“Excellent,” Guillaume replied. “But we’re still going with you. Not to make sure you go, but to make sure you get there alive.”

I blinked. “I hardly need protection.”

“His Majesty thinks otherwise. There are half-bloods aplenty within the palace, and all are seeking your blood.”

“As you like.”

They marched arrayed in a circle, their magic creating a shimmering dome that pressed in around me. I’d never needed guards to protect me before; but then, until recently, neither had my father. Dark times indeed that we were worried about an outright attack.

We marched through the vaulted marble halls toward the throne room, the din from outside growing worse with every step I took. The doors to the great chamber swung open, but no one bothered to announce me. Pushing past Guillaume, I stepped inside, taking in the countless figures on either side of the path leading to the throne. My father held audiences early, and the throne room was packed with those wishing to air their grievances and those who were keen to watch.

The hall grew silent as I was noticed, everyone turning to watch me as I walked swiftly toward the throne. The half-bloods’ faces were all enraged, the aristocracy seemed curious, and everyone else appeared… worried. My father sat on the throne, the golden crown perched on his head, his expression unreadable. I met his gaze for a second, then bowed low. “Your Majesty.”

“Tristan.” My father shifted and stretched one leg out in front of him. “A grievous charge has been laid against you.”

“Is that so?” I glanced over my shoulder, and smiled at the gathered group of half-bloods. The move was mostly to see if Tips was in the crowd, but it wouldn’t hurt to stir them up. “I’ll have to add it to my already impressive list of accomplishments.”

It worked. They all began shouting, tossing insults and threats in my direction, until my father held up his hand to silence them. He was not so easily baited. “I’ve been told that sometime during the night all the work completed on the stone tree was destroyed, the foundations pulled apart and scattered throughout the city. Blame has been laid at your feet. What say you to the charges?”

“That I’m guilty,” I said. “I took apart their precious bit of work, and I confess, I took no small amount of satisfaction in doing so.”

The hall exploded with noise, a few booted feet taking off out of the room, no doubt to spread the word that I was guilty as charged. It wouldn’t be long before everyone in the city knew with surety that it was me who had undone nearly three months of hard labor. Had undone the only hope they had for removing their reliance on the aristocracy. I was more than certain that we’d be able to hear their reaction from here.

But it wasn’t their reaction I was interested in, it was my father’s.

“Punish him!” someone shouted. “He needs to pay for what he’s done!”

“Silence.” He didn’t shout. A king didn’t need to.

The throne room grew quiet, which only made the escalation of noise outside the palace all the more noticeable. A guard skirted up the edge of the room, hurrying over to my father’s arm when he was noticed. I heard bits of his whispered report. “They’re threatening his life… hate him… will try to tear him apart if he leaves the palace… still praising your name.” My father sighed and waved him away as though his report were of no more concern than a backed-up sewer drain. But I didn’t miss the twitch in his fingers where they rested on the arm of the throne.

My heart skipped.

“I would have thought you’d be pleased to see your dream becoming a reality.” His voice was mocking.

“What they were building out there did not much resemble my dream,” I said. “Those were not my plans.”

I vaguely heard the whispered speculation about what my words meant, but none would guess I was being literal. My father’s fingers twitched again, then he pressed his palm hard against the gold arm of the throne. Now, now, now, I silently screamed.

“He did it out of spite, Your Majesty.” Tips’s voice echoed up into the dark and cavernous heights of the hall. “Tried to turn us against you again, and when we rejected him, this was his revenge.”

One of my father’s eyebrows rose, but there was a glimmer of uncertainty in his gaze. “Back to your old tricks so soon, my son?”

I said nothing, remaining still and motionless.

“You.” He jerked his chin in Tips’s direction. “Come forward.”

The half-blood’s wooden leg made sharp thuds as he strode toward the throne. I drew sharply on my magic, pulling in every ounce I had at my call as though I intended to silence Tips before he could speak some damning words. To make everyone believe the half-blood was enough of a threat that I’d kill him in front of my father rather than let him speak.

The throne room filled with screams as the spectators sensed the swell of magic, and everyone bolted, stumbling over each other in a mad rush to reach the exit.

My father’s power hit me like a tidal wave, slamming me to the floor and containing the surge of heat and pressure. I struggled against him, fighting as hard as I could. But the iron did its duty.

A boot slammed down between my shoulder blades, and I grunted, struggling to breathe beneath its weight.

My father grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head far enough back to hurt. “Killing him will not absolve you of your guilt.”

“Neither will letting him live.” My tone was flat.