I tried desperately to suppress a yawn as I sat at the dining table. As my uncle feared, I'm exhausted. And it will only worsen tomorrow. Funny how fatigue hits you harder two days after the sleepless night. Good thing this late night party will give me an excuse to sleep in late tomorrow. Then the next night is the ball, which will further mess up my sleep schedule.

My uncle and several other court members have equally droopy eyes. Clemaina is the most chipper, gushing about something to her "darling" Sewale. Sewale is less expressive than her, as usual, though he completes his minimum duty of smiling while talking to her.

Sigvard cups his hand over his mouth to conceal a yawn. Clemaina lets out a squeal from the head of the table, and his half-open eyes roll. I'm just grateful she's on the far side of the room for once, not squawking in my ear. Uncle Rothbart gives Sigvard a stern look before recentering his attention on Clemaina, who's across from her at the nearer head seat.

Course after course of delicacies exit the kitchen, tiny shrimp skewers, cheese and fruit, vegetables wrapped in a paper-thin starch, meats and salads, and finally, a miniature custard cake. I'll bet Clemaina hand-selected the entire menu, and although the food is perfection, the knowledge that my sister orchestrated the meal dulls the taste. That doesn't stop my black dress from suffocating my waist by the end of it.

"And now, I invite you all to the entertainment room for some games," Clemaina announces. She stands, fur dripping from her burnt-rose gown. She extends her elbow to Sewale, who loops his uniformed arm with hers.

"Shouldn't Sewale have offered his arm?" Sigvard sneers in my ear as we leave.

"Whatever," I say. I don't really care what she does anymore.

Our procession funnels up a staircase on the side of the Royal Wing, one hidden from the rest of the castle. Only the most important guests and court members—important in Clemaina's eyes—were invited to this gathering, so it's better not to parade to the fourth floor using the main staircases.

Clemaina glides into the game room, or perhaps game "field" is more apt given its size. Half is carpeted to mimic grass, the other half glistens with polished wood, and a bookcase stacked with board games separates them. Tables and sporty sections dot the room throughout.

"Everyone may choose whichever you wish to play," Clemaina declares. I suppress the urge to recoil at her loud voice.

"Let's play a round of fiddlesticks," a lady says.

"Wonderful idea! Who else? We need seven people."

Seven people volunteer, neither of them being Sigvard or I.

"Oh, what about Sewale?" Clemaina turns to her fiance with a pout.

"Don't worry about me," he says. "I don't know how to play that card game."

"I must teach you!" Clemaina exclaims. "Come join us."

"Perhaps another day," Sewale says, patting her arm. "We'll need some way to pass the evenings when we're married."

"Are you sure? It feels awfully rude." Her bottom lip pops out.

"Nonsense. You don't need to worry about such things."

"Well, if you're sure..." Clemaina and the six volunteers select a table and get the cards from the bookcase. The remaining guests disperse throughout the room, selecting games setup at the tables. I suddenly see an opportunity to speak with Sewale. I glance at Sigvard, and he seems to think the same thing.

"Uncle Rothbart," Sigvard says. "Would you like to play a good ol' game of chess?"

"Uh..." Our uncle's gaze shifts around the room. Sensing he isn't needed, he replies, "Sure."

Sewale and I are the only two people remaining.

"Do you wish to play anything, Sewale?" I ask him.

"I think I'll sit out this time," he says, monotone.

"I think I'll do the same." I summon my most down-cast expression. "I'm not really into that stuff anymore."

There's a beat of silence before Sewale takes the bait. "Any reason why?"

"It..." I pause, and it gives me time to choose the precise words I need. "This whole incident, it's been hard." I force a mirthless laugh. "You know, the last few weeks."

He nods slowly. "Yes, I can understand that. I feel the same way."

"It just reminds me too much of when my mother died." I sniff, willing myself to dig into that well of grief, to feel an ounce of sadness. Much more threatens to manifest, but I forge ahead to distract myself. "She and I used to play games like this all the time." I look at the table where Clemaina laughs, setting down a card. "She taught us how to play fiddlesticks, in fact." I don't have that much of a sentimental connection to the game, but I need to solidify this gateway into the conversation.

"Really." Sewale says it more as a statement than a question for me to answer.

"Yes," I say. My eyes drop to the fake grass underfoot. "I—I even think we were going to play that night."

"Which night?"

I suck in a breath. I don't need to force the shake in my voice. "The night she...died."

Sewale stiffens. "Oh."

"Do you remember that?" I look up at him with wide eyes, eyes that glisten with real tears, real pleading. Please, tell me something, anything, that's useful.

"I, uh, don't. I'm sorry." Sewale's gaze flits around the room.

"She announced after dinner that we'd all play once she had a chance to rest upstairs," I jump in before he abandons the conversation. "But she never came down, never stopped resting."

Sewale shifts uncomfortably. "I wasn't there at dinner."

"You weren't?" I say.

"No, why would I be? I was a mere duke at the time." He refers to his status, one of the highest titles in the kingdom, like it refers to a street dog. I flash back to Odeia telling me how he received his status, how he already knew he could marry Clemaina.

"What were you doing at the time?" I ask.

"I don't know." Irritation flashes across his face. "Why do you care?"

"I-I'm sorry," I say. "I was just wondering how you celebrated birthdays. Did the dukes and duchesses host an exclusive party?"

"Don't believe so," Sewale says.

"Then what did you do? Did you just sit around all night? That sounds awfully boring, especially with the royal family celebrating."

Sewale inhales, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "I probably was caught up in some work for the kingdom."

"Oh, really? What was your job?"

"I worked with Duke Johnan on confirming official documents," Sewale snaps. "Now please, Aylo, I'm rather tired and with the upcoming coronation, I have enough to think about."

I hold up my hands. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to burden you with questions. I'll leave you be. I'm exhausted and should head to bed early. Good night." A yawn punctuates my farewell.

Sewale doesn't respond, but I sense his measured gaze at my back. Something about him creeped me out at times. At least he gave me a lead to speak with, Duke Johnan. If he can confirm the two were working that night, then I suppose we'll drop Sewale as a suspect. But if not, he might be a serious contender for my mother's murderer.

He has the perfect motive, too. He could choose any lady in the kingdom to marry, including my sister, next in line for the throne. When my mother married the king, it represented a golden opportunity for him to secure the crown. All he needed to do was get Odeia out of the way.

But why not just kill the heir? Was it too easily traced back to a jealous duke eyeing the throne? By killing someone else and having the blame fall on Odeia, he could hide the true motive for murdering my mother. The only risk involved is if someone digs into the truth, someone like me.

I meander to the third floor. A rush of curiosity sharpens my focus, and I brainstorm questions for Duke Johnan. My conversation with him can't wait. Besides, this is the ideal time to strike up a conversation without being missed or noticed.

Each door in the residential wing has a tiny number, and fortunately, one of my tasks early on as princess was to learn the entire layout of the palace, including which room every official lived in. Four turns through winding halls brings me to room twenty. I rap on the door, and a muffled voice says,

"I'm coming." The door cracks open to a blue eye. It swings wide, surprise on Duke Johnan's face. "Your highness, what a surprise."

I smile. "Good evening, Duke Johnan. I know this is rather strange, but I have a question for you."

"Of course, Princess Aylo. Anything," he says, bowing low.

"It's regarding the night of my mother's death." Now, I force my voice to stabilize, to be even and factual, like I was asking about the weather or if all the guests had arrived safely. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done.

Duke Johnan's eyes widen, but he says, "I shall do my best to answer."

"Were you going over any documents that night?"

His brow wrinkles, but after a moment he says, "Yes, I believe I did, with Duke Sewale. Ordinarily, the days and weeks blend together, but it's hard to forget a day like that." He shakes his head. "Such a tragedy, and to think I was here the whole time, oblivious."

"How long did it take you to go over the legers?" I ask.

"I-I don't know." He thinks for a minute. "I know we started right after dinner. Perhaps until midnight."

"Without stopping or with breaks?"

"As far as I remember, we remained chained to that desk the entire night."

Must have been pretty important documents.

"I see. You wouldn't happen to remember which ones they were? I need to know for a project."

"I believe it is related to shipping jurisdiction," Duke Johnan says. "I can most likely find the documents for you, if you wish."

"No, I just need to know the subject matter. Thank you."

"Anything for a Saursi royal." Duke Johnan bows again. I wish him a good night before leaving.

Pride swells in my chest as I descend to the second floor. Duke Johnan didn't even know the true information I needed to know—Sewale's location that night, and if there was any chance he slipped away. Granted, Lord Johnan might not remember if Sewale needed to use the restroom. But he probably would've noticed a prolonged absence, and since they were both on the third floor, Sewale probably couldn't slip to the second floor and into the royal palace wing without being noticed. Moreover, he might've risked being there while Evlyn was in the room, thus requiring him to return later on and creating two potential absences for Duke Johnan to notice. Looks like Sewale wasn't the murderer after all.

Once again, I think of Evlyn. Could she have framed Odeia so that she didn't become queen? She didn't seem very supportive of the former princess when we visited her. However, she also might not want to sound like she is questioning the royal court, especially involving a decision regarding an assassination. Evlyn wouldn't want to seem disloyal to the crown.

And Clemaina...jeez, where did I even start with her? She is Sigvard's top suspect, though he doesn't voice it out loud all the time. I can tell with every disgusted remark he makes toward her. She was in the same position as Sewale, had a clear line to the throne with Odeia gone. But then why would she kill my father? She was already inheriting the throne.

I pass the Royal Wing of the palace, and my mind circled back to my father. Why would someone kill him? Who else was in line for the throne other than Clemaina, Sewale, myself, and Sigvard?

Sigvard.

My hand closes around my bedroom door, but I don't turn it. A single thought has paralyzed me. Sigvard is three places removed.

In order for Sigvard to get the throne, he'd have to get rid of Odeia, Clemaina, and myself. Seems like quite a bit of work to go through. Then again, he's smart enough. I remember the piece of cloth we found in the study, belonging to Clemaina. Could Sigvard have planted that in the study? He already proved that he could break into her room when he got the ribbons for me as a fake present. He could've snagged another silken cloth to frame her. Every chance he gets, he shows disdain for Clemaina. He doesn't even try to hide it.

But no, he was so set on bringing justice to Odeia. Why frame her only to clear her name? He couldn't have killed our mother and father. He just couldn't have.

Could he?

I force my hand to turn the doorknob. Pain throbs in my head, and I tell myself it's just from fatigue, not from my thoughts. Sigvard couldn't have his eyes set on the throne. Because if he did, he's three places removed. There are three people he needs to take out.

And one of them is me.