Chapter 8

W hoa." Corvin craned his neck back, looking at the painted ceiling patterned with arches. "Royals go all out. I wonder what it would feel like to climb—"

"Absolutely not," Baron said.

"I wasn't going to! It's not like Leon hasn't thought about slinking off to the kitchen at least three times now."

Leon said nothing, too busy sniffing the apple pastry in his hand. He sampled a corner, then muttered something about freshness and spices. All along the refreshments table, nobility milled in small groups, conversations held at a low volume that didn't carry to the vaulted ceiling. Social functions at country estates were lively affairs, but everything at Castle de Loegria felt subdued, as if even the air in the room had to be rationed.

"Lord Reeves," a voice said from behind him.

Baron turned to find a silver-haired man in a crisp red suit. Though he'd tensed on instinct, his shoulders relaxed at the familiar face, and he shook the earl's hand with eagerness. "Lord Wycliff, a pleasure to see you."

The earl raised an eyebrow. "Don't be pleased, lad. I'm quite cross with you. Hugh's been practicing his swordsmanship, you know, and I intended to see him best you at Jasper's melee. It'll be months before I can hold an event of my own."

"Ah, then I won't apologize for the disappointment. Had I participated, you would have experienced the same."

The earl chuckled into his wine glass. He nodded toward the twins. "Finally old enough to participate in these events, I see. If you're looking for company, my youngest is down at the other end of the table."

To Baron's surprise, Corvin shook his head. "I'd rather stay. As soon as the king arrives, Baron has to present himself."

Baron's chest warmed at the unfailing loyalty. "Go on," he said gently, nodding down the table.

After another few moments of hesitation, Corvin moved off, dragging Leon with him, the blond boy still transfixed by pastries.

"It's for the best." Earl Wycliff grimaced. "There's nothing they can do, and perhaps Osric can distract them from making a scene. There's nothing I can do either, for that matter, and I am sorry, Gill."

Baron frowned. "What are you implying?"

The man paused, cup raised. "His Majesty won't appoint you. Surely you know that."

"Dowager Countess Morton already—"

"Married into it and never actually sat at court."

Baron's neck itched. He resisted touching his brand.

"Besides, I wouldn't use Morton as a defense of anything at the moment. She's made your situation infinitely worse. You're a good lad, Gill. One of the finest. But that doesn't change the kingdom."

After a long pause staring into his own glass, Baron admitted, "I intend to. Change the kingdom. My father raised me to have a voice in court, and I won't surrender it."

Lord Wycliff sighed. He stepped forward to grip Baron's shoulder. "Marcus was ... optimistic."

"You don't think I'm dangerous, do you?"

"Of course I do." The earl's grip tightened, then released. "Every sword ever forged is dangerous. It's a matter of who's wielding it, and I trust you to wield, but that doesn't mean I'm against the restrictions on Casters. I'm sorry."

At least he was honest.

Just then, the palace guards snapped to attention, calling the announcement for His Majesty. Lords and ladies alike turned from conversation, sinking into respectful bows and curtsies as the royal family passed in procession. Once the four figures settled on the dais, the room seemed to exhale, though personal conversations did not resume.

Baron handed his wine glass to a servant, noting the way the boy handled it like a loaded crossbow, tiptoeing to ensure the deadly weapon didn't impale him.

King Peregrine and Queen Marian did not sit together on the dais. Instead, the king's throne occupied the center spot, and his eldest daughter, the crown princess, sat immediately to his right. The queen and youngest daughter sat in a removed position to the left, as if meant to be mere audience to the true monarchs. An odd arrangement for a family.

To Baron's surprise, it was not the king who stood to address the crowd, but rather the crown princess. She wore an elegant gown in muted colors—black and cream—rather than the flamboyant purple dressing her sister. Judging by her solemn expression next to her sister's beaming smile, their fashion preferences reflected their disparate personalities.

All the same, Princess Aria spoke with a warm voice as she welcomed everyone.

"Eliza de Loegria," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a widening smile, "is now seventeen. The Crown presents her to the court as a young woman of eligible age, accepting suitors."

Princess Eliza stood and swept a graceful curtsy. Then she winked .

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. The king gave a stern frown but said nothing. Though Baron had expected the crown princess to continue with a welcoming address, she floundered for a moment, as if forgetting her words. Then she jumped to the next matter of business.

Baron would have liked it much better if that next matter was not himself.

"The Crown has another presentation to make as well," she said, nodding to her father. She took her seat with cheeks that had gone slightly pink.

If the king thought her abruptness strange, he didn't comment. He stood and crooked the fingers of one hand. "Guillaume Reeves, approach."

All eyes turned to Baron. He fought to keep his expression impassive, but it felt like one eye was twitching. He strode forward, careful to keep his hand off the hilt of his dress sword; comfort though it would have been, he would not give anyone reason to call him threatening.

At the foot of the dais, Baron made a formal bow, arms folded over his stomach, head dipping low. Then he straightened. And waited.

The king's voice boomed over the silent gathering. "Lord Baron Marcus Reeves, may he rest, was an honorable man, a credit to his noble title. Guillaume Reeves, you are his firstborn heir?"

Swallowing past a tight throat, Baron managed a "Yes, Your Majesty."

He'd witnessed other presentations. They ended here. The king pronounced his approval, welcomed the newcomer to court, and the celebration began in earnest.

But instead, the king said, "You bear the witch's mark?"

As if it wasn't burned into his skin for all to see. As if people hadn't been stealing glances at it since he'd arrived.

As if the crown princess wasn't gawking at it now.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"The Crown cannot, in good conscience, give seat to a Caster."

Quiet murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind rustling leaves. There it was, in the open. One small part of Baron had always been convinced it wouldn't happen, that his dread of this day was only born of fearful imagining, that after all his efforts to follow the rules with exactness, he would be afforded the base rights of society after all. Casters were not lesser citizens, the law insisted. The witch's mark was merely a precaution to keep all people safe, including magic users themselves.

He wore the brand for them . But their good conscience could not afford him a seat to his own birthright.

Calm down , he ordered himself. Ever since the event invitation had arrived, he'd braced for conflict, carefully piecing together arguments he could use to defend himself when inevitably challenged.

And he'd also considered the alternative.

If the Reeves title was stripped and given to another family, it would be a humiliation, a blight to his father's legacy. A landholding title had never been revoked in Loegria except for criminal offenses. However, it would also mean less scrutiny on the twins. As long as Baron drew attention, he drew it to the whole family. If he were an ordinary citizen—not a lord—he could offer his brothers greater safety, farther from the Crown's attention.

Yet both Baron and his father had agreed the only true hope for the twins was change in the kingdom. Otherwise, the best he could offer was a lifetime of hiding, a life of fear. The twins deserved better.

Baron wanted to give them better. Wanted it so fiercely his knees trembled.

Breaking the silence of the room, the king grunted in what seemed to be approval. "The Reeves title—"

"Is mine," Baron said. "By rights."

The crowd's murmuring doubled, shaking not only imaginary leaves but the trees themselves. The entire room seemed to vibrate with an excited terror. Perhaps the court wondered how a Caster dared interrupt a king. Perhaps they thought him a fool.

Perhaps he was.

Baron lifted his head. "Your Majesty, the law of title inheritance does not exclude Casters. I intend to uphold every rule of court. I ask only for my legal birthright, as any other person in my position would receive."

He stumbled a bit, voice shaking, and he forgot most of the points he'd intended to make. All he could do was stand firm and wait.

The king spoke coldly. "You imply the kingdom has an imperfect law?"

Baron knew better than to answer that. His palms grew sweaty.

"I've done nothing wrong," he finally said.

King Peregrine's brows drew down, like clouds lowering to deliver a storm. Baron's heartbeat provided the thunder, rumbling with fear in his chest. By antagonizing the king, would he advance the oppression of magic users? Had he made everything worse?

Then the crown princess stood.

"You are the firstborn heir," she said. "But not the only?"

For a moment, all Baron could do was blink before his senses caught up enough that he could nod.

As if she'd been part of proceedings from the beginning, Princess Aria said, "Esteemed members of court, we have suffered a recent wound. A threat of aggression. Scarcely can the Morton name be spoken without remembering it."

Baron tensed. For a moment, he'd dared to hope she would, in some way, defend him. But she'd returned the topic to the untrustworthiness of Casters.

"We would be ill-advised to ignore the threat at hand. However, we would be just as ill-advised to ignore other considerations, such as the benefit of trust within this court, built over generations of strong, dutiful families. The Reeves family is part of that legacy. A strong kingdom is built on the foundation of a strong court. We have such a thing here, built by all in attendance, and Loegria is better for it."

With all the charm a creature might possess, she smiled out at the ballroom, earning a few smiles in return.

Baron didn't smile. He watched the king.

The man's eyes still threatened storms, but the wind had turned from Baron's direction, focusing instead on the girl poised to inherit the kingdom.

When His Majesty at last spoke, he said, "The Reeves title will pass to the second-born heir, Corvin Reeves. Seeing as the boy is not yet of age, the court will appoint a steward to manage the estate and title, as well as to oversee his preparation for future duties. Though he has passed his twelve-year Casting test, one more will be administered at age seventeen. He must pass to inherit. This matter is settled. Begin the ball."

The king waved his hand, and the galley orchestra struck up a loud melody.

Baron whirled, searching the crowd for his brothers. Corvin stood at the far end of the long table, his jaw slack, his dark eyes wide with fear.

Baron's heart sank from his chest. The hollow it left behind was carved with a new title to replace the one he'd lost: Fool.