General Lateef leered at the woman, tightening her metal leash. “A young sentry came across one of her opened bottles in your father’s study this evening and had a taste. He died shortly afterward.”

Zaethan flipped his palms over and examined the lines in his skin, wondering if he’d been the one who’d carried death to the king’s door. Raising his head in disbelief, he saw the al’Haidren to Boreal watching him, likely pondering the same. Her hauntingly irregular irises narrowed suspiciously before she turned to face the throne. Guardedly, Zaethan followed suit.

Dmitri’s expression darkened as he reached for his walking cane, gripping it tightly. He released the queen. Steadying the cane between his legs, he sat taller.

“Orynthia hereby charges this debauched cross-caste as an enemy of the realm,” Zaethan’s father said, producing a packet of papers tucked into the back of his belt. “For her high crimes of civil lawlessness, organized treason, and the assassination of a sitting regent.”

“No! No, ano zà! I did not do these things,” Salma cried, and crawled to General Lateef across the marble, seizing his muddy boot. “I taste all my product, sample every batch myself. There was no poison—”

“The prisoner admits guilt in her black-market trade, Your Highness.” Zaethan’s father whipped his hand at the hysterical madam crumpled on the floor. “A cross-caste who has cultivated contacts from every corner of the realm, sowing her treasonous venom while they lie in the clutches of her whores!”

“Ano! I would never betray Kor—”

The general kicked her in the ribs. The queen gasped and reached out for Dmitri when Lateef repeated the assault. Whimpering, Salma wrapped her already battered arms around her knees.

Dmitri thumped the cane between his feet. “That is more than sufficient, General.”

“We’ve received several reports from the sentry regarding this woman’s open disdain for the crown. My own son,” Zaethan’s father clapped his back paternally, “can corroborate these accounts of her insurrectionary rhetoric. He is known to frequent her establishment quite often.”

“Zaeth.” Dmitri’s eyes widened. “Is this true?”

His father’s hand engulfed Zaethan’s shoulder, considerably bruised beneath the sling and his loose, collarless shirt.

“I don’t…she…” Zaethan stammered, skeptical that Salma’s idle comments could ever support such drastic crimes.

His father’s thumb dug harshly into the sore tissue over his shoulder blade, and Zaethan suppressed a wince.

“Nabhu has previously mentioned her…distrust in the Ethnicam,” he added, absorbing the unrelenting bite of his father’s grip. “But beyond that, I cannot bear testimony to anything more.”

“You see?” His father sneered, squeezing mercilessly before letting go and moving closer to the platform beside the general. “The traitor voiced her treacherous views in the presence of your own Quadren, without any fear of consequence. What would stop a corrupt cross-caste like this, without the proper governance of a House, from resorting to murder to achieve her ambitions?”

Zaethan’s forehead crumpled, confused as to why his father advocated Salma’s guilt with so little evidence. At that, the Haidren to Pilar inched forward as well, the fabric of his pristine shoto robes wafting around his feet like a cloud. In his shadow, Sayuri appeared ill. Sweat beaded along her hairline and upper lip, as if she were about to double over any moment. Her uncle combed his sharp beard with his ugly nailpiece, addressing Dmitri and his mother.

“Perhaps our perspective is too shortsighted in this matter, Your Highnesses.” Tetsu Naborū paced toward Salma, huddled on the floor, favoring her ribs. “Perhaps another, much closer to us, plotted this violent scheme by simply adopting this woman’s channels of operation? Our allies may not be as faithful as they seem. Razôuel betrayed us before…turned against Aquilla during the Shield Wars. What would prevent history’s repetition, with a daughter of the burgundy sands just one contract away from where your mother sits now?”

Zaethan’s mouth parted, utterly shocked to hear Pilar voice his own theory. The Zôueli could’ve easily identified Salma’s pammu runners out of Calluc, or those through the Andwele Mountains. The king’s fondness for illegal imports wasn’t exactly secret. Instigators could have sent word to the Zôueli, informing them of his personal breach of their treaty against Mworra. The formidable Queen of Razôuel was not one to overlook the duplicity of a king.

Dmitri sunk into the cushions of the throne and held his temples in one hand. He remained silent while Zaethan’s father glowered at Sayuri’s uncle. Then a peculiar exchange passed between the two men. Tetsu Naborū laced his hands together and pointed his fingers to the floor, staring intently at Zaethan’s father. His fingers altered, shaping his hands into another formation, and the corners of his thin lips smirked at the commander of the Orynthian armies.

His father’s nostrils flared. Snatching the chain from General Lateef, he cruelly heaved Salma forward by the neck.

“Regardless of any implausible partnerships,” he scoffed, hauling her up the first step, “Salma Nabhu has been found guilty of forging contracts with our enemies, managing the distribution of contraband throughout the territories, and—by the delivery of poison to royal chambers—is therefore responsible for the assassination of a reigning descendent of Thoarne!” Then the commander’s voice softened bizarrely. “Your father, the Fates escort his soul, would counsel you to avenge his untimely death. What will your people think, Your Highness, if you show leniency to his murderess? Is treason something the crown will tolerate during your reign?”

Instantly, Dmitri’s eyes flashed open, darting toward the accused. His mouth creased into a flat line as his chest rose and fell with quick, harsh breaths.

“Salma Nabhu.” Dmitri spoke lowly, the sound hoarse and depleted. “You are hereby sentenced to death for the assassination of my father, Korbin Aquilla Thoarne, a ruling son of Thoarne, the Shield King of Orynthia, and mighty sovereign of her four Houses.”

“Ano! Please!” Salma shrieked, scrambling to climb the steps. Zaethan’s father slung her backward and slapped her to the ground.

“Your death will be slow and arduous,” Dmitri continued, as if no one else was in the room. “Without a House to contest these charges, tomorrow you will be banished to the Wastes. You are to spend your final days alone, thirsting for forgiveness for your crimes. May the Fates show you mercy where I cannot.”

Her sentencing resonated through Thoarne Hall. The Haidren to Boreal’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, the other wrapped around her niece. Stunned, Zaethan watched Dmitri heavily wave for Salma to be taken away. Zaethan’s father offered Naborū a triumphant grin before he towed Salma through the servant’s entry. The chains rattled down the dark passage as he disappeared.