The Prince spun.
“What are you doing?”
The Captain’s face was rigid.
“Stay down.”
The Prince’s fury rose.
He slapped the Captain’s hand away.
The soldier grabbed again.
The Prince twisted free.
The Regent barked, “Control him!”
The Captain shoved the Prince backward a second time.
Harder.
The Prince crashed against the pedestal.
The Royal Keeper shouted.
The mask slipped.
The Regent reached for it.
The Prince reacted first.
He caught the golden mask by one edge.
It was much heavier than expected.
The Regent grabbed the other side.
“Release it.”
“No.”
“This relic belongs to the Crown.”
The Prince pulled.
“So do I.”
The Regent’s eyes flashed.
Then he struck the Prince across the face.
The entire arena froze.
The Queen came down two steps.
“Do that again.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
The Regent realized what he had done.
“My Queen—”
The Prince wiped blood from his lip.
Something inside him snapped.
Not restraint.
Trust.
He looked at the Royal Keeper.
The old man’s eyes had fixed on the mask.
Not its face.
Its back.
The Prince followed his gaze.
A thin line ran around the rear plate.
A seam.
Why would a solid ceremonial mask have a seam?
The anonymous message returned.
THE DEAD KING STILL HAS A FACE.
The Prince suddenly understood.
“Keeper.”
The old man went pale.
The Regent shouted, “Do not answer him.”
That confirmed everything.
The Prince tightened his grip.
The Regent lunged.
The Prince twisted away.
The Captain moved to block him.
The Prince kicked the Captain’s shin guard, shoved past him, lifted the mask above the pedestal—
—and slammed it face-down against the stone.
The sound exploded through the arena.
Metal cracked.
Nobles screamed.
The Regent shouted, “NO!”
The Prince struck it again.
The rear plate split open.
Something fell from inside.
Small.
Dark.
Wrapped in faded blue cloth.
It bounced once across the pedestal.
The Prince reached.
The Regent was faster.
He kicked at it.
The Prince threw himself sideways and caught the object before the Regent’s boot connected.
They hit the ground together.
The Regent grabbed his wrist.
“Give it to me!”
The Prince drove an elbow into his chest.
The Regent staggered.
The Captain stepped forward.
Then stopped.
The Prince rose.
In his palm lay a black iron key.
Old.
Heavy.
The blue cloth around it carried an embroidered golden lion.
The Queen descended the steps.
Her face had lost all color.
She stared at the cloth.
“I know that.”