Broken crown.
Arrow.
Her fingers stopped at the final mark.
“What?”
The Prince stepped closer.
The Queen whispered, “He used that arrow symbol only once.”
“When?”
“During the siege of the eastern fortress.”
“What did it mean?”
She looked toward the palace.
“Look above.”
The boy frowned.
“Above what?”
“Whatever the other symbols indicate.”
The Prince turned toward the royal citadel.
From the training courtyard, the highest tower was visible.
So was the great bronze sun mounted above the throne hall roof.
The Queen saw where he was looking.
“No.”
The Prince looked at her.
“What?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You just said—”
“I know what I said.”
The Old Archer stepped toward the bow.
“My Queen, if he hid something—”
“The throne hall will contain three hundred people tomorrow.”
“Exactly.”
The Prince’s eyes brightened.
The Queen stared at him.
“No.”
He lifted the bow.
“Father wanted something found.”
“We do not know that.”
“Then why send his bow?”
“He might not have.”
“You know it’s his.”
“I know the weapon.”
The Prince gripped it.
“And the symbol means look above.”
The Queen stepped closer.
“You will attend tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“You will say nothing.”
The boy opened his mouth.
“You will bring no bow.”
His mouth closed.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
The Queen narrowed her eyes.
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
The Old Archer watched the Prince.
He knew that expression.
It was the same expression the King once wore before ignoring excellent advice.
The next morning, sunlight flooded the royal courtyard.
Bronze-armored guards stood in two perfect lines stretching from the great gates to the throne steps.
Nobles filled stone galleries overhead.
Drums sounded.
Trumpets answered.
The Queen entered beneath a crimson canopy.
The Regent walked one step behind.
The Young Prince was supposed to follow unarmed.
He did not.
The old bow crossed his body.
Gasps moved through the courtyard.
The Queen stopped.
The Regent stopped.
The Old Archer, standing among retired commanders, closed his eyes.
The Prince walked forward.
Dozens of polished helmets turned toward him.
The bow looked enormous in his hands.
He kept walking.
The Regent recovered first.
“What is this?”
The Prince ignored him.
He looked toward his mother.
The Queen’s expression contained at least five emotions, none of them kind.
The Captain of the Guard stepped into the Prince’s path.
He was a broad, scarred man in silver armor who had served the palace since before the boy was born.
“Your Highness.”
“Move.”
The Captain lowered his voice.
“Please.”
The Regent’s voice rang across the courtyard.
“The Prince enters an assembly carrying a weapon?”
Murmurs spread.
The Queen stood.