IF I HADN’T HELD THE Kingmaker in one hand, I suspect they would have tossed me out of the kitchen. But the sword lent my words credibility I wasn’t so sure they deserved.
“And who do you think this monarch is?” the head cook asked once I’d explained my reasoning. She didn’t look up from the icing she was drizzling artfully across room-temperature baked goods.
“I’m not sure,” I lied.
I was actually pretty sure, based on the way Erskine had been the one to pull the Kingmaker out of the pavement. But I also remembered the prince as he’d been when he left Faery shortly before the border closing. If I mentioned him now, the servants would likely recall a playboy layabout.
These fae might not have noticed that Erskine hadn’t changed his use name the entire time I’d known him—a sign of great
