The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(82)

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” King Archon squeezed her hand. “And you must be, too.”

Aya did not know what to say, but the churning in her gut told her to be careful. Aya could not imagine Zedara committing adultery—perhaps she and Isadona had continued their romance while Isadona was married to the king—but Zedara was too haunted by Isadona’s memory to move on. The king had taken half the truth and crafted the perfect way to make him appear the jilted lover, entirely innocent, worthy of the public’s sympathy. His watery blue eyes stared at Aya expectantly, and she stumbled through the only sentence she could formulate.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Aya looked down at her lap. “But were not your last nine wives, before Zedara that is, adulteresses also?”

“Yes, they were.”

“Again, forgive me, Your Majesty, but—is that not a strange pattern?” Aya wrinkled her nose. “It cannot possibly be that not a single one of them loved you, that each of them merely wanted to be queen and bed other men—people—on the side.”

The king scowled for just a moment before covering it with a smile. He released Aya’s hand and tapped her forehead. “Always so curious, so clever. You never let me slip a single thing past you.”

Aya glanced up at the king, her eyes wide, alert. “What do you mean?”

“You do not believe me when I say that my last ten wives have all been heartless adulteresses and betrayed me, do you?”

“If you tell me it is true, I will believe you, Your Majesty.” Aya pursed her lips. “But it does seem highly unlikely that you would have such continuously poor judgment of character. I know you to be a much smarter man than that.”

The king grinned wider and reclaimed Aya’s hand. “I suppose I reveal myself then. No, Aya, not all of my past ten wives committed adultery. One of them truly did, my second wife, the first woman I married after Queen Lisandra died. She served as my inspiration for the next nine, Zedara included, of course.”

“Your inspiration?” Aya did not know how long she should play dumb.

“Yes, Aya. Think.”

Aya sucked in her breath, holding it for a moment to redden her face, before letting it out in a quiet gasp. “If the other wives did not actually commit adultery, they must have been framed.”

King Archon tapped the end of her nose. “There’s my clever girl.”

“You framed them?” Aya stood up from the fainting couch and backed away from the king. She took a deep breath to repeat herself louder, so every member of her unseen audience could hear her. “You framed the last eight queens, and soon Queen Zedara, in adultery?”

“Yes. Isn’t it brilliant?”

Aya did not say anything. She expected the bookshelf to slide swiftly away from the passageway’s opening, expected Lord Varick and his party and Queen Zedara and her guards to come bursting through the entrances, expected to hear declarations of the king’s arrest and impending execution echoing down the corridor.

Nothing happened.

“Aya? Dear?” the king called. “You have turned as white as the clock.”

Aya realized that she had backed up against the grandfather clock, her arms wrapping around its body for support. The king stood up and walked toward her with slow steps, as if he approached a wild animal. She glanced between the entrances. Maybe her allies were waiting for her to clear herself, just to be safe.

“But you have never committed adultery yourself, Your Majesty?” Aya nearly shouted the words. “Not with me. Not with anyone.”

“No, never.” King Archon chuckled. “I’m not stupid enough to commit the crime for which I frame them. In fact, with the way everything has worked out, I’ve never even had to consider adultery.”

There. The king admitted to arranging nine murders and committing treason against the queens, and he cleared Aya of any claims of adultery. Now Lord Varick and Queen Zedara could burst in.

Aya held her breath. Again, nothing happened.

Maybe they needed even more proof. Maybe they were late and had missed the first confession.

“But, Your Majesty, what you are doing is wrong. To escape your own adulterous urges, you frame your wives in one of the worst betrayals—worst crimes—and then you have them murdered. Not executed. Execution is for the guilty. Murdered. That is treason in itself!”

Still, nothing happened. Tightness encircled Aya’s heart, squeezing it as it tried to beat out of her chest. They weren’t coming. Lord Varick and Queen Zedara had lied. Aya wasn’t making it out of this alive.

“None of them would have been queens without me. And none of them were wholly innocent. Each had her own sins, as does Queen Zedara. All I do is purify Desertera and make room for a new queen, a better queen, a queen like you.”

“Me? Queen?”

“Where did you think this was going, Aya? Of course you will be the next queen.”

Aya gulped. The king had reached her, now towering over her, close enough that she could feel his breath against her face.

“And what happens to me when you get bored with me? Will you find some cute, clever girl to replace me and have me killed, too?”

As she described this possibility, Aya remembered the king’s accusation of her father. In a split-second decision, King Archon and Prince Lionel condemned her father to death. She began to cry, anger and loneliness rising as bile in her throat.