On the morning after he finished his tale, the young prince could not be roused. His brow was fever-hot, and though he murmured restlessly, he did not open his eyes. I checked him thoroughly. None of the cuts I’d made were infected. I was sure of that—I’d been fastidious in cleaning them. I gently ran my hands over him, feeling for the telltale swelling of infection. I even checked inside his mouth in case he’d bitten through his tongue. I found nothing, until I tried to roll him over and inadvertently put my hand on the back of his head. Beneath his curls I could feel an angry, seeping welt. I brushed his hair aside to check, and that’s when I saw the hidden iron bundle he’d concealed in a braid.
I swore.
The prince had several keys tangled into his hair. The first problem was that he’d
