Page 140 of Fate's Wicked Oath

What now?Faren wanted to ask his Major.What now?he wanted to ask the Fates.

Archer Loth sprang to his feet, his fists balled. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Victory,” Lord Haron answered smugly. “This”—he gestured at the pair of Morta—“is my victory.”

Archer Loth reached for the long dress dagger at his hip, setting off a cascade of brandished weapons among his knights. Steel sang and nobles whimpered.

Faren’s family remained seated, their backs rigid. His parents were staring at Archer. Rown was scowling at Lord Haron. Faren’s sisters were glancing between themselves, the rulers, and him, and they looked afraid.

They should be.

“I wouldn’t mobilize Daddy’s knights just yet, child,” Lord Haron said to Archer. He waved a finger at the sea of nobility. “I’d hate to see so many fine silks ruined with blood.”

A few of the attendees began to sob.

Faren looked to his fellows. Warner and Lee were surveying the room nervously; Shae was staring at the Morta, her jaw locked tight.

“We need to deescalate,” Faren whispered to Oderin. “Get these people out of here.”

“I say, let them bleed,” Heris Morvain piped up, drawing everyone’s attention. Standing between the Morta in his iron chains, he appeared small, but strangely unafraid. “The realm could use fewer nobles.”

Lord Haron began to laugh again, less amused this time, and more cruel. “You certainly tried, didn’t you?” He extended a hand toward Heris, as if presenting him to the room. “For those of you who don’t recognize my prisoner, see here! The man who tried to murder my predecessor.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd.

“See here,” Heris retorted, chin high, eyes locked on Lord Haron, “the man who framed me to steal my rightful claim to this throne.”

Murmurs turned into gasps, then raucous chatter. Faren frowned, disinclined to believe anything that came out of Heris’s mouth, but—

“I thought it was a rumor,” Oderin whispered to himself. “Afiction.”

Faren whirled on him. “What rumor?”

Oderin’s face had gone pale. “It seemed too outlandish.”

“What rumor?” Faren demanded.

“That Heris Morvain was next in line. That Lord Haron sentenced him in order to take the throne for himself.”

“Thefuck?”

“I thought it was a rumor. It had to be a rumor.” Oderin met Faren’s eyes, his expression wild. “Faren, we can’t let—”

“Don’t believe me?” Heris appealed to the hall full of nobility. “Have your Arcane Adepts read the list of successors in the Ledger of the Sovereign. See whose name is written before his.”

One of the ledgermasters beside Lord Haron gasped. The other began to visibly shake. Either they already knew, or they’d gathered that—if they were forced to read the truth—Lord Haron would have them killed.

“Lies!” Lord Haron stomped his foot. “Lies!”

“Show them the Ledger, then,” Heris challenged. “Show them who is actually—”

The Morta on Heris’s left swung a spindly arm, knocking the Valiant leader to the floor. His head snapped forward, colliding with the marble. Sprawled on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind his back, Heris craned his neck to meet Lord Haron’s gaze. A trickle of blood slid down from his temple and pooled in the socket of his missing eye.

“You’ve always been a greedy twit,” Heris coughed. “Too fragile to lead. Always overcompensating for your lack of magic.”

Another wave of nervous chatter filled the hall. Lord Haron’s magic had always been kept secret, but—

“Is that not why you’ve gone to such lengths to alchemically enhance yourself?” Heris taunted. “To become ageless in the face of your sterile line?”