The Queen of Agility didn’t return to the harbor of Ghurmaca until four o’clock the next afternoon. The Silver Coin followed her the entire way, carrying Qelmar and his men locked in the hold.

  Word had already spread that one of the princes had been kidnapped, so when the legendary ship of the Dusughbarian navy came back, crowds rushed toward the docks. The return of both vessels meant only one thing: the kidnappers had been caught.

  A selected escort headed toward the palace. Several soldiers of the royal guard forced a path through the crowd. Behind them walked the princess, the admiral, and Jhalen. Then came Qelmar, chin raised as if he felt no shame at all for what he’d done, flanked tightly by two guards. Kelen was carried by two more men on hastily made stretchers. Behind them marched the four boys of the Rascal Gang, and finally the rest of the castle guard.

  Only those of the highest rank were allowed into the throne room. All soldiers except Qelmar’s escort remained outside in the corridor.

  On the throne sat the king, his wife Asarda beside him. Other courtiers were present as well, including Prince Malgorn—no prince was to be absent today.

  Velen greeted them. “Admiral, diplomat, my daughter—good to see you. I’m deeply relieved you managed to capture the kidnappers.” His gaze drifted across the gathered. “I see one of them, Prince Qelmar. But where is Counselor Meradan? I don’t see him anywhere.”

  “He’s dead, Your Majesty,” Sharad said after clearing his throat.

  “Oh.” The king froze, stunned, and sank back into his seat. “And how did he die?”

  Silence settled over the room. The admiral and Jhalen exchanged a glance. The princess looked to Kelen. He took two unsteady steps forward and said firmly, without hesitation, “I executed him.”

  “I don’t understand,” the king said slowly, shaking his head. “How could you think you had the right to take his life? He wasn’t some common man—he was my long-standing counselor. Others could’ve learned loyalty from him.”

  “I had the right to vengeance,” Kelen answered, chin lifted with the conviction of someone standing by his choice.

  “You had no right to anything!” Velen thundered, stopping the queen with a sharp gesture as she tried to calm him. “You are a guest in my land. The fact that Meradan kidnapped you does not give you the authority to pass judgment without my permission—or that of someone empowered to act in my stead.”

  “I acted in your stead, Father,” Belara protested. “I approved the choice of my future husband.”

  “My daughter, even if you will one day rule this kingdom, do not assume that makes you my representative. Don’t try to soften this or defend him! Meradan was my man—my friend—my counselor. His service to this realm is unquestionable. And if Prince Kelen is the sort who likes to meddle in matters that are not his, then hear this clearly: do not marry him! Take Malgorn instead. I have no need for a son-in-law who thinks he belongs on my throne. I’d sooner face a third Kenderlanian invasion.” Velen stood before the throne like a lion on a high rock—no one in the room doubted his authority.

  “Anything but another invasion…” the admiral muttered under his breath; only Belara and Jhalen heard him.

  “I’ll marry the princess right now,” Qelmar chimed in with his usual insolence.

  “You dare speak?” Velen snapped. “You will never have Belara. And since you’ve opened your mouth, we’ll settle your matter as well.” He drew a long breath. “Though you are guilty, Dusughbarah will honor your status as a guest and envoy. You will not be harmed. But by tomorrow morning you will set sail. If you, your ship, or any of your people are found in my realm after that, we will kill without hesitation.”

  Qelmar stepped forward—three bold strides—stopping in the center of the hall with his hands bound. His guards clung to him like leeches. The prince stared directly into the king’s eyes. “You really want me to leave like this? You truly believe you don’t need our alliance? Even without marriage, just an agreement—our help for your resources. Everyone knows Kendelen will strike. And once they take your knowledge of Tishilka, they’ll move on to their next invasion in Purmota. The fall of the human realms will be on your head. Because you were too proud to ask my kingdom for aid. Over a single misstep that changed nothing. Fools, if you think you have a future with Prince Kelen’s land. Terres has never been and never will be a major power. Everyone knows it. And your current mad king on the throne—”

  “Don’t you dare speak of my father,” Kelen snapped, stepping toward him, fist tightening as if he were one insult away from driving it down Qelmar’s throat.

  Qelmar refused to be silenced, but he was done provoking Kelen. His gaze stayed fixed on the king. When Kelen’s shout faded, he spoke into the quiet. “Decide in what state you want me to leave Ghurmaca. If I sail away like this, do not expect any help.”

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  “Get out of my sight, you two-faced viper!” Velen roared. “Tassas now stands alone, without allies. But Dusughbarah will have a firm one—mind yourself that you don’t receive an unexpected visit from us someday. Take him away!” he barked at the guards. They each seized an arm and dragged Qelmar out.

  “Treacherous Tassas,” the king muttered loudly. “They’ll smear honey on your lips and then send a swarm of bees after you.” He exhaled sharply. “Now, back to the matter at hand,” he said as he settled back into his throne.

  “Father,” the princess began, “we were discussing that Kelen ordered Counselor Meradan’s execution without your authority, though I still insist that as the future ruler of Dusughbarah I had the right to act in your absence.”

  “Belara,” the king began, his voice heavy. For a moment the hall fell utterly still. “I understand the prince’s feelings—his claim to judgment over Meradan, who committed such a grave offense. But you should have remembered that this was a man who served our kingdom faithfully for many years. Long before you were born, Meradan stood at my side, whispering his sharply pragmatic counsel. His words were always hard, often harsh, but always for the good of the realm.”

  “He said the same about my kidnapping,” Kelen muttered under his breath, unable to stop himself.

  The king heard him and nodded. “You may not believe it, Prince, but I understand you. Meradan, convinced he had a unique chance to help the realm, forgot every custom of our court. That doesn’t excuse him… I understand you,” he repeated. “Still, for his loyalty, he deserved a different end to his judgment…”

  “You wouldn’t have granted him mercy, would you?” Belara objected.

  “No, he wouldn’t have escaped punishment… but I wish it hadn’t ended like this. If only Prince Qelmar had never brought you that letter. None of this would have happened,” the king murmured, the grief for his long-time counselor etched deeply across his face.

  Queen Asarda, seated beside him, took his hand and gently squeezed it—reminding him he didn’t have to bear the sorrow alone.

  The tension in the throne room loosened. The king’s earlier storm of anger at his daughter and her future husband had passed, but now he sat brooding, his gaze lost somewhere far from the present moment. After a short silence, the diplomat judged it was necessary to continue and dared to break the heavy quiet.

  “I have a question for the princess: what will become of the tournament now, since only two contestants can continue—and Prince Qelmar must leave the country?”

  “I have an answer for you, Jhalen,” the princess said. “But first, summon the Tassasian prince back.”

  The doors opened again and Qelmar stepped inside, surrounded by guards. His eyes were cold and calm. “Have you reconsidered my offer?” he asked with poisonous politeness.

  “Nobody has reconsidered anything,” Belara cut him off, raising her hand to silence him. “I had you brought back so you couldn’t claim you’d been left out. This concerns the tournament. On the way back, I made a decision…” She looked from prince to prince. “I am invoking the First Rule of the Tournament. It states that the princess is always right and may do anything. Therefore, as of this moment, I am cancelling the tournament. After everything that has happened, I refuse to continue it.”

  “You can’t do that,” Malgorn burst out, horrified. “Where’s the fairness in that? I was invited to compete, and I chose to participate—to try and win Tal Namaréa. And now you take that chance from me on a whim?”

  “I am invoking the First Rule,” Belara repeated wearily, running a hand across her forehead. She had expected this outburst and dreaded it. “What is it, Prince Malgorn? It was only three words.”

  “The princess may do anything,” he said in a defeated voice. He knew she was right—he just refused to accept it.

  “Correct. All three of you entered the tournament under that rule. You accepted it. So now you must accept that the tournament is over. It will not continue. Malgorn, if you want to blame someone, direct your anger at Prince Qelmar. Had he not come to me with that letter, Meradan wouldn’t have acted, and Prince Kelen wouldn’t have been kidnapped.”

  Malgorn struggled visibly to contain himself. His fists clenched, his face a portrait of fury at a situation he could not change. “So much for the fairness of this tournament,” he muttered bitterly.

  “That’s enough,” Jhalen told him firmly. “Prince, I understand this is a shock. No one expected such circumstances. But deep down you know the princess has the right to this decision. Isn’t that so?”

  Malgorn exhaled, nodded, and stepped back to the corner where he had stood before. The outer storm of the Zerboran prince had passed, but inside him, eruptions of anger still shook. He was simply better at hiding them.

  “That will be all. Thank you all for taking part in the tournament. Prince Qelmar, you may leave—your presence is no longer required,” Belara said, signaling the guards to escort him out again.

  Once the doors closed behind him, she continued. “I also chose to cancel the tournament because it has fulfilled its intended purpose: to learn about each prince and choose a potential husband. And that has happened.” She turned and smiled at Kelen.

  Jhalen stepped to the prince and hissed something in his ear. Kelen blinked at him, then looked at Belara, then at the others in the room—and knelt before her.

  “Princess Belara of House Akhur, heir to the Dusughbarian throne—will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she answered, beaming. She threw her arms around his shoulders. “And I already know what your wedding gift will be,” she blurted as they pulled apart.

  Kelen swallowed—realizing he had nothing prepared. “What wedding gift?” he asked carefully.

  “I will give you Tal Namaréa,” she said proudly.

  “Thank you for your wedding gift, my bride,” Kelen replied. “Forgive my lack of preparation—but in Terres we have many treasures to choose from.”

  “What a foolish girl,” Jhalen thought the moment he heard her words. Unlike her, he understood Prince Malgorn’s feelings—and his desire to win the tournament’s grand prize.If only she had waited a little longer, instead of announcing it right in front of him.He glanced at Malgorn and immediately knew he was right. The prince looked as if lightning had struck him—standing in the corner, staring into nothing. He did not look like someone unmoved by the princess’s choice.Poor boy, he must feel utterly betrayed. Why couldn’t she wait until tomorrow? Young people rush everything. This is going to cause trouble…

  Only Jhalen in the entire throne room realized that the princess had just sown the seed of a future disaster.