Oak looks at them blandly. “Well,” he says with an impatient wave of his hand. “Open the doors.”
He watches them hesitate. After all, he’s dressed well and clean. He doesn’t have on the bridle. And they must all know he is no longer being held in the prisons. They must all know Wren killed the last guard who put a finger on him.
“The emissaries of Elfhame are inside, are they not?” he adds.
One of the falcons nods to the other. Together, they open the double doors.
Wren sits on her throne; Bogdana and Hyacinthe stand beside her—along with a trio of heavily armored falcons.
And standing before her are four Folk—all of whom Oak recognizes. Unarmored, the Ghost appears to be playing the part of an ambassador. He’s dressed in finery, and the slightly human cast of his features makes him look far less threatening than he is.
An actual ambassador, Randalin, one of the Living Council, bites off his words at Oak’s arrival. Known as the Minister of Keys, he is short, horned, and even more beautifully dressed than the Ghost. As far as Oak is aware, Randalin can’t fight and, given the danger, Oak is surprised he came. Jude never much liked him, though, so he can certainly see why she allowed—and even perhaps encouraged—it.
Behind them are two soldiers. Oak knows Tiernan instantly, despite the helmet hiding his face. He assumes Hyacinthe knows him, too. At his side is Grima Mog, the grand general who replaced Oak’s father. A redcap, like Madoc, and the former general of the Court of Teeth. No one knows the defenses of the Citadel better than she does, so no one would have an easier time breaching them.
As Oak strides in, everyone becomes more alert. Tiernan’s hand goes automatically to the pommel of his sword in a foolish rejection of diplomacy.
“Hello,” the prince says. “I see you all started without me.”
Wren raises both her brows.Good game, he imagines her saying.Point to you.Possibly right before she tells her guards to pop off his head like a wine cork.
And then the Ghost stabs her in the back. And everyone cuts everyone else to pieces.
“Your Highness,” says Garrett, as though he really is some stuffy ambassador who hasn’t known Oak half his life. “After receiving your note, we expected you to be in attendance. We were growing concerned.”
Wren gives the prince a sharp look at the mention of a note.
“Hard to choose the right outfit for such a momentous occasion,” Oak says, hoping that the sheer absurdity of his plan will help sell it. “After all, it’s not every day that one gets to announce one’s engagement.”
At that, all of them stare at him agog. Even Bogdana seems to have lost the power of speech. But that is nothing to the way Wren is looking at him. It is as though she could immolate him in the cold green flame of her eyes.
Heedless of the warning, he walks to her side. Taking her hand, he slides the ring—the ring he was sent in the belly of an enchanted metal snake—off his pinkie finger and onto hers in the stealthy way the Roach taught him. So that it might be possible to believe she’d been wearing it the whole time.
He smiles up at her. “She’s accepted my ring. And so, I would be delighted to tell you that Wren and I are to be wed.”
CHAPTER
10
Oak keeps his gaze on Wren. She could deny him, but she remains silent. Hopefully she sees that in the face of theirengagement, it will be possible to avoid a war. Or, since she holds all the cards, maybe she finds it amusing to let him reshuffie a little.
A wordless growl comes from deep in Bogdana’s throat.
Hyacinthe gives Oak an accusatory look that seems to say,I can’t believe you talked me into helping you with such a stupid plan.
This was the gamble. That Wren didn’t want to fight. That she’d see the path to peace with Elfhame was through playing along with him.
“Quite a surprise,” the Ghost says, voice dry. Hyacinthe’s gaze drifts to him, and his expression stiffens, as though he recognizes the spy and understands the danger of his being here.
Tiernan’s hand has yet to leave his sword hilt. Grima Mog’s eyebrows are raised. She seems to be waiting for someone to tell her this is all a joke.
Oak goes on smiling, as though everyone has been expressing only their utmost delight.
Randalin clears his throat. “Let me be the first to offer my felicitations. Very wise to secure the succession.”
Although the councilor’s reasoning seems muddled, the prince is happy for any ally. Oak makes a shallow bow. “I can occasionally be wise.”
Eyebrows raised, the Ghost moves his gaze from Wren to Oak. “Your family will be pleased to know you are well. The reports . . . let’s say they suggested otherwise.”
