Page 15 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

“Keris.”

The prince sat across the table from Aren with surprising boldness, given what Aren was capable of, and yet the gleam in this man’s eyes suggested he was no fool. This was the philosopher prince whom Aren had given permission to travel through the bridge to Harendell, where he’d supposedly planned to attend university. The escort accompanying him had really been soldiers in disguise, a key part of the Maridrinian invasion. If Aren could’ve reached across the table, he’d have gladly snapped the prince’s neck. “Ah. Theinadequateheir.”

Keris shrugged one shoulder, setting his book, which appeared to be about ornithology, on the table. A philosopheranda bird-watcher. No wonder Silas wanted nothing to do with him.

The prince said, “Eight older brothers who fit the mold, all dead, and now my father is stuck trying to weasel his way out of naming me heir without breaking one of his own laws. I’d wish him luck in the endeavor if not for the fact that his and Serin’s weaseling is likely to see me in a grave next to my siblings.”

Aren leaned back in his chair, manacles rattling. “No desire to rule?”

“It’s a thankless burden.”

“True. But when you have the crown, you can change the décor.” Aren gestured at the corpses lining the garden walls.

The laugh that exited the prince’s mouth was eerily familiar, the hairs on Aren’s arms rising as though he’d been touched by a ghost.

“To rule is a burden, but perhaps especially so for a king who enters his reign desirous of change, for he will spend his life wading against the current. But you understand that, don’t you, Your Grace?”

It was the second time the prince had used Aren’s title—something Silas had expressly forbidden. “You’re the philosopher. Or was that, too, part of the deception?”

A wry smile formed on the prince’s face, and he shook his head. “I think Serin took particular glee in using my dreams in such a perverse fashion. It is one of the only instances in which he has successfully pulled the wool over my eyes, the shock of being trussed up and stuffed in a corner while myescortinvaded Ithicana not one I’ll soon forget. Even still, I might have forgiven the duplicity if my father had allowed me to carry on to Harendell in pursuit of my studies, but as you can see”—he stretched his arms wide—“here I am.”

“My condolences.”

Keris inclined his head to Aren’s sarcasm, but said, “Imagine a world where people spent as much time philosophizing as they did learning to swing weapons.”

“I can’t,” Aren lied. “The only thing I know well is war, which doesn’t say much given that I’m on the losing side of this one.”

“Losing, perhaps,” he murmured. “But not yet lost. Not while Eranahl stands, and not while you still live. Why else would my father insist on these theatrics?”

“Bait for his errant daughter, I’m told.”

“Your wife.”

Aren didn’t answer.

“Lara.” Keris rubbed his chin. “She’s my sister, you know.”

“If you meant that to be a great revelation, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you.”

A soft chuckle, but Aren didn’t miss how the prince’s eyes swiftly scanned the garden, the first crack in his façade of amused indifference. “Not my half sister. We have the same mother, too.”

Despite himself, Aren straightened, the memory of that brutal game of truth he’d played with Lara coming to the forefront of his thoughts. Her worst memory, she’d told him, was of being separated from her mother and being brought to the compound where she was raised. Her fear that she wouldn’t recognize her mother now, wouldn’t know her. Logic told him that it had been nothing but a story intended to manipulate his sympathies, but his gut told him otherwise. “What of it?”

Keris ran his tongue across his lips, eyes distant for a heartbeat before they focused on Aren. “I was nine when my father’s soldiers took my sister—young enough to still be living in the harem, but old enough to remember the moment well. To remember how my mother fought them. To remember how she attempted to sneak out of the palace to go after my sister, knowing in her heart that my father intended her for some fell purpose. To remember how, when she was caught and dragged back, my father strangled her himself in front of us all. As punishment. And warning.”

Lara’s mother was dead.

A twinge of pain filled Aren’s chest. This truth would hurt Lara enormously, especially given that her mother had died in her defense.

He abruptly shoved the thought away. What did he care if she wept? She’d lied to him. Betrayed him. Destroyed everything that mattered to him. She was his enemy. Just like this man sitting before him.

But if what Keris said was true, he was an enemy who might be turned into an ally. The prince had cause to both hate and fear his father, which meant he, like Aren, had a vested interest in seeing Silas dead. “What game are you playing, Keris?”

“A long one, and you are but a singular piece on the board, albeit one of some significance.” The prince watched him, unblinking. “I sense that you’re considering removing yourself from the game. I ask that you might reconsider.”

“As long as I’m alive, they’ll keep trying to save me. And keep dying in the attempt. I can’t allow that.”

Keris’s eyes went over Aren’s shoulder, a flash of hate rolling across them at whatever he saw. “Keep playing the game, Aren. Your life isn’t as worthless as you think.”

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