Chapter 10: Chapter X

I follow the prince for three uneventful days. They pass in piles of books, clashes of swords, and whispered nothings into the ears of noblewomen. Cordelia visits him in his bedchamber on one of these evenings, but I have no interest in bearing witness to their encounter.

I am hiding behind the bookcase on the fourth morning when I hear Dustin's loud voice from the doorway.

"Adrian! I'm glad I found you."

Reluctantly, I shove my ring back on and scamper to the table where the prince is scribbling something on a piece of parchment. Simultaneously, Dustin moves over to him, his jaunty walk reminding me of the cocky strut of a peacock.

The prince sets down his swan-feather quill pen and looks up at Dustin. "You know very well that I'm here every morning, Lord Dustin."

Dustin grins, his yellowed teeth on full display. "Your father sent me to check on you. And to give you this." He pulls a small velvet box out of his pocket and passes it to the Silver Prince.

As the prince opens it, his eyes widen. I peer over his shoulder, and my gaze is met with a large sapphire ring, set in a bed of diamonds. It glitters in the bright sunlight that pours through the impossibly tall window, revealing the gem's many facets.

"I don't know why you would give me this," the prince says coldly, slamming the lid shut and tossing the box onto the table. It slides across the glossy wood, almost dropping off the far end.

"I have spoken to the king of your apparent interest in Lady Cordelia," Dustin says. "It seems that your relationship is becoming more serious."

"I must disagree with your assessment."

"This is not the first visit during which you have offered her special attention. Any fool could discern your feelings towards her."

"Then you do not possess the intelligence of even a fool," the Silver Prince says with an arrogant smile. "You are mistaken."

Dustin's mask of nonchalance fades, his mouth setting in a grim line. "Do you consider your father less than a fool? He agrees with me."

Unlike the lord, the prince's confidence never falters. "I consider it strange for him to accept your council unquestioningly. He has taken supper in his room as of late, and thus has been unable to observe any interactions between Cordelia and myself."

King Thurstan's absence hasn't slipped my notice. I imagine his health is deteriorating rapidly, otherwise he would surely make more of an effort to appear healthy before his subjects. Perhaps he has been rendered unable to walk due to his illness. Maybe I have even less time than I expected—it would be best to steal the Silver Prince's shadow before the king's death, before he inherits all that power and has a chance to do something with it.

Perhaps I should have asked Tilly Carver, the black market occultist, if she had some sort of truth serum. Unfortunately, though, I think even a woman as skilled as she couldn't create one of those. They have to be tailored with extreme specification to the people who will be drinking them, and it's a meticulous and complicated magic besides.

"Your father has my trust," Dustin mutters.

"Then, at the very least, he is unwise," says the prince.

I have to admire his insouciant manner. He is completely unconcerned with what Dustin thinks of him, and unafraid of the consequences of speaking his mind. This might be an undesirable trait in a prince, but plain honesty is so rare here that I find myself respecting this uncommon display of it—especially towards someone who seems to have some influence over his father.

Dustin's darkened face reminds me of the flesh of a plum. "Your father thinks that Cordelia is a suitable match for you. Since you at least have a physical interest in her, I suggest you take advantage of this opportunity to marry someone you chose. Not many people of your status are allowed that luxury. Your own father didn't choose your mother to be his bride."

The prince glances at the velvet box. "I don't think her ring would suit Cordelia."

Shaking his head, Dustin says, "Why do you find this so difficult, Adrian? She's a wonderful girl, beautiful in every way, and you already seem to enjoy her company. Besides, I believe you owe her—you have ruined her already, and before she has even turned twenty."

The prince laughs wildly. "I am not her first, Lord Dustin, nor shall I be her last."

"You shouldn't speak of a noblewoman that way."

"I know that, behind closed doors, you are not as genteel as you would like the world to believe. At least I'm not pretending to be something that I am not."

Keyon sighs. "Lord Dustin, if you are quite finished, Adrian needs to return to his studies."

"I'm not finished," Dustin says stiffly. He leans down until his face is mere inches from the prince's. Though he lowers his voice, it's obvious that this is not only for the prince to hear, but also for his guards and his tutor. "Your father's health is failing, Adrian. It seems that you may be crowned king much sooner than any of us expected. Before the peak of autumn, even. And you are still naïve; you still behave like a child. You need someone strong to stand by your side, someone who knows how to lead. Though young, Lady Cordelia has already ruled Bellvemarre successfully for three years. If she can run her province so well, it stands to reason that she can handle a kingdom."

This comes as a shock. In Itoria, there is a standard of three months of grieving before the new king can be crowned. Once Thurstan is dead, the rule of Itoria will immediately pass to the Silver Prince, but there is still that period of vulnerability during which the title of king is not yet officially his. The peak of autumn is four months away, meaning that Dustin expects Thurstan to be dead within one.

My blood runs cold. This situation is more dire than I first thought.

The serene expression on the prince's face confuses me. "Tell me why you wish for me to marry her so badly. Does this union benefit you in any way?"

"Of course not. My wishes are only for your well-being. I know that Lady Cordelia can help you rule Itoria with a firm hand, which will make the transfer of power from your father to you as smooth as possible."

"And this has nothing to do with the secret you hold over her head?" Adrian asks coolly.

All the blood drains from Dustin's face. "What—what secret?" he sputters.

"She wouldn't give me the details. But you should know that I don't look favorably upon coercion of any sort, and my stance on the matter won't change once I become king."

The guards and Keyon all stare at the prince, wide-eyed with shock. It doesn't exactly surprise me to discover that Dustin stands to gain from this marriage that he is so invested in, but to learn that his gain is contingent on lording something over Cordelia sickens me. I dislike the girl, but her situation is pitiable. But, despite my empathy, I know that I have to find out what it is that Dustin knows about her. What could be so damaging that it gives him such control over her? Control that would stretch to the prince, were they to marry?

The Silver Prince nods as he takes in Dustin's horrified expression. "I always noticed how she avoided your company like the plague. At first, I thought it was simply due to a natural aversion towards men like you. But two nights ago, after we laid together, she confessed the truth—or as much of the truth as she dared speak aloud. If you believe that you'll be able to influence me through her, I would advise you to think again. And, this time, make sure your head is on straight."

"Adrian," Dustin snaps, "that girl is lying to you. She is trying to corrupt your mind against me."

Waving his hand imperiously, the prince says, "Quiet; you are dismissed. You may tell my father that I will not propose to Lady Cordelia because I am waiting for a more advantageous pairing. Or, if you wish, you may tell him the truth: that I will not put Itoria in a position where their king might find himself answering to a self-serving lord simply because that lord has unfortunate information about their queen."

"You will pay for your impudence," Dustin growls. "Mark my words."

"They are well marked," the Silver Prince says indifferently. "I invite you to do your worst."

Dustin turns and storms out of the room. I follow him upstairs and to the end of the East Wing of the castle, my invisible footsteps soundless against the stones. The king's bedchamber is as far from the prince's room as possible, on the opposing end of the building. It almost seems purposeful. As far as I can tell, there isn't much fondness between them.

There are six guards standing before the great doors that lead to the king's room, but they allow Dustin to enter without comment. I slip inside behind him, unwilling to be caught on the outside when the doors close. While this ring allows me to pass through anything, it seems, the sensation is so unpleasant that I wish to avoid doing so at all costs.

This room is similar to the prince's, only larger and decorated in rich shades of crimson and gold. A large banner with the crest of the Bancroft House hangs from the wall above the fireplace. I wonder if the Silver Prince will have to move in here once his father dies; it is unmistakably a king's room. There is even a false bookcase against one wall. From my years of sneaking about, most hidden doors are transparent to me. This one surely leads to a safe room, there in case of an intruder in the castle. Perhaps it even connects to a series of tunnels hidden within the castle walls; I have heard rumors of the architecture including such precautions as this.

The king is lying on his bed, covered in gold silk and red velvet blankets. Two attendants are by his side, their plain black uniforms making them stand out amongst the grand splendor that infects the rest of the room. Though I saw the king just a few days ago, his condition has rendered him almost unrecognizable. His cheeks are hollow, his eyes dull, and his muscles withered. There's no way that he has deteriorated so much in such a short amount of time. I wonder how this is possible. Has Dustin poisoned him somehow? No—he wouldn't want to rush the king's death until he has the Silver Prince under his thumb, and King Thurstan is the only person who can force him into marriage. If anything, Dustin would want the king alive, at least for a little while longer.

Coughing, the king tries to sit up. His attendants hastily prop him up, stuffing blankets behind his back and head to make him comfortable.

"Your Majesty." Dustin bows deeply, though the stiff tension in his body gives away his lingering irritation with the prince.

"Lord Dustin." The king's voice is weak, strained from the effort it takes to even speak. "I hope you have good news."

Dustin walks forward until he is standing right beside the king. "I'm sorry, sir. Prince Adrian refuses to listen to sense."

"He will not propose, then?"

"No."

The king shakes his head, his sallow face drooping with disappointment. "I thought so. That boy has never seen reason, and it seems he never will."

"With your permission, sir, I could show him that there are dire consequences to his disobedience." Dustin's eyes glint eagerly, and I can tell that he wishes to inflict physical harm upon the prince.

"He has already been punished for the incident in the woods, when he tried to evade his guards. I'm afraid it had no effect on his behavior at all."

"No, because you merely confined him to his room for a few days. I think more drastic measures must be taken to ensure his future submission to your orders." Dustin pauses thoughtfully, curled fingers pressed to his bearded chin. "I hope you will forgive me for being blunt, sir, but little time remains to mold him into the man he must become in order to rule effectively."

The king's sigh devolves into a cough. "He has become uncommonly difficult to keep in line."

"Yes, because he believes he can get away with anything."

"I have always used a firm hand when dealing with him."

"But when is the last time he was properly disciplined? A year ago? He has already forgotten whatever lesson he learned then."

"Not a full year," the king murmurs. "I believe he finds weakness in my sickness, though. He has become uncontrollable ever since I first fell ill. My disguise cannot fool him."

The king is using magic, then, to alter his appearance. I should have guessed. This sort of magic is not entirely uncommon; I see it all the time at the black market. Potions to clear one's skin of blemishes, magical candies that temporarily turn one's eyes blue or green or even violet, and—rarest if all—bracelets to enhance one's beauty. Each of these methods have their downsides, of course; clear skin but clouded vision, ocean-colored eyes but a dulled complexion, and enhanced beauty but hindered mind. Magic always comes with a price, and there are no exceptions to that rule, no matter how skilled the sorcerer. It looks like Thurstan's false vitality is only making his condition worsen quicker, but he is willing to pay that price in order to appear kingly before his people. Still, it's a deplorable thing for him to lie to his people and his court about his health; they won't be prepared for him to pass. He will leave the country in a state of turmoil, in the hands of a man who has no ability to lead. But, somehow, I think it worse for him to lie to his own son about this. The Silver Prince is the one who will be most affected by his father's death, and completely blindsided by his new responsibilities as king. He is obviously not ready to rule, and those who should have helped him have left him woefully unprepared.

He will be Itoria's downfall.

"If you show him the truth, perhaps he will be more inclined to heed my warnings," Dustin suggests.

"I'll have to consider it," says the king. "My son is unpredictable; there's no telling how he'll react to this."

"It may push him in the right direction, in regard to Lady Cordelia."

The king chuckles. Just like his sigh, it gives way to a cough. "Even Cordelia cannot tame my son. Perhaps we are relying too much on her."

Dustin grits his teeth. "She is far better than the Durnwall whores he likes to pass his evenings with."

King Thurstan's face falls. "Yes...Adrian needs to show more restraint when it comes to that. Or, at least, more discretion."

"Once he's married, it will make no difference. But for now, it will be difficult to find a respectable woman who doesn't mind his colorful past. Cordelia is surely his best option."

"His power is enough to secure him his choice of bride," the king says dismissively. "But yes: Lady Cordelia has the right temperament to at least mitigate whatever damage my useless son can do."

"And you must not forget that I will stand steadfastly by his side," Dustin adds. "I will ensure that he makes decisions with Itoria's best interests at heart."

His words send a chill down my discarnate spine. It's a strange, rippling sensation thanks to the ghostly effects of the Immaterial Ring. My whole body is cold, colder than this strange state of half-being renders it. The only thing worse than an incompetent, self-centered king is an evil one. And I know, without a doubt, that Dustin's influence will only harm Itoria.

No matter. Victor will end up being the one in control, not Dustin. And certainly not the Silver Prince. I have to remind myself that all is not lost—I can prevent anything too detrimental from happening.

My certainty fades when Dustin reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a rolled-up sheet of parchment. I recognize the yellowed paper, since I've seen such documents in the black market on all of my many visits. These are oaths, binding contracts that ensure that both sides of a party hold up their end of the bargain. Consequences can range from the loss of a pinkie finger to the end of a life. And once the paper is signed, there's no going back.

He passes it to the king, who takes it with one shaking hand and asks, "What's this?"

"I had a servant procure it from a sorcerer last week," Dustin explains. "Consider it a fallback in case things go awry."

The king unrolls the paper, his dullened eyes scanning its contents. I creep past Dustin and slide into the space between the bed and the attendant so I can read over the king's shoulder. It's written in a cramped hand and so messily scrawled that I can't make out much of what it says. From what I can gather, it's an oath to secure that the Silver Prince will defer to Dustin's judgement for the first three years of his rule. There are three lines, one upon which King Thurstan, the prince, and Lord Dustin each must sign.

Glancing up at Dustin, the king asks, "You want all of my son's decisions to go through you?"

"Only for the first three years of his rule, to give him time to adjust to his new position and to grow in wisdom," Dustin says hastily. "And, of course, only with your approval."

I'm sure he has a plan in place for how to control the prince after those three years, should the king agree. It seems that he hates the Silver Prince as much as I do, and trusts him even less.

"If it comes to the worst," King Thurstan says weakly, "I will agree to this."

It looks as though he means to say more, but a fit of coughing overcomes him. This time, the coughs wrack his entire body. He trembles, his eyes widening as he cannot stop the fit. Forgetting that I am immaterial, I dart out of the way as both attendants grip his shoulders to steady him. One presses a handkerchief to his mouth, and when he pulls it away, I see that it is spotted with a worrying amount of blood.

My heart beats faster as I remember seeing my own father in this situation, his weakened body writhing on the bed and his own coughs sending him into convulsions, his blood staining handkerchief after handkerchief. Panic grips my throat, cutting off most of my air. I stumble towards the doors, passing straight through them but barely noticing the empty feeling that seizes my body. The memory of my father's suffering has already emptied me of all that I am.

I stumble forward and, once I turn the corridor and am out of the sight of the guards in front of the king's chamber, I rip the ring off of my finger and shove it deep into my pocket. Blindly, I keep walking, hardly watching where I'm going. A thick fog shrouds my mind, and I forget for a moment where I am and what I am running from. In this instant, I can't even remember my name.

Though my body has returned to its normal form, I still feel invisible—not just to those around me, but to myself. Every part of me is still numb, and the grief that consumed me when first my parents died is rearing its head once more. I am lost, and I have no idea what to do.

My foot slips and I topple forward. Something simultaneously stiff and soft catches me, preventing me from falling and cracking my head open on the stone staircase that I have somehow come to. I blink, my vision clearing the moment my eyes meet the argent gaze of the Silver Prince.