Genevieve sat ramrod straight beside me as the uniformed riders surrounded us. In Vareinnian, they ordered us to keep moving. None of them bowed to Genevieve.

"Do you know them?" I mumbled in Pretanian, as the wagon hit a rut and bounced.

"I do not," she whispered.

Unease prickled along the back of my neck. I prayed that Beatriz had gotten safely away. I didn't dare look back, to see if any of the men who had ridden up the road to surround us had broken off and gone in search. I trusted her. I couldn't give her away.

The town stank of fish and brine, and the armed men surrounded our wagon until it pulled up outside a towering home atop a hill overlooking the sea. An intricate iron gate creaked open to admit us into a stone courtyard. Salt spray from the ocean coated everything in a matted coat of white.

"I really hope you know what you're doing," Genevieve said, as I helped her down from the wagon. "I don't think I can help you now."

"Allez-y," barked one of the dismounted men. He shoved my shoulder.

"Steady on," I barked back him, then added in Vareinnian. "Do you have any idea who you're touching?"

"Do I look like I care?" He fired back.

"Leave it," Genevieve hissed, pulling me towards the stately stone manor.

The door was already open, and a uniformed butler awaited us. But rather than bow to Genevieve, he only inclined his head. "Mademoiselle Genevieve, they await you in the salon."

Mademoiselle. The title of an unmarried young woman. I wanted to swat her hand away when it drifted towards her bodice. Thankfully, she had the foresight to slip her wedding band off as the butler led us up a set of plushly carpeted chairs and pushed open a set of double doors.

"Chérie!"

A cloying cloud of sandalwood cologne envelopped us as a portly man with an exceedingly curled and powdered wig threw his arms around Genevieve.

"Papa," she replied stiffly, for, like me, her attention was not on her father, but on the three other people in the room.

One was clearly the Vareinnian king, if the way Genevieve sank into a low curtsey was any indication. He, like her father, wore a powdered wig, though this one cascaded down his shoulders in a riot of ice blond curls. His face was powdered too, in the opulent, overdone fashion of the Vareinnian court, and the cosmetics gathered in the lines of his aging face. Rings glittered on every one of his fingers as they drummed impatiently on his armrest. More ominously, though, his lips had thinned upon our entrance.

Two others lingered near the window, backs turned. One, a tall, dark-haired man. The other...

She turned.

My stomach plummeted.

Dulciana. Dulciana and Armando.

She was here. But...why? And with the Vareinnian king? And Genevieve's father? Why would she...

A cold wave of dread washed over my skin as her plan unfurled in my mind. The brilliance of it both astounded and disgusted me.

When we thought she'd holed up in Relizia, she'd come here, to cut off Frederico's resources at the source—the king of Vareinne. And while we'd crafted our careful plans to march on the capital, she'd been within striking distance all this time. If we'd known, it would have taken a single one of Shahnaz's assassins to finish this. We could have ended all of it, all the bloodshed, all the death, all the turmoil, with a well-placed knife.

I wanted to punch something. Armando, mostly, for the way he was knowingly smirking at me. But also Dulciana, for outsmarting us all. For anticipating what we'd do and doing the complete opposite of what we'd assumed her plan to be.

"Hello, principito," she said, smiling like a feral cat. She wore no crown, but her dark gown with gold embroidery left no doubt about the fact she was a queen. No, that she thought of herself as a queen. Because she wasn't a rightful monarch, not after she'd killed her father for his throne.

I debated strangling her. I'd missed my opportunity the last time, when I'd held a knife to her throat after she'd poisoned me. But beside her, Armando was armed to the teeth, and he took a step between us as if he could read my thoughts.

I wished I hadn't sent Beatriz away. If she were here, we could've ended this. She could've parried Armando's blades and I could've shoved Dulciana through the second storey window behind her. There would be hell to pay in political fallout, with the Vareinnian king, Louis, as witness to my regicide, but at least it would all be over.

But Beatriz was far away, safe in the forest with the Carvalhos. And just as Genevieve had warned, she would not be able to help me here. I was alone, and there was no sense in getting myself killed unless Dulciana was sure to die as well.

"I want to know why your daughter thinks she can disobey me, Desjardins, " whined the king to Genevieve's father.

"I am sure she has a very good reason." The Duke fixed Genevieve with a loaded look before he backed away from us, to sit beside the king.

"It's exactly as I'd warned, Louis. She married my brother, the usurper, because she thought she'd win a throne," Dulciana said, in accented Vareinnian. " I don't see what's so hard to understand. And now that she's here, I don't see why you shouldn't turn her over to me."

Genevieve's hands curled to fists, but at least she didn't touch her bodice again.

"Absolutely not," I said in Pretanian, for I knew they could all understand me. I turned to King Louis. "I witnessed the poisoning of King Felipe, and his murderer is standing in this room. She tried to poison—"

"Nonsense." Dulciana laughed. "You were caught in the crossfire and my brother had no choice but to kidnap you so you wouldn't die."

I exploded. "How does that make any sen—"

"Silence!" thundered King Louis, shoving himself to his feet. "You are all in my kingdom now, and you will shut up and answer my questions and my questions only!"

"Of course," Dulciana replied in Vareinnian, inclining her head demurely. But she still stared at me, hatred and violence lurking in her brown eyes.

I forced down my temper. Icy calm. I needed icy calm. I'd already trodden all over King Louis' toes. I would not win him as an ally if I kept shouting accusations at Dulciana. I needed to assume that she'd already convinced him of her innocence. That, or the rest of the Ardalonian armada was sailing for Brévis, and Louis was hanging onto what little power he had left over her.

"Bon," grumbled King Louis, settling himself back in his seat. "Dulciana, will you accept Mademoiselle Desjardins in exchange for the guaranteed safety of Brévis?"

"Non!" Genevieve cried, turning to her father, desperate. "Papa, you can't—"

I seized her arm with an anchoring squeeze "I would strongly caution against allying yourself with Ardalone, Your Majesty."

King Louis huffed. Dulciana laughed.

"Or what? Pretania will finally dip its toe into continental affairs?" Dulciana taunted. "Your father wants nothing to do with any of this, princeling. I would caution you to stay out of it."

"If you're so certain, then let me sail home."

That gave Dulciana pause. She studied me, with wary calculation in her gaze.

"Vas-y," King Louis said, with an irritated flick of his wrist. "The sooner this disrespectful runt is out of my sight, the better. Arrange for a ship, Desjardins."

It was the first time I'd ever been called a disrespectful runt—and in flowery Vareinnian too. But I didn't let it rile me. If King Louis wanted me sent away, then I'd be one step closer to securing a Pretanian army for Frederico. And with Dulciana here, with her armada threatening Brévis, that left Relizia thoroughly undefended. Ripe for the taking, if I could just—

"I'd rather he not leave so quickly, Louis," Dulciana said, turning to the king. "After all, perhaps he could sweeten our deal."

I tightened my grip on Genevieve's arm when her hand lifted towards her stomach. She dropped it, breathing hard, her eyes on her king.

"I think my father will quite enjoy hearing how you two discussed ransoming me," I said airily. "Perhaps he'll retaliate by curtailing our trade. Tell me, Louis, is your soil still such a nightmare for growing wheat? We wouldn't want Vareinnians to go hungry..."

It was a big gamble, to leverage our trade with Vareinne as if I stood any chance of convicing my father to stop it. We depended too much on their metal mines and vineyards, but they depended on our wheat and dairy.

"Let him whine, Louis. I've learned that he enjoys hearing himself talk," Dulciana said dismissively. "If you want me to call off my armada, I require the girl, the prince, and your vow to crush my brother's army at your border."

King Louis hesitated, and later, I would wish that I'd stepped in. That I'd pushed him towards such a promise. But I didn't, determined to spare Genevieve from Dulciana, completely unaware of what was marching up the stairs behind us.

A knock rapped through King Louis' pensive silence.

"Quoi?" barked Genevieve's father.

"Pardonnez-moi, votre majesté." A guard bowed in the doorway. There was a scuffle in the hallway behind him. "We found the others trying to escape."

Genevieve and I turned at the same time. She clapped her hands to her mouth as two of the uniformed guards threw Beatriz to the floor between us. In the hallway, Valentina clutched Gabriele, tears streaming down her face, while another guard had Teodoro's arms pinned behind his back.

Beatriz shouted something, eyes blazing, but a gag was stuffed into her mouth. She struggled, her knees banging the floorboards as the guards twisted her arms farther behind her back. She was covered in mud and a dark stain that looked too much like blood oozed through one of her pant legs.

"I've changed my mind," Dulciana said, a frenzied glow in her eyes. "I will leave Genevieve here, and Brévis unharmed. But only if you give me my sister."

**A/N: Well well well...I hope you all liked the twist ;) How do you think our boy is gonna get out of this predicament? As always, if you enjoyed it, please vote and comment!**