After the arguments continued for over a minute with no sign of abating, Faraden shouted for order.

“Enough,” he growled, glaring at his fellow councilors, but the moment everyone fell quiet, Ambassador Grendish seized one final opportunity.

“Do you intend to waste even a single breath considering the poisonous words of this reprobate?” he sneered, scorn dripping from every word. “He has spent his life chasing women and fashion, heedless of the responsibilities that should have been his. What does he know of politics? How could he possibly be privy to such information when he has spent the past year flitting around Abreia in secret, living in squalor and dishonoring his father’s name?”

It was a scathing repudiation, and Karreya half expected Vaniell to wilt under the weight of such accusations. But he did not. Whatever forces had shaped him, they had given him a will of steel and courage that defied comprehension.

“Perhaps what you say is true,” he admitted. “I do indeed have a well-earned reputation for hedonism. But as that is the case, tell me if you can—what do I stand to gain?”

Grendish was silent in the face of the question, and Vaniell turned to address the throne.

“If I were the wastrel he names me, and if my father truly longed to summon me home, why would I rail against fate and refuse to accept the benefits of my position? Why abandon my life of privilege to live in squalor, with none of the comforts my status affords me?” His face was pale, but his every word rang with conviction. “Why risk my very freedom to come here, to a place where I am known, to warn you that the true threat is not the faceless empire across the sea, but a far closer one—a man you view as a friend and ally even as he schemes to take your crown for himself and add your lands to his own?”

Somehow, he held every eye transfixed as he stood there alone, his words aimed directly at young prince Torevan.

Who rose to his feet and met Vaniell’s eyes as a sovereign and an equal.

“Of whom do you speak?” the boy asked.

Vaniell paused only a moment before offering his quiet, simple reply.

“King Melger of Garimore.”

CHAPTER21

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