Page 165 of A Dance of Lies

He’d kept his word to me. I press my hands to my chest.

“The general will not relinquish his throne easily,” says a new voice—powerful yet feminine. Queen Sadira whisks into the room then, her sharp eyes taking me in. “But he will not garner support once the Syndicate sees this. Especially if you, his daughter, are the one to present it.”

I blow out a breath.

Anton.He’s given me everything I need to show the world who my father truly is. My revenge, Emilia’s justice, it sits in my lap, wrapped with a bow. A rush of emotions surges through me and I have a hard time keeping it in. Everything I’d fought for is here, within my grasp.

I amfree.

I can take my father down.

Except . . .

“Please tell me where he is,” I rasp. My heart races, stutters. I pull against my nightdress, chest tight. “I saw him. He made a bargain and—”

“Breathe, Vastianna Stova,” Queen Sadira says, approaching me. She skims her knuckles across my cheek, her expression so similar to how Emilia used to look at me that I almost crumble beneath her touch. “I will take you to him. But first, we must talk.”

After our talk, Queen Sadira leads me into a secluded wing of her palace, the halls empty and mostly unlit. She dismisses the four guards standing watch at yet another archway, save for the one I recognize.

Basile.

Only his expression is blank as ever, and he merely nods at the queen, who then leaves me at the threshold.

“You will need to keep your distance, Princess,” Basile says.

Princess.Because my father is now a king. I shudder, but when Ipeer into the moonlit room beyond, I feel like a carpet has been yanked from under my feet, and the world is dropping beneath me.

Anton stands by the window, but he does not see me.

He looks different. His hair is shorter, styled rather than waving around his shoulders. He wears a dark, buttoned vest that shows off his toned arms and matching silk pants.

The sight of him steals my breath.

It’s been a week since I died—or so Her Majesty informed me. He brought me from the depths of Morta’s Lair. Carried me himself. And I had slept through it all: the trip here, our arrival.

Give me one day with my court.

And I had missed it.

I watch him now, my heart disintegrating inside my chest, until finally, I muster the will to speak.

“I saw everything.” My voice breaks apart like a cluster of sand.

Anton doesn’t move, doesn’t even stir. My pulse thunders, but I tread toward him until he has no choice but to acknowledge my presence.

When he turns, his lovely emerald eyes skim mine, and everything we’ve been through catches up to me like a tide, threatening to buckle my knees. A tear eases down my cheek, followed by several more. I grab his face—his sharp, arresting face. Beautiful, just as Eremis once was.

From Beauty foretold, a trap unfolds,

A return to the living, a plight of souls.

“Anton,” I cry. “What you did . . .”

He is not the Anton you remember,Queen Sadira had warned me.It’s as though he remembers the Gathering differently.

Because of the bargain, the deal he made, he had been himself for a day. One day, where he told Sadira what had happened in Morta’s Lair. The lens. All of it.

That’s what she told me.