“The newcomer is well fed, Highness. She is not in need of more food.”

Galen shakes his head. Before, no one would have dared to deny his request. Not to mention that these Trackers are too young to even know whether Nalia is a newcomer or the true Poseidon heir. Like Galen, they were born after she disappeared and therefore have never sensed her until her reappearance.

Which means they are relying upon information told to them. Fed to them by Jagen and Romul. Grom is right. Solid food is for mature ones. Not young fools like these.

Under the circumstances, Galen cannot afford to be charitable to insolent tadpoles. To show any kind of weakness right now would be a mistake. Cooperation, yes. Weakness, no. The questions Jagen and Romul have raised delve deeper than the identity of Nalia. They are questioning whether or not the Royals can be trusted. Whether or not the Royals are fit to rule.

Galen makes what Emma calls his “or else” face. “I’m not asking, Tracker. Move aside.”

This seems to unnerve the young guard. His face falls. “We … We were told to allow no visitors, Highness, aside from King Antonis.”

“Antonis or Grom has forbidden me to visit? I find that unlikely.” He dares them with his eyes to name Jagen or Romul. They get the point: Royals are still Royals. Royals are still to be obeyed. The Trackers move aside and bow.

Galen finds Nalia gliding along the cavern walls, muttering to herself. Though he knows she’s sensed him for some time, and maybe even heard his conversation with the Trackers, she only looks up when Galen speaks. “I’ve brought you some fish,” he says.

She crosses her arms. “Why hasn’t Grom come for me?”

Galen steals a quick glance back at the guards. “Surely you remember attacking his new mate?” He’s certain that if she had her human legs, she would stomp her foot at that moment. But Grom is doing the right thing. Keeping the peace, and showing objectivity by allowing Nalia to be detained until her identity is decided upon. As far as everyone is concerned, she is a newcomer who has assaulted the Triton queen. Until she is proven to be the Poseidon heir, Jagen has announced her a threat to his daughter’s safety.

This is why Galen is glad the throne has fallen to Grom. If Emma were imprisoned, he’d have already gone mad, done something drastic and reckless. If things get worse, he still might. Grom is still too euphoric to see the depths of what is happening here. Antonis, too, it seems.

Galen’s heart aches for them both.

“Stop calling her his mate. And she’s lucky she brought that many protectors with her. And she’s lucky I didn’t have my lionfish—”

Galen holds out the fish again. “You should really eat.” Right now what Nalia says is treason. Paca is still a Triton queen at the moment. Everything she says can be used against her at the tribunal. And Galen has no doubt the Trackers outside have been instructed to listen intently.

She turns away from him. “I’m not hungry.”

“Highness,” he says sternly. “Sulking will not help anything. Eat. This. Fish. It will give you strength. It’s a gift from Grom. He says these are your favorite.”

She whirls on him. “Cod? He knows I hate … Oh.” She eyes the fish more closely, notices the point protruding from the last cod’s tail. “Oh. Yes, I do enjoy cod.” Nalia relieves Galen of the gift. He hopes she understands that she’s only to use it if things go badly with the tribunal. A last-resort kind of thing, in case Jagen’s influence is more than Grom anticipated, and as much as Galen dreads it is.

The lionfish spike is imbedded into the last cod. Galen wonders that she feels comfortable carrying it at all—lionfish venom is deadly—but Grom insists she’ll know how to handle the thing. Grom is not who Galen thought he was all this time. And neither is Nalia.

“He asks that you only eat them if you have to, Majesty.” Which sounds so ridiculous that Galen shrugs at Nalia when she rolls her eyes. The guards don’t seem to notice the lack of sense in the conversation. But it does appear Nalia understands his meaning.

The tribunal starts tomorrow. The decision would normally be left up to a group of Commons who volunteer for the duty, but since the matter involves Royals, the jury will be made up of a mixture of Archives from both houses. Galen can’t recall ever hearing of such a thing, a tribunal being held for a Royal. But since Nalia’s identity is apparently still in question, and she attacked the current Triton queen in front of so many witnesses, the tribunal will also function as a trial. If Jagen is as smart as Galen is starting to think he is, he already has the verdict tucked neatly into his capable hands.

Her identity will not be confirmed. And she’ll be found guilty of treason.

If that happens, she’ll be imprisoned in the Ice Caverns until she takes her last breath. And Emma will never speak to him again. He might as well accompany Nalia to the Ice Caverns. The Ice Caverns are more vast than any human prison, and considerably less populated—the Archives estimate that only forty or so Syrena have ever done something grave enough to be sentenced there. It would be a boring, lonely life—and death.

Of course, Galen is hoping that Grom and Antonis will not allow that kind of outcome. He’s not sure what kind of alternate plan the two kings have conjured up, if anything at all, but surely for all the desperation he sees in their eyes, they’re hiding something more useful than despair behind their anxious expressions. Doing this all the right way is one thing. But there might not be a right way, with Jagen’s influence marring the judgment of the Syrena.