~

The dungeon was perhaps the worst place to be if you had recently been stabbed in the kidney. Dark, damp, dripping gods-knew-what from the ceiling, it was a wonder that most prisoners didn't simply die of infection. Emiliano knew that the only reason he was still alive was the paper tag stuck over his stab wound, which had been tailored to fix up the wound as much as possible while still leaving him incapacitated by it.

He couldn't sit up, so he had to be content lying on the single bench. Fallon had to sit on the floor, but he wasn't complaining. In fact, when Emiliano tried to insist on letting Fallon onto the bench, Fallon refused.

The two of them were being observed, so they couldn't even voice their real fear – that Thea had been discovered, too. Emiliano had succeeded in bribing a guard to send a message to Iriangi, but there was no way of telling if the message had ever arrived, or if Iriangi had been able to do anything about it.

So it remained unsaid, a silent fear that hung between them.

“You know,” Fallon said, on the third day, “this is actually the second time I've been imprisoned down here.”

“Yeah, gods,” Emiliano said, his voice a faint wheeze. “At least you don't have that prick Rich for company this time. Count your blessings.”

Fallon laughed. He held Emiliano's hand in his own, a constant source of support. “Your father saved me, actually. I think he was under orders to kill us, but he didn't... I think even Rich survived.”

Emiliano made a noise of disgust.

Outside, the guard rapped on the door and slid back the heavy wooden covering on the cell bars, letting light flood into the room. “Oi, bodyguard,” he said harshly, “it's your mother.”

Iriangi stood beside the guard on the other side of the bars, her arms folded in very convincing admonishment. The guard laughed, stepping aside without letting either the prisoners or their guest out of his sightline.

“Wouldn't envy you now,” he said, nodding to Emiliano.

Emiliano tried his best to sit up, but the deep wound on his side hurt too much. He had to crane his neck instead to see Iriangi. She didn't look happy. Was that bad news? It was impossible to tell from her expression.

“Emiliano,” she said quietly. “I can't believe you. I'm so disappointed – what would your father say? You've disgraced our entire family. You've disgraced me.” As she spoke, she turned subtly away from the guard and flattened her hand against the bars. Written on her palm in large charcoal letters were the words SHE IS SAFE.

Emiliano's shoulders sagged with relief. But he had to play his part. “Oh, what do you know, mother?” he said as loudly as his wound allowed. “I'd sacrifice anything for our love, even my family name.”

Iriangi folded her arms again, wiping her palm on the front of her tunic to smudge away the charcoal. “I can't even look at you any more,” she said, turning away. “I've written to all your siblings and they all know what a failure you are. Hopefully this will be the last time we ever speak.”

And she left. The guard winced, sharing a strangely sympathetic look with Emiliano, then slid the wooden barrier back across to plunge the cell into darkness once more. With a gasp, Fallon turned in and put his arms around Emiliano, as best he could, and pressed their foreheads together.

“She's safe,” he breathed.

“I'm going to have to apologise for shouting at mum later,” Emiliano said, his eyes sliding shut with relief. “If I ever see her again.”

“That's all we can hope for,” Fallon said.

Several more days passed before the trial Atropa had promised. Trials at the court were a messy and broderline-barbaric business, often put on for show rather than any semblance of real justice. It was obvious that Atropa was only doing all this in revenge for the theft of Thea's egg, so there really wasn't any hope of there being a fair turnout for the trial.

Emiliano and Fallon were marched out of the cell separately; Emiliano first, because he couldn't walk on his own. Being transported by stretcher was humiliating enough, but when he and his escort made it up to the throne room it all got about a hundred times worse.

Having grown up in the Court, Emiliano knew he was moderately well-known among the lower classes, if not the nobility. He was always around Corin, but bodyguards were supposed to blend into the background. No one paid attention to a member of the militia doing their job.

Everyone paid attention to him now. People stared, a naked, morbid curiosity in their eyes. They wanted to know what type of commoner had been enough to tempt the good Prince Fallon. And of course, many of the commoners and militia members at court knew Emiliano, too, they knew his history, and there was this added layer of disgust, that he'd forsaken his own class to go and consort with the nobility.

Nobody in the throne room seemed even the least bit sympathetic.

The guards reached across and cuffed his hands together, which was pointless since he couldn't very well attack anyone with a kidney wound so bad he'd been pissing blood for days on end. The stretcher was set down at the base of the dais on which the thrones sat, so that he had to look up to meet Atropa's eyes.

It was a full court, so Rosa was there too, looking vaguely bored. Corin had a new bodyguard, of course, but his wide eyes were fixed on Emiliano with a look of utter horror. That was heartening – at least one person here was on Emiliano's side. He tried to smile at Corin, but the little prince did not seem reassured in the slightest. He was holding something on his lap; a small black notebook.

Loud murmuring from the crowd. Then the guards stepped aside and let Fallon through. He was not handcuffed; of the two of them, he was more likely to be seen as a victim. And, of course, Atropa didn't really have any grudge against Fallon.

This was an oddly heartening thought. Maybe Fallon would escape – Atropa couldn't risk angering the Sky Spire by executing Fallon or imprisoning him, so maybe it was more likely that Fallon would simply be sent home in disgrace. Thea could even go with him. Emiliano had never met Saf or Sparks, but he had no doubt that they'd welcome her with open arms.

Atropa held up a hand for silence. “I'm sure you all know why we're here, but if you aren't-” And he held up a sheet of paper and read off a rather dry list of charges, naming both Emiliano and Fallon and their supposed 'crimes'.

Fallon shot a sideways glance at Emiliano and forced a smile.

“So,” Atropa said, finally setting aside his script, “Emiliano. You are not of noble blood. You-”

“Father,” Corin said in a quiet, urgent voice. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned on him and he quailed visibly; he'd never spoken up like this before, in this sort of setting.

“Be silent,” Atropa said sharply.

“No, father,” Corin said, “you're wrong about him.”

Atropa turned to face his son, visibly furious. “Now is not the time. I know you liked him, but he does not need you to defend him.”

Rosa shot an irritated look at Atropa's back, then reached across the gap between the thrones and set a hand on Corin's arm. Corin looked surprised for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Father, I'm sorry,” Corin said, “but you can't try Emiliano as a commoner, because he's not one. I... I found this in the record room last night and I think you should read it.” He held up the notebook in one shaking hand.

Emiliano couldn't do anything but stare, dumbstruck.

Atropa snatched the book off Corin and leafed through it. His lip curled. “What is this vulgarity?” he said harshly. “This is highly inappropriate...” He trailed off, as if he'd only just spotted the date on the front cover, and the hand-drawn court crest.

Now even Rosa looked interested. “What is that?” she said, reaching for the book. She stared at it for a moment, her eyebrows contorting, then lowered it and stared at Emiliano as if she had never seen him before in her life.

Emiliano shared a shocked look with Fallon. His secret was out, but how exactly was it supposed to help his current situation? The fact was that he was still illegitimate royalty, since his mother was not of noble blood like Rosa's had been. But maybe it was enough to buy him another few days.

“So, um,” Corin said, visibly terrified, refusing to look out at the crowd of spectators, “Emiliano is actually one of King Serraden's children. He's my uncle.”

Rosa flipped through the notebook, frowning. “Corin, where did you get this?”

“The records room?” Corin said, shrinking back slightly.

She cleared her throat, her expression utterly inedcipherable, then read out a passage from the book.

“'The third day of the month of plague. Today I met with my son Emiliano again. I can tell that Reginald finds his company deeply boring, but I cannot share his opinion. New to fatherhood though I am, I am already starting to wonder why I never chose to have children before. And Emiliano, my only child at Court, is a man after my own heart. He discussed his relationship with Prince Fallon today – although I find the prince to be a pleasant sort, I have to wonder what exactly Emiliano sees in him-'” She trailed off, frowning deeply.

Emiliano cast Fallon an apologetic look and a shrug.

“All right,” Atropa said, “but there's no way to verify those documents.”

“Actually, father,” Corin said, flinching a little as all the attention turned on him again, “I sp-spoke to General Fain about it and she says it's real.”

“I'll have to speak to her myself about it,” Atropa said. “And who is this 'Reginald' mentioned in the text?”

Corin shook his head helplessly.

The crowd, which had been remarkably subdued until now, started to erupt into shouts and cheers, apparently thrilled by this dramatic new revelation. Emiliano was not reassured. Rosa continued to stare at him; it was the first time ever that she looked truly caught off-guard. When Emiliano met her eyes, he actually felt a flash of anger – now she cared! But she hadn't given a shit before. Some queen she was, having let someone like Atropa gain so much control at the court.

“Fine,” Atropa said, after a long pause. “The trial is suspended.” There was a deep anger in his voice as he gestured at the guards beside Fallon and Emiliano. “See to their wounds, but don't set them free just yet.”

So that was that. Emiliano was taken to the infirmary next for a proper healing session. Fallon didn't go with him, promising in undertone that he'd do everything in his power to find Iriangi and Thea.

Several more days passed. The court was in uproar, nobility scrambling to reconcile with this new turn of events. Emiliano remained shut up in the infirmary, with only a few visitors at a time. He was under guard, though at this point he wasn't sure whether or not it was to keep him imprisoned, or for his own protection.

It seemed that Corin's sources had been proven accurate. According to Iriangi, when she found time to visit, nobody knew quite what to do next about Emiliano. He couldn't be king, he wasn't quite royal enough for the royal family. Even when he was completely healed up from his injuries, he wasn't really sure if he was supposed to leave the infirmary. Was he a prisoner or not?

“Oh, Emiliano, it's just a huge mess,” Fallon said, during one of his visits. “Atropa is obviously scrambling for a new crime to pin you with, but all he's got is that treason shit you pulled with Xandra, and nobody would ever find you guilty for that. If he even brought it up, it would only give your supporters more reason to love you.”

“My what now?” Emiliano said. He sat on his infirmary bed with Fallon, an arm wound comfortably around his waist. “Did you say supporters?”

Fallon nodded. He was still bruised from his treatment at the ball, but none of it was permanent. Emiliano could have watched him for hours.

“Oh yeah,” Fallon said. “There are people who say you should be king. They say you can free the court from its obsession with nobility, that kind of thing.” He hugged Emiliano to his side with a sigh. “There's no hope, of course. Not with Rosa still around.”

“Yeah,” Emiliano said, a spark of anger in his tone. “She let this happen.”

“Has she visited you at all?” Fallon said.

Emiliano quickly shook his head.

“Huh. You know, if I found out that I had a long lost sibling right under my nose who almost died, I'd probably want to meet them. At the very least, she could apologise.”

The next morning, Emiliano had made up his mind. He'd been given an opportunity, finally, to follow his own ambition. But, more than that, he had a chance to give Fallon and Thea a safe, comfortable life. He dressed himself with care in his bodyguard uniform, buckling on his scabbard and stopping at his own room to grab his backup sword. It was a big day and he had to look good.

Undoubtedly, Atropa would find another way to get back at Emiliano. Maybe one day Emiliano would wake up with a dagger at his throat, or maybe it would be poison, or a carefully arranged 'accident'. But he wasn't going to let Atropa get the jump on him, not again. It was Emiliano's time to strike.

There was an uneasy quiet in the air that morning. People watched him go, some calling out his name in surprise. The guards watched him with suspicion. He was alone; Fallon didn't know about this. If he'd known, he would have tried to stop Emiliano.

The guards stood aside to let him pass at the throne room doors. Court was in session; Rosa and Atropa seeing to the masses, as usual, without really caring at all for anyone's problems but their own. Corin was nowhere to be found. That was good. Emiliano didn't want the little boy to see what he was about to do.

Silence fell as Emiliano approached the dais where he had been handcuffed only a couple of days before. He didn't bow.

Atropa opened his mouth to speak, but Rosa beat him to it.

“You,” she snapped, fury in her tone. She rose to her feet. “What business do you have here, you pathetic half-blood? Did your peasant mother never teach you to bow before the throne?”

Emiliano cleared his throat. His heart was pounding and he knew that his plan was so stupid that it was almost certain to fail. “Good morning to you too, sister,” he said coldly. “I've come to speak to you about article 5, section 38 of the Court rules of succession.”

Rosa frowned. She didn't know this rule. But Atropa clearly did, because he stood up. “How dare you-”

Emiliano spoke over him. “In the event of a succession crisis,” he said, almost shouting, “the rivals for the throne are permitted to nominate one champion to fight for their bid. I challenge you, Rosa, and I nominate myself.” It was, admittedly, a very strange rule. But Emiliano had bored over the rulebooks that had been drafted during the Court's infancy, and this one was legitimate. Serraden had written a lot of trial by combat into the court's rulebook.

Rosa's bodyguard, Myra, stepped forwards, clearly expecting to be chosen as Rosa's champion. Emiliano's heart thudded. Myra was big and very dangerous, the best of the best. But just as Myra began to descend the steps to reach Emiliano, Rosa cast out a hand and held her back.

“Myra, wait,” she said. “I don't need your help to fight him.”

“But – Your Majesty-”

“No. Stand down.”

Atropa's expression was so shocked it was almost comical. For the first time, he didn't seem to know what to do. All he knew was how to follow the rules, and the rules were being followed to the letter here.

Rosa pulled a short dagger from a decorative sheath at her belt. She cast off her fur-lined cape and approached Emiliano.

“My mother taught me how to fight,” she said carelessly, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Draw, brother.”

Someone shouted at the other end of the hall – Emiliano recognised Fallon's voice – but it was too late to stop now. He drew his own dagger, a little put out that he wasn't allowed to use a sword. But no, the weapons had to be the same. It had to be a fair fight.

It wasn't. Rosa was good, he could admit it, but she hadn't been raised in the militia. He sidestepped her first strike, caught her wrist, and forced her back. She tried to circle behind him, but her movements were predictable. She was too used to shadowy assassin-work, she didn't know how to fight without the advantage of surprise or poison.

So it came as no surprise to anyone when he pivoted at the last moment, dodging her second strike, and gashed his blade across her throat before sinking it between her ribs. She crumpled to the ground and lay still.