Magni snarled, reeling back from the elf’s suggestion. Always pushing his ideals and forcing his ways, this little man. “Your arrogance is no less cloying than when we first met, Cailu.”

“More cowardice, Magni?” Cailu narrowed his eyes. “You called for the murder of three of Nyarlea’s men, and you dare consider my challenge one of arrogance?”

“Murder?” A smile twisted the corner of his mouth. “You collapse my tunnels and kill my remaining Ejderha, and dare claim I’m the murderer?”

Cailu’s features darkened. “You continue resorting to lies?” He drew his sword, and the catgirls in Magni’s court whimpered and hissed. “Either step down graciously or duel me with the scrapped remnants of your honor.”

Flecks of blood marred the glittering blade, catching Magni’s eye. Ejderha blood, no doubt. Sanrai’s. Fury boiled in his veins. Of all that was lost in Matt, Tristan, and Cailu’s frantic bedlam in Rājadhānī, Sanrai’s absence pierced his heart. He looked over his shoulder at the catgirls awaiting his response. They depended on him for their safety and happiness—it was on his shoulders to maintain the status quo.

And here stood three fools and their cohorts that so stridently believed they had the right of it.

No matter. Their actions had lost favor with any in the First Shell and presumably a portion of the Second. Donning the mantle of a gracious leader had never been easier. “Very well. If your island means so little to you, we will fight.” Behind him were at least a dozen gasps. He held up a hand. “However, it is not my desire to cut a man down when he is at half strength.”

“Half strength?” Cailu blustered, gritting his teeth. “I assure you, I—”

Magni shook his head. “You wear rags and dirt. Where is your armor? The bags beneath your eyes say you haven’t slept, and the smell suggests you haven’t bathed.” He gestured to the entourage as a whole. “As you recall, the citadel can comfortably house you all. Eat, rest, let the duel begin at dawn.”

“What, so you can poison us?” the redhead standing beside Matt snapped.

Magni frowned. “You have a master of poisons among you who can assess the food and drink. Isn’t that right, Naeemah?”

Naeemah’s expression was hidden behind her mask, but the glint of concern in her eyes was enough. I know of your attempts, fallen queen.

“Why do you delay the inevitable?” Cailu growled.

“I believe your challenge to be made in haste. I hope that rest will clear your senses.” Magni replied.

“You understand that I act with the Queen’s blessing?” Cailu’s hands wrung the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. “Killing one of Nyarela’s men in cold blood carries a fatal consequence. But three?” He raised the blade to his shoulder. “Her Majesty would understand if I did not bring you to trial.”

Magni raised his eyebrows. Was Cailu truly so anserine as to execute him publicly? Did he not understand who was perceived as the enemy in the room?

“Cailu. Stop.” Naeemah was suddenly at the elf’s side, hand on his shoulder and mask beneath her chin. A deep scar ran beneath her right eye—a wound sustained after her time as Rājadhānī’s ruler, it seemed.

To Magni’s surprise, Cailu hesitated.

“You wanted the summit, correct? Take the night and have one,” she continued. Her serpentine eyes lingered on Magni’s face. “Magni will not kill us. He would never betray the trust of his court.”

Intrigue is still your strong suit, I see. “Or my guests.”

The woman with patterned skin and unsettling orange eyes studied Magni’s face. “When did you begin to consider us guests, King Magni?”

Magni grinned, pushing away the chilling sensation that she was peering into his depths. “As soon as you crossed the citadel’s threshold.” He clapped his hands twice. “Lakshmi, Aanya, would you be so kind as to show them to the guest wing and draw them baths?”

Two women stepped out of the crowd and bowed, gesturing for the group to follow. Matt and Tristan exchanged uncomfortable looks before Matt touched the shoulders of his Party and jerked his chin in the servants’ direction. Cailu tarried behind, eyes never leaving Magni. At last, he sheathed his sword, then turned and marched behind Naeemah and Lakshmi.

“Eshe. A moment,” Magni announced.

“What about the rest of us, my king? Shall we remain in the citadel?” a young woman named Lotus asked, her voice and demeanor timid.

“Yes.” He watched as Lotus’ face fell. It wasn’t the first expression of upset at being forced from their homes. “I assure you, this is temporary. Once there’s sufficient protection in the First Shell and reappointed guards, you all may return home.”

Lotus nodded, hugging her kitten closer to her side.

“For now, please enjoy the citadel’s facilities and offerings. Hail an attendant should you need anything.” Magni spread his arms wide and smiled. “This is not a prison, dearest subjects. You are free to move about as you wish.”

Many of the catgirls bowed and curtsied before funneling out of the great hall. They would be safe enough—harming any of them would only be a detriment to Cailu, Tristan, and Matt. Besides, spreading the citizens throughout the castle offered a wider range of ears and eyes should the intruders attempt a coup d’état.

“Your Majesty?” Eshe appeared before him and bowed, the record books held fast in her arms. Her daughter was gone, presumably dismissed with the other kittens before her mother answered the king.

“Join me in the room of records.” Magni strode toward the opposite end of the throne room before Eshe could reply. She scuttled behind him, balancing the books in her arms.

They moved inside the small alcove, filled with tomes upon tomes of statistics, registers, and receipts. Books that meticulously outlined and disclosed at least two hundred years of Ichi Island’s history. In his previous world, those born beneath the dragon were meant only to rule as a figurehead, leaving accounting and lawmaking to the royal council. In Nyarlea, he’d had to learn every working cog of Ichi Island’s clock.

Magni traced the leather spines with his fingertips, noting the sheer number of pages that his rule encompassed. “Eshe, you are one of the last women alive that I can trust.”

Eshe crossed her hands over her lap and bowed her head. “That’s kind of you to say.”

“You proved your loyalty long ago when you reported Naeemah’s attempted assassination to me.” Magni tugged one of the books free and thumbed through the pages. “You two were close, were you not?”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.” Eshe’s face flushed, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “However, I didn’t agree with her approach. I… I still don’t.”

“And what of my approach? In keeping Rājadhānī safe from those who wish to see it restored beneath Naeemah’s rule?” Magni sat at the enormous pawm wood desk and snapped his fingers. A half-dozen candles ignited around them, illuminating the yellowing pages.

Eshe’s tail wavered with uncertainty. “I am not versed in battle or defensive tactics, my king.” She peered up through her dark bangs and softened her voice. “I know you must miss her, Your Majesty. I’m not a suitable replacement for Sanrai.”

“No one is,” Magni replied curtly, skimming one page with his pointer finger. “Even so, I would ask you to keep an eye on Cailu and Naeemah this evening. If anything seems out of sorts, report it directly to me. Immediately.”

“Yes, of course.” Eshe bowed again. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my king?”

“No, that will be all. Thank you.” Magni waved her away with his free hand.

Eshe exited the room, closing the door behind her. Magni’s finger stilled over the passage he sought. A personal journal entry he’d penned not long after Naeemah had vanished with Cailu.

The Defiled are not what they seem…