Page 38 of A Court Bright and Broken

And I gave him what he wanted most–more power.

As an Exalter, my glamour “gift” was the ability to intensify the glamours of others.

My father had always ridiculed me for having a “servant’s glamour” instead of a powerful, “manly” one like his own, but he certainly had no problem availing himself of my lowly magic when it suited him.

“At least make yourself useful and stay close to me,” he’d said on more than one occasion.

It was the reason he spent so much time with me. I was sure others assumed it was because I was his heir and that he wanted me to learn at his knee how to rule in preparation for my ascension to the throne.

But I knew the truth.

I knew him better than anyone did and perhaps ever had. King Pontus Randalin had no intention ofeverabdicating the throne.

At least not for the next thousand years anyway. And I had a feeling old age wouldn’t weaken his appetite for power. It seemed to grow stronger with every passing year.

“Whatcanyou be thinking, Stellon?” he asked. “To demean yourself for the sake of a servant?”

He gestured violently toward the cowering maid. “Ahumanone at that?”

Disgust curdled his expression as he awaited my response.

“I acted on instinct,” I told him honestly, because I had no choice. Hewantedan honest answer.

“Accidents happen, and she was hurt.”

“And what is that to you?”

Father’s probing gaze was back. “Youaredifferent. I can’t put my finger on it, but something has changed about you.”

He shook his head and turned to walk away. “Tonight at the ball I want to see a Crown Prince–not a scullery boy. If I hearyou’ve gone back and helped this kitchen hag finish her job, I’ll have her disposed of.”

At the door, he stopped and turned to pin me with a glare. “And youknowI’ll find out.”

Then he opened it and was gone.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured to the maid, who was shaking all over now.

Walking quickly to the door at the opposite end of the dining room, I didn’t stop until I was in my own chambers on the other side of the castle. Once there, I went to my bedroom window facing the road to the Rough Market and reached into my pocket.

As I had done so often lately, I withdrew the object I was seeking and placed it in the palm of my hand, holding it up to the window. Sunlight gleamed and danced across the shiny silver surface as I tilted my hand side to side.

Raewyn’s locket.

Armed with my drawings, my huntsmen had managed to track down the market thieves a week ago and very quicklyextractedfrom them the location of her missing heirloom. I’d kept it on my person at all times since they’d retrieved it and brought it back to me.

I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like I had any way to return it to Raewyn. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d kicked myself for not having her followed home.

Blame the concussion or just sheer stupidity, but it tortured me that I had no idea where she was now.

Yes, I’d given my father an honest answer when he’d demanded to know what I’d been thinking—but I hadn’t told him theentiretruth.

Because what I’d been thinking about when I’d seen that poor scullery maid in distress washer.

In fact I’d been thinking about Raewyn almost non-stop since meeting her.

More specifically, I’d been thinking how mistaken Father was about the humans. And I’d been wondering whatelsemight have been inaccurate about the things he’d been teaching me my whole life.

I slipped the necklace back into my pocket, liking the feel of it there. It gave me the sense that I might someday,somehowsee her again.

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