Page 72 of The Assassin's Bride

Before them stood the true king of Kentoria.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

“Lucan.”The name scarcely escaped Gil's throat, a tangled pair of syllables that betrayed the gnarl of emotions behind his pinched eyes.

Had she not seen him before, his face burned into her memory by the hatred he'd inspired, Thea wouldn't have believed it.

The supposedly-dead king ignored them. Instead, he strode down the steps toward his scout and barked a laugh of delight. “They've done it? They've actually succeeded?”

“Word has come with those who now flee Kentoria to avoid its collapse,” the scout said. “The false king Gaius was slain before the usurped throne. Your kingdom awaits you.”

“Long live King Lucan,” one of the armored guards shouted.

“Long live King Lucan!” repeated every other person in the room, aside from Thea, Rilion, and Gil. Their silence earned them a long, suspicious glare from the steward.

It didn't matter.

Gil was already moving.

“Wait.” Thea tried to catch his arm, but he slipped from her grasp and stormed toward the throne—toward his brother—with his eyes ablaze and one hand jammed into his bag.

Rilion spat an oath.

“A false king,” he snarled as he tore the preserved head from his bag and held it aloft by its hair. “Here is your false king!”

A wave of shrieks rose from the peasants before the throne as he flung the head at Lucan's feet. The man recoiled at the same time his guards sprang forward.

A guard banged in through the doors behind them and Rilion was on him in an instant, blade flashing as he landed a swift series of blows and tore the halberd from the guard's hands. He rammed its pole through the handles on the doors, barring the way.

Someone sprang for Thea and she jerked her dagger from its sheath before she saw who it was. The steward. He was unarmed and his eyes grew wide as her blade swiped across the front of his uniform.

“Who are you?” Lucan spat at last. His arms curled to his chest, half in repulsion, half in fear. “What have you done?”

“What haveIdone?” Gil pressed a hand to his breastbone, then whirled to meet the two guards that rushed him. He should have been at a disadvantage, bearing knives against their polearms. Instead, he flung two of his smallest knives. Both thudded into the joint at the shoulder of the guards' armor, cutting deep, disabling their arms. Both men shouted as their weapons dropped.

Gil strode forward. “I saw you. I mourned you. Iweptfor you. And all this time...” His voice cracked.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

Thea drove the steward back with a series of jabs. The man relented and fell to the ground, sheltering his head with his arms.

The peasants still screamed. All of them ran, though there was nowhere to go. How was there nowhere to go? Thea scanned the room in disbelief. The fortress's throne room had been constructed with only one entrance? She glanced back, to where Rilion stood with his back against the doors and a foot on his downed guard's shoulder to keep him face-down on the floor.

Lucan looked from the injured guards to Gil, his lip peeled back in a snarl, even as he shuffled backwards. “Who are you?”

Gil tore the cloak from his shoulders and cast it to the floor. The illusion masking him slid away like shimmering grains of sand.

Lucan's eyes widened.

Thea's did, too. That shouldn't have happened. She'd layered magic into every piece of his clothing, just to be sure—her eyes slid down. By the Light, where was the clothing she'd made? He wore something different, something Ranorsh.

Understanding struck her like a slap and she spun to glare at Rilion.

The prince blinked at her, as if unsure what she wanted.Hewore Gil's clothing. The illusion had no effect on his appearance; it hadn't been tailored for him. Light! When had they traded clothes? She hadn't noticed at all!

“You,” Lucan snarled at last. “I should have known. I should have known that was too easy.”

Gil stepped past the false king's head. He pointed at it as he passed. “You did this. You turned him against me. You tried to kill me.”

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