by Renna Peak
The way the boy grins before he leaves the room almost makes me smile. Almost.
There is still far too much to deal with, though. I’ll think about pleasantries later.
“Where might your brother have gone?” William looks down at me. “Surely he has a hiding place—”
“I think I know where he might have gone.”
“Where?”
I frown at him. “To the gym in the city where he practices fencing.” I try to swallow the sick feeling I have at remembering how I’d taken that away from William when he moved here to be with me after our first marriage. “I know I told you there was no gym in the palace, and it’s true. But there is a gymnasium nearby. It’s where Reginald is always practicing his fencing.”
The wounded look on William’s face is gone after only a second. “Then we should go there and convince him to abdicate—”
“You don’t understand, William. Even if he abdicates tonight, I’m not next in line. I—”
“You are the eldest child of King Maximilian. You are the rightful heir—”
“If I’d had four living male heirs at the time of his death, then yes, I would be the rightful heir. But even if Reginald abdicates, the line of ascension skips me because I don’t have four boys. The next in line is my father’s cousin, the Duke of—”
“Then we have to get him to change the law first.”
“Reginald?” I lift a brow. “You think I can get Reginald to change the law of ascension? And abdicate the throne to me? Tonight?”
He nods at me a few times. “It’s our only hope.”
William
I know I should be angry with Justine for hiding the fact that there’s a gymnasium nearby, but that seems like such a petty thing to get upset over right now. There are much greater issues at hand.
The gymnasium isn’t far, only a few blocks from the palace, and we don’t have to search long for Reginald. He’s the only one here, and when we walk in, he’s furiously working through exercises in the middle of the floor. He hasn’t even bothered to put on a mask or proper clothes—his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead, and perspiration has soaked through the silken fabric of his shirt. His right arm is still in its sling, so the blade is in his left hand—and it’s obvious from his awkward, jerky movements that he’s not used to practicing with his non-dominant hand.
As I watch him lunge and jab, fury builds in me. King Maximilian might have been primarily responsible for what happened in the mines, but Reginald played a part, too. He clearly knew what his father was planning—perhaps he even assisted in the matter himself—and I want to rip him limb from limb. He’s threatened my country, my family, and Justine—and I don’t intend to let him harm anyone else ever again.
I take a step toward him, but Justine grabs my arm and grips it firmly. She must read the intention in my face. When I look down at her, her expression is hard and blank. I can only imagine what’s going on in her head right now.
Reginald hasn’t noticed us yet. He grunts as he thrusts his épée against some invisible foe. The sound echoes up to the rafters. How could he be in here, doing this, when his kingdom is in turmoil? When his father isn’t even in the ground yet?
Justine waits only a moment longer before releasing my arm. She doesn’t say a word to me, but starts to make her way across the floor toward her brother. I follow.
When he finally notices us coming toward him, he nearly stumbles. Then he straightens, rage twisting his face.
“So my whore of a sister has returned,” he sneers. “With the Montovian scum.” He pushes his sweaty hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “I should have you both locked up.”
Justine doesn’t even break her stride. “There are more important things at stake here than some stupid sibling rivalry. We both know it.”
“I know that you were actively working against this country,” Reginald counters. “And that you’re married to a prince from the country that is declaring war against us!”
I can’t keep quiet any longer. “Your father made the first move. He’s the one who committed an act of war. And you’re just as responsible as he is.”
Justine grabs my arm again, and the look she gives me is a silent plea to let her handle this. It’s hard—nearly impossible—but I bite my tongue. I haven’t even said half of what I want to say.
“I’ve spoken to King Edmund,” Justine tells her brother. “In retaliation for the events that occurred in Montovia’s mines, he’s enforcing sanctions that would cripple us. He’s already secured the agreements of a number of countries, and that number could easily double soon.”
Reginald lets out a scream of rage, swinging his épée through the air. I instinctively pull Justine back, but her brother isn’t aiming at her. After slicing furiously at nothing, his hurls his weapon aside.
“This is all your fault!” he roars. I’m not sure whether he’s speaking to Justine or to me.
Justine’s voice remains perfectly calm. “King Edmund has said he would withdraw the sanctions, but on one condition.”
Reginald stops his raging and stills, staring at his sister. His shoulders heave, and his eyebrows have snapped together in suspicion. “What condition?”
“You’re to abdicate the throne,” she says. “And I’m to become queen.”
Abruptly, the sharp sound of Reginald’s laughter echoes through the empty gymnasium.
“You must think I’m a bloody fool!” he barks. “A bloody fucking fool!” His eyes dart between the pair of us. “How long did it take the two of you to come up with this ridiculous plan?”
“I assure you, it’s the truth,” Justine says, her voice still even. “I have the papers to prove it, signed and sealed by Edmund himself.”
“I’m not an idiot,” he says. “And I won’t fall for your fucking tricks, whore!”
My temper gets the better of me. “Then you damn yourself and your entire country.”
Reginald’s eyes flash as he stares me down. “Go back to Montovia, scum, before I lock you in the dungeon again. This time I’ll make sure you don’t escape—you think I don’t know how you got out the first time? I’ve already ordered that secret passage sealed.”
“You’re fighting a losing battle Reginald,” I say. “You know our army is stronger than yours. You know we have more money and resources and allies. Justine is right—all my father has to do is say the word, and we have the means to economically destroy Rosvalia. Think about your people, Reginald. I’m not asking you to like me. I’m just asking you to let go of your pride and do the right thing.”
“The right thing. Ha!” Reginald stalks over to his thrown épée and scoops it up. “You’re one to talk, scum. Your family may act all noble and self-righteous, but I know the truth—inside, you’re rotten. Every last one of you.”
He raises his épée in my direction, and beside me, Justine lets out a little gasp. He’s only using a practice weapon, with a dulled-down blade, but it still could do some damage, especially against an opponent with no padding or a weapon of his own to defend himself.
“Reginald,” Justine says, and there’s a slight edge of fear to her voice now, “put that down. Let’s go somewhere and talk this through diplomatically.”
“The time for diplomacy is over,” he says, swishing the épée through the air. “And anyway, I don’t negotiate with whores and scum.”
The wild rage he was showing a few moments ago is gone, and in its place is a cold, numb sort of anger. His eyes have gone steely as he stares me down. This controlled, focused Reginald is far more terrifying than the crazy beast he normally becomes when he’s angry. My heart pounds against my ribs.
“Justine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Get out of here. Now.” I can distract him while she makes her getaway.
But Justine shakes her head. “Are you crazy? I’m not leaving you alone with him.” To her brother, she says, “Please, Reginald. We’re on our own now, you and I. We need to figure out our next steps together.”
>
For a moment, I think she might actually be getting through to him—something flickers in his eyes, something softens. In spite of everything that’s happened between Justine and Reginald, they’re still connected by blood—by more than blood. They shared a womb, once. And the way Justine tells it, they used to play together, many years ago, before their father drove a wedge between them and molded Reginald after himself.
Is there any part of the old Reginald still in there? The part that cares about his sister?
But whatever emotion I see in his eyes, it’s gone quickly. With a sudden shout, he lifts his weapon over his head and charges.
I shove Justine out of the way, and then dive to the side, only just escaping the fall of Reginald’s épée. It’s a stabbing-and-jabbing weapon, not meant for blunt blows, but it would still cause some damage if it came down on my head with any force behind it.
I have little time to recover. Reginald swings again, and once more, I barely manage to escape. Reginald is one of the finest fencers I’ve ever met—he’s beaten me many times in the past—but he seems to have abandoned all manner of form. And not just because he’s using his left hand—with every passing second it becomes clearer that he’s not trying to out-fence me, he’s trying to hurt me.
Desperately, I look around. Justine has regained her balance some meters away, and her calm demeanor has cracked now that she sees what her brother intends.
“Stop!” she shouts at Reginald. But he ignores her. He swings at me again.
This time, when I narrowly lunge out of the way of the blow, my eyes fall on the rack against the far wall. A dozen practice weapons are lined up in a row.
If I could get to one of those…
Reginald’s grunt warns me of another attack, and this time I stumble over my own feet trying to get out of the way. I fall to my hands and knees, but I scramble upright quickly. I have to get to a weapon.
I sprint across the gymnasium floor. Reginald’s steps pound behind me. His legs are longer than mine, and he’s gaining little by little.
“Come back here, you fucking coward!” he shouts.
I feel a whoosh of air against my back as he swings and misses. I’m so close…
I leap the final few paces, reaching out and grabbing the nearest weapon. Normally I like to chose a practice épée that’s well balanced, one with a weight suited to my strength and form—but there’s no time for that now. I grip the handle and swing it around, bringing it up just in time to stop Reginald’s next attack. The blades clang together.
And over our locked weapons, my eyes meet his. His gaze is still steely as his lips curl into one of his sneers.
“I guess now the real fight begins.” He practically spits the words.
“No,” I tell him, my voice hard. “Now it ends.”
Justine
William stands, and the two begin to battle, though there’s nothing about their fighting that is as elegant as a normal fencing match. Even with his injury, my brother appears to be trying to kill my husband. Though with the weapons they’re using, it seems unlikely that either could do mortal harm to the other.
No, this seems to be much more about the rage both men carry with them than about the very real threats to both our countries.
And I’m helpless as I watch them fight, my back pressed up against the wall near the stand that holds the épées. I watch as they each take swing after swing, each trying to almost chop the other down.
William gets a blow in first, hitting Reginald in the ribs. My brother drops to his knees in an instant, holding his side with his casted arm as he tries to catch his breath.
“Stand up, you coward.” William glares at him. “Stand up and fight for your country.”
Reginald staggers to his feet. He looks at William for a moment, and then lets out a scream as he rushes toward him, holding his épée over his head with his good hand.
William only has to duck out of the way to avoid a blow to the skull, and it doesn’t look like he had to make much of an effort to do it. He spins around, resetting, and Reginald does the same, though he doesn’t wait at all to try to attack again.
With an outstretched arm, William knocks Reginald to the ground with another single blow. Almost too easily.
Reginald lets out another scream in frustration. “You will never, never rule Rosvalia.” He doesn’t seem to be saying it to anyone in particular, though his gaze is focused only on my husband. “You can all rot in hell for all I care. Every. Last. One of you.”
He scrambles again to his feet, trying desperately to land a blow on William with swing after pathetic swing.
William dodges each in turn, batting away my brother’s sorry attempts at attack that seem to get weaker with each movement.
I’m not sure how long they go on like this—perhaps another five minutes—but William finally looks over at me, his eyebrows drawn together. He doesn’t even have to look at my brother now to defend against his sad attempts to bring him down.
“Reginald.” I take a step toward the men, my heart still pounding with fear. “Lay down your weapon.”
“I’ll not. I’ll never…” His voice is broken, and I’d swear he’s trying to hold back a sob. “You…you’re not fit to rule.”
“She’s more fit than you’ll ever be, Reginald.” William’s tone isn’t the angry, bitter one he’d used before. This time, it is pure honesty. “This isn’t the life you want.”
“It isn’t the life she wants, either. She…she…” His voice cracks. “She’s never wanted it.”
“I think, deep down, you both know she has always wanted it. And I think you both know she’s the only person in this room fit to rule this country.” William threads the end of his épée through the handle of Reginald’s weapon, pulling it out of his hand in a single motion. The sword falls to the floor with a clang, and William steps over to pick it up.
“She…she can’t be queen. Even…even if I abdicated, she hasn’t had the heirs. The laws say—”
“Funny thing about laws…” William interrupts. “Kings have the ability to change them whenever they see fit. And if I’m remembering my Rosvalian studies correctly, you have a total monarchy here. Once you become king, you don’t even have to query the senate to change a law, Reginald.”
“It will be King Reginald to you soon enough, Montovian filth.” His voice is low, almost a mutter, but it’s definitely lost some of its edge. “And what…what’s in it for me?” He juts out his chin, squaring his shoulders. “You’d have me locked away if she were to become queen—”
“No, I wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be like that at all.” I take another step toward my brother, hoping he can understand that whatever might have happened in the past, the only thing I want now is what’s best for our country. “I only want to do what’s right. Our father is gone, and our mother may as well be. We only have each other now. Reginald—”
“Leave. Just…leave.” Reginald shakes his head. “Get out of my sight before I have you both put to death.”
I’m not completely certain what is going on in my brother’s head, but I know the seed has been planted. It isn’t as though William or I can force him to abdicate the throne—or to give it to me if he does.
I turn to William, extending my hand to him.
He nods, setting the weapons back on the stand before taking my hand in his. He pulls me into his arms for a moment, placing a kiss on my temple before we leave the gymnasium.
As we walk down the street, I look up at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the gymnasium. If we do ever move back to Rosvalia—”
“It doesn’t matter. Not now.”
I nod. “We should go back to the palace. Even if Reginald doesn’t make the decision we want, there is still a lot of work to do. I should make some calls—”
“I’ll do the same. Or whatever you need of me.”
Something warms in my chest as I look up at my husband. Perhaps he was right in what he said to my brother. Perhaps in some
secret place inside of me, I have always known I was born to rule this country. I’ve shunned that knowledge, mostly because it was what my family wanted. But now that Rosvalia has been plunged into what might be the worst crisis in its history, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
My country needs me.
“If you could call your father…” I know it is almost too much to ask, but I see no other alternative. “Ask that he give us a few more days—”
“I doubt very much that my father will be open to negotiating the terms of his proposal.” He lets out a long breath. “But I can speak with Andrew. He has the ear of my father and the senate.”
“Even another twenty-four hours would be helpful. I need to find out what other countries are considering signing onto the agreement. If I can contact them first, perhaps explain what has happened—”
William must hear the near panic in my voice—he places a consoling hand on my shoulder, spinning me to face him. “It’s going to all right. I don’t know how I know, but I do. We’re going to make this work. We’ll do whatever it takes, even if Reginald decides to remain king. He can use your help. He can use both our help, even if he doesn’t want to believe it now.”
I nod, turning back to face the street. He’s right, of course. Even if I never rule, I can’t turn my back on my brother—or my country—now. “My citizens don’t deserve this.”
“No, they don’t. But we can only do what we can do.”
William
I don’t want to stay in this country a moment longer than we have to, but I feel a responsibility—even a need—to protect the people of this country. It’s not just for Justine’s sake, either—sometime during these last few months, I started to think of the citizens as my people, too. Even more so now that Justine is truly my wife, in every sense of the word.
When we return to the palace, it’s much calmer and quieter than we left it. Too quiet, if you ask me. There’s something almost unsettling about the stillness in the air. The corridors, which were bustling with activity when we first arrived, are nearly empty. And any servant or member of the household staff we see seems to duck out of sight the moment we glance their way.