Page 27 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

“Is not here,” Keris interrupted. “You two are close enough to be part of the conversation, and from this brief exchange, I can already tell that I’ve no interest in further discourse with either of you. Plus, you are in the way of my little sisters’ practice. Move.”

The guards’ faces darkened, yet they retreated a respectable distance. But one looked over his shoulder as they went and said, “Scream if he causes you trouble, Highness. It’s what the wives have been told to do.”

“Noted,” Keris replied, and though his expression didn’t deviate in its exercise of boredom, Aren saw the flash of darkness in the other man’s eyes. The way the defined muscles in his forearms flexed like he was of a mind to reach for a knife. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, much like his sister. Aren wondered if Silas knew.

Noting his scrutiny, Keris pulled the sleeves of his coat down, despite the heat burning through the clouds. “Now, how might I be of assistance, Your Grace? More reading material, perhaps?”

“As enlightening as your bird book was, I’ll pass.”

“As you like.”

The young girls began to twirl in circles, clapping their hands at measured intervals, the harem wife calling out the occasional instruction.

But Keris paid them little mind, instead watching Aren intently, as if waiting for him to speak.

“You risk a knife in the back with the way you treat your father’s men.”

“That risk is there regardless of what I say or do.” The prince rested his elbows on the table. “Like my father, they took my lack of interest in soldiering as a personal insult, and short of turning myself into something I am not, there is no path to redemption with either. My bed is made.”

Aren rubbed his chin, considering the prince’s words, none of which, he thought, were said without purpose. Silas did not favor Keris, that was known. That he’d have his heir murdered to make way for younger brothers whom Silas considered more suitable for the throne seemed inevitable, but for all his words, Aren didn’t believe for an instant that Lara’s brother had resigned himself to death. “There are ways to popularity other than swinging a sword.”

“Like feeding a starving nation?” Keris held a hand to his ear. “Listen. Do you hear them?”

Vencia was always loud, especially in comparison to Ithicana, the voices of thousands of people out on the streets a dull drone. But today, shouts rose above the noise, the anger in them clear even if the words were not. Dozens of people, he thought. Perhaps hundreds. And for him to hear them, they must be just outside the palace walls.

“A rumor is swirling that you are being tortured for information about how my father might defeat Eranahl,” Keris said. “Such dreadful ideas the masses come up with while cooped up during storms. Idle hands may do the devil’s work, but idle minds . . .”

Achieved a prince’s ends.

Though what those ends were, Aren wasn’t certain. “I’m surprised they care.”

“Are you?” Keris’s nose wrinkled with disdain. “My aunt believes you to be cleverer than you look, but I’m beginning to question her judgment.”

“Did you just call mestupid?”

“If the shoe fits . . .”

God, but there was no mistaking him as anything other than Lara’s flesh and blood.

Listening to the growing shouts, which were sounding distinctly more mob-like, Aren narrowed his gaze. It had been Lara’s plan to use Ithicana’s resources to feed Maridrina, thereby undercutting her father’s scheme to blame Ithicana for Maridrina’s woes. All through War Tides, Aren had believed her plan had worked—the Maridrinians had been singing his name in the streets, declaring to all who’d listen that the alliance with Ithicana was their salvation. There’d seemed little chance that Silas would follow through on his intentions to take the bridge, but of course Aren had been proven painfully wrong in that. So wrong that he’d presumed Lara’s plan had been a deception intended to cause him to lower Ithicana’s guard. But now . . .

“Allow me to help you along,” Keris said. “Would you say that understanding the nature of the Ithicanian people was key to you ruling them successfully?”

“I didn’t rule them successfully.”

Keris rolled his eyes. “Don’t be morose.”

Obnoxious Veliant shit.Aren glowered at him. “Obviously it was key.”

“Extrapolate. I’ll know from the expression on your face when you come to an understanding.”

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to curb his irritation, Aren considered the question, which had nothing to do with him and Ithicana, but everything to do with Silas and Maridrina.

The Maridrinians were angry about Aren’s captivity because he’d earned their loyalty, and their friendship. And unlike their king, they didn't take kindly to those who stabbed friends in the back. Aren had seen the behavior on countless occasions during his times in Maridrina—the unwillingness to profit from a friend’s hardship. They’d starve before taking a mouthful of ill-gotten bread. Understanding abruptly dawned on him, and Aren’s stomach flipped.

“Finally!” Keris clapped his hands, and as if on cue, the musicians began to accompany the dancing children, who leapt and shook bells, their high-pitched voices filling the air. “I thought I might have to wait all morning.”

Aren ignored the mockery. “The Maridrinian people don’t want the bridge.”

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