Nico’s summon comes on the fourth day of the funeral, during the lull of the morning, after breakfast but before any real duties have begun. It comes in the form of a letter slipped under the bedroom door, followed by three quick raps.

I’m still trying to block out memories of the third day of the funeral, which could be described as nothing short of a stellar success after I spilled red wine all over a nobleman’s tunic. Thankfully, the fabric was black and didn’t stain. Less great—the fabric shrunk after it was hung out to dry, making it unwearable. And to rub salt into the wound, it happened over dinner, when all the most important pairs of eyes across the Eight Kingdoms were there to see it.

I push the guest list and stacks of stationary from my lap and pad across the floor. It’s an unsuspecting piece of paper, folded twice and sealed with unmarked red wax.

The message inside is even less conspicuous. Or maybe more, depending on who you get your gossip from.

The willows are lovely this time of year. Care for a noon stroll around the gardens?

-N

There’s only one “N” I can think of who has the audacity to slide notes under a literal queen’s door. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Nico was asking me out on a date, but if he and Messalina were secretly seeing each other, wouldn’t Nico have acted on it by now? Then again, it makes no sense to me to murder someone’s husband just to be rude to them at every opportunity. Maybe romance is different in Draconia.

Still, Nico’s note is intriguing enough that I pull on my shoes and leave my room. I find that he’s dismissed the guard on duty and taken his place in front of my door.

“Captain, good morning,” I say. When I don’t say anything else, Nico resumes staring out across the hall, like I’m not even in the room with him.

“The willows are lovely this time of year,” I try. The words feel strange in my mouth. I don’t know if it’s because it’s Nico that I’ve said them to or if it’s because it reminds me of something my grandmother would say.

“They are,” Nico remarks.

I watch him for any further reaction, but he remains impassive, eyes trained forward.

“The willows are lovely this time of year,” I say again. “Care for a noon stroll around the gardens?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Nico huffs. He finally turns to face me. “Let’s go before anyone passes through.”

The change in his demeanor is so instant and so baffling that I consider aborting mission all together. I could just turn around, get back into bed, and pretend like I never saw his note. But fear pricks in the back of my mind. This, like the anniversary party, would be the perfect opportunity for Nico to put part two of his plan with Messalina into motion and try to get me on the throne.

I push down my distaste and follow him.

***

The sun is high in the sky, beating down on us as we walk into the gardens. It’s nearly unbearable in black silk and within moments, my dress sticks to my back. It’s a relief that even Messalina is capable of something like sweating.

We walk in silence, but it’s not the stifling kind, the kind I usually feel the need to fill. It’s strangely easy to walk alongside Nico today, when usually every moment spent with him is full of his insufferable barbs.

I want to ask where the willows are. I’ve walked around these gardens at least a few times by now, but haven’t seen any trees like that.

Nico leads us down a path I’ve never walked down before. The neat bricks that line the main path are cracked on this one, grass poking out in little tufts. We keep walking, past overgrown plants and broken ceramic pots. I’d never expected any part of the palace to be in this state of disarray, and I want so badly to ask what happened and why, but I hold my tongue.

Finally, the path opens up on an orchard of willow trees. A dry wind blows through them, sending the sinewy branches fluttering.

“Here we are,” Nico announces.

A bench sits on two uneven slabs of stone. Nico gestures for me to sit. I eye the pile of dirt and leaves gathered on the seat and brush it off myself when Nico makes no move to do so.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?”

“Are you being daft on purpose?” Nico snaps. The words bubble up and out of him like a geyser, like he’s been waiting his entire life to rip into me.

I recoil like I’ve been slapped. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve spent months laying our plans and you’re running them through the mud,” Nico hisses. “You’re bumbling your way through domestic and foreign relations. You can’t even properly eat dinner anymore.”

“Captain—”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” he says, spitting the words at me like poison. “But you gave me your word at the beginning of all of this. That you’d move with discretion. That you’d keep me safe.”

“I got you out of prison, didn’t I?” I say hotly. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be rotting in a jail cell.”

“I’d take prison any day over the consequences of this getting out. If you keep failing to act, all of this will be for nothing.”

“I already told you I don’t want to act.” I can’t understand why none of this is penetrating through Nico’s thick head. I didn’t want to be dragged into a murder and I sure as hell don’t want the throne.

“This isn’t what we agreed on,” Nico says. “You came to me.”

“Well, maybe the agreement’s changed,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

Nico’s eyes go hard, his face stone cold. “If the agreement has changed, then I’m sure you won’t mind my releasing the contingency letter you signed for me confessing to all of this.”

My heart drops. Messalina, that idiot. I didn’t think I could hate a person I’ve never met so much.

“Captain,” I say, swallowing hard. “There’s no need for that.”

“Then your word is good?”

“Yes.”

“If my head ends up on the other side of an axe, it won’t be alone,” Nico says, holding my gaze.