She crossed her arms, still glaring at him.
He leaned close and whispered, “I don’t have to read your mind to know that Romak upset you. What did the weasel say?”
“He inferred that Silas may have killed the king’s children in order to inherit—”
“Bastard.” Dimitri clenched his fists. “I should rearrange his face so he’ll find it hard to say any more crap.”
“I warned him not to repeat it.”
“Good.”
Gwennore shook her head. “It’s not good. I was caught completely by surprise. Why didn’t the general tell me he was heir to the throne?”
Dimitri winced. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No. Who’s going to believe we’re close when I don’t know the most basic things about him? What else is he hiding?”
Dimitri looked away, frowning.
There is something. “What is it?” An alarming thought struck her. “Does he have a mistress somewhere else?”
“Not at the moment. Women are generally reluctant to get involved with any man from the cursed clans.”
“People really believe that?”
A pained look crossed Dimitri’s face. “It is true.”
Gwennore sighed. As far as she was concerned, the curse was only true if you believed in it. But what else could Silas be hiding?
A loud, clanging sound interrupted her thoughts, and she turned toward the entrance. Using a carved wooden baton, a servant struck a gold gong, and another clang reverberated across the Great Hall.
The gong was suspended next to the double doors of the entrance. Precious jewels lined the perimeter of the gong and shimmered in the multitude of lit candlesticks.
“His Majesty, King Petras; Her Majesty, Queen Freya; and His Highness, Prince Silas,” the servant announced in a booming voice.
The courtiers quickly parted to leave a wide path down the middle of the room, then all bowed and curtsied. Gwennore sank into a deep curtsy, her heart thudding in her chest. Prince Silas? And everyone believes he is my lover?
With her gaze downcast, she grew tense when the king and queen passed by her on their way to the dais. A pair of booted feet stopped in front of her.
Silas. She rose from her curtsy but avoided looking at him.
“We need to talk,” he whispered.
She snorted. For someone who kept wanting to talk to her, he managed not to tell her much.
When he moved away, she stole a glance at him and watched him step onto the dais. He frowned, casting a wary look at the jeweled coronet hanging over his chair. Was she just imagining it, or did he seem uncomfortable?
When the royal family took their seats, the rest of the courtiers rushed to the smaller tables to sit down. Servants came in, carrying huge trays of food.
Gwennore sat next to Dimitri, her heart still thudding as she occasionally glanced up at the dais. If she had met the king earlier, she could have guessed he was related to Silas. They were both tall, with black hair, green eyes, and similar jaws, although she had to admit that Silas was much more handsome.
Petras was probably in his mid-thirties, although he looked older. The weight of his office must be wearing on him, she thought, or perhaps he was becoming ill like the queen. There were dark circles under his eyes, wrinkles were etched deeply into his brow, and his shoulders slumped in a way she interpreted as sadness or weariness.
She glanced over at Silas. He looked wonderfully fit compared with his older brother. His gaze lifted from his plate of food to look at her, and she glanced away.
“He should have told me,” she muttered. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Dimitri paused in the middle of slicing into a piece of roast mutton. “I don’t think it’s something he’s comfortable with. He’s actually spent very little time here with his brother.”
“He grew up with you and Aleksi?”
Dimitri nodded. “We were all trained to be soldiers. It was always assumed that Petras would have several sons, so Silas never believed he would inherit the throne.”
“He still should have told me.”
“Probably so.” Dimitri ate while he considered. “I can tell you this. He always introduces himself as General Dravenko. That is how he sees himself. He’s spent most of his life with the army. That is his home. Not here.”
“I see.”
Dimitri offered her something underneath the table. “He wanted you to have this.”
A dagger? “What is this for?”
“Slide it up your sleeve,” Dimitri advised. “It’s a gift from Lord Romak. He’s hoping you’ll kill Silas in his sleep.”
She scoffed. “You might find this hard to believe, but I can be peeved without being homicidal.”
He smiled. “I wasn’t going to give it to you, but Silas told me to go ahead.”
“He has a death wish?”
Dimitri chuckled. “No. He thought you might need it for self-defense.”
A chill crept up her spine. “Are you saying our investigation will be dangerous?”
His smile vanished. “You’ll have to careful. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
She nodded. “Thank you.” As she slid the small dagger up her sleeve, she reminded herself why she was here. To keep other children from being kidnapped. To help Silas save his people. To find a cure for the queen.
With a small shock, she realized that Silas’s mother had been the former queen. His mother had fallen into madness and thrown herself into the Norva River. And now the current queen was in danger of succumbing to a similar fate. No wonder no one wanted to marry into the family.
Another startling realization skittered through Gwennore, making her stiffen in her chair.
Sorcha was a princess.
* * *
“That should do it.” Gwennore looked over the collection of thirty bowls scattered about the queen’s dressing room.
After dessert had been served, Lady Margosha had escorted her to the queen’s dressing room. While Her Majesty and the rest of her ladies-in-waiting were occupied with the dance in the Great Hall, Gwennore and Margosha were secretly testing the queen’s belongings for poison.
After filling each
