**A/N (Jan 2017): To those of you reading this with The Heiress Queen in mind, please note that this chapter has NOT been edited to reflect the plot of The Heiress Queen. That story took a few turns from how I'd originally plotted it, which means that parts of this chapter might not make sense. I hope to get to editing it at some point, but for now please ignore the plot and continuity errors that don't line up with The Heiress Queen. Thanks :)**

The silence stretched between the monarchs in the royal apartments, the clinking of the king's silverware the only sound in the room. The queen stared at him, wondering how she hadn't realized that her husband had become so cruel. She'd left Andrew and Elizabeth to themselves, cancelling the celebratory dinner that had been planned for that night. Princess Dulciana had already fled the palace, while Adelaide Winters would surely be unwilling to participate in such a farce if she thought that Andrew and Elizabeth were already engaged. The entire day had turned into a great mess and she was staring at the man responsible.

"You should eat," the king said flatly, glancing at his wife's untouched plate.

"I'd like to read the treaty," the queen said, still staring at him with the same intensity as when she'd silently taken the seat opposite him. With a sigh, the king set down his cutlery and looked across the table at her, her face glowing in the candlelight. For a brief moment, the flickering shadows smoothed the fine lines on her face, bringing him back to their first dinner together in this suite, a pair of young newlyweds who barely knew one another.

He'd chosen her because she was practical and quick-witted. Well, practical, quick-witted and beautiful, if he was being honest. She had a kind heart, which was an asset not a single member of the royal bloodline possessed. As a pragmatic crown prince, he'd chosen her to help soften the hard edges his crown was forcing upon him.

Seeing her now, in this light, after what he'd done to Andrew, he wondered whether she had softened those edges of his at all.

"Why?" the king asked, more curious than combative.

"Because I refuse to force my son to marry some entitled brat of a princess when he's already proposed to someone else," she said. The king's jaw muscle pulsed.

"I've had enough of an earful from our son about that meddlesome girl and I-" he started.

"Then give me the treaty," the queen interrupted, "I'm not interested in arguing with you, I'm interested in what you signed and why. Perhaps upon reading it I'll understand whether you've turned into your father or not."

The king regarded his wife thoughtfully, the barb she'd tossed his way barely glancing off his ego. He'd been thinking the exact same thing all afternoon, wondering whether his treatment of his favourite son had anything to do with the way his own father had treated him. True, he'd been allowed to choose his bride, but his mind hadn't been clouded by useless things like feelings. He'd chosen Isabelle because she cemented their alliance with the wayward Fontaine family, drawing their sizeable estates back from the brink of an alliance with Daesland to the east. It was only after they were married that he realized how brilliant his wife truly was, which was why he now attempted to follow her train of thought in order to reveal her true motive.

The queen held her husband's gaze, hoping he wouldn't read too much into her request. She would play the part of the affronted mother, angry with him because he'd hurt their son. He didn't need to know that she was seething with anger, hating him for taking yet another step towards becoming his tyrant of a father.

"You told me she wasn't fit to marry him," he said, "Why are you bothering yourself with this when it's already signed and sealed?"

"Because I've changed my mind about her. I witnessed his proposal, Graham, three of us did. You know that makes it as legal and binding as any treaty, even if you won't admit it," she said, struggling to keep the edge from her voice. If their conversation deteriorated into a shouting match, any hope for Andrew's happiness was lost. She could afford to bite her tongue if it meant saving her eldest son from an arranged marriage he didn't deserve.

"What would you have me do? Break a man's word to a woman or a king's word to an entire country?" the king asked, his own temper just barely in check. He'd had enough of yelling at his family today, despite them all seeming to be aligned against him.

"I want to read the treaty to see exactly what you've gotten our son into," she said.

He knew the ice in her eyes was because Andrew was her favourite, the son she had hoped and prayed for during the long first years of their marriage. Andrew had been the one to fill her days while her husband was away, tending to the affairs of his ailing father. Their bouncing baby boy, so keen and curious about the world, had stolen her heart so thoroughly that she couldn't help but fall more in love with him each day.

Now that her boy had grown into a man, she had made it her mission to ensure he wouldn't ever turn out like the rest of the kings of Pretania. That meant ensuring his own marriage was for love and not power, by choice and not coercion, using whatever means necessary. But she was playing a delicate game now, exerting just enough of her influence that her husband wouldn't grow suspicious and recklessly lash out as he had when he signed the bloody treaty in the first place.

But the king was no fool. He'd known that signing the treaty was the right thing for the country, even if it was the wrong thing for his family. He thought he'd prepared himself for the backlash, but the sight of his pride and joy clutching that girl's hand in defiance before the princess he was supposed to marry had drawn the battle lines between them. He'd guessed that his sons would have come up with some plan after he hung the threat of the treaty over Andrew's head those few days ago, but truth be told he had always intended to make an alliance with the Ardalonians. It had become clear to him now that the price for a prosperous and wealthy kingdom was a broken marriage and an alienated family. Had he known the price would be so high...

The king's gaze fell to the candles as he debated with himself, the queen looking on patiently. She knew her husband well enough to know that he would come around. She could hang his guilt about Andrew over him if she needed to, but the haunted look on his face meant that he was doing a well enough job of it himself. Relief flooded her mind, that green shoot of hope that her husband's crown hadn't completely stolen his soul still intact and unwavering. When he looked up at her, she knew that she'd see the treaty.

Whether she would find anything useful in it, however, was an entirely different matter.

"Very well," the king said, his chair scraping as he stood. The queen was careful not to hasten too closely after him into his study. When she entered, he was already closing the desk drawer, extending a sheaf of papers towards her.

"Now can we enjoy our dinner?" he asked, her blue eyes already racing over the writing.

"Perhaps later," was all she said, still reading as she hurried from the room.

***

The prince leaned back from his telescope at the knock on the door. Jotting a number onto the sheet of paper filled with diagrams and notes beside him, he unfurled his legs from his perch on the window sill. He turned his eyes back to the sky, willing his mind to clear itself once again. He'd racked his brain for a solution all evening until he couldn't think straight anymore, turning to star charting to ease his frustration and focus his thoughts. The knock sounded once again, more urgently this time.

"I'm coming," he grumbled, hopping off the sill. He yanked the door open irritably, only to blink in surprise at his mother.

"You need to read this, Thomas," she said, extending a sheaf of papers towards him. He looked at them warily, eyeing the signatures and seal.

"I fear you have me mistaken for your other son," he said, cocking an amused eyebrow. But his mother's stony expression didn't budge as she crowded him back into his room, casting a quick glance around.

"No, I haven't," she said, pressing the papers into his hands, "Read them."

Sighing, Thomas fixed her with an annoyed look before he turned away, throwing himself into an armchair as he leaned back to read. Before him, the queen paced, a delicate fist pressed to her mouth.

His eyes flew over the words, hunting for whatever had brought her to him. It was all legal jargon and nonsense, detailing the goods and acts that would be exchanged when princess Dulciana wed...

He re-read the line.

"The aforementioned terms shall be met when the royal houses of Ardalone and Pretania are joined," Thomas read aloud, looking up at his mother, "This must be some sort of joke. Who in their right mind would sign such a vaguely-worded treaty?"

"Someone who wanted negotiating power," the queen said, taking a seat opposite her second son. Thomas searched his mother's face, taking in her wary eyes, the very same shade of blue as his.

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly, "It says when the royal houses are joined. Surely the Ardalonians would object to anything less than a crown prince..."

Thomas froze, a well of dread opening in his stomach.

"Is he going to pass Andrew over, then? Thrust a crown upon my head so he can appease some foreigners Andrew has offended?" he demanded.

Thomas had no desire to be king, not with all the shackles and restrictions and attention the position entailed. He was better suited for the shadows, reading people and situations and manipulating them as required. It was why he and Andrew were such a formidable team: Andrew thrived in the spotlight, shaking peasants' hands and making eloquent speeches, while Thomas flourished in the background, maneuvering all the chess pieces into place for his brother's plans.

"He won't. Apparently he's declared your brother as his heir before the bishop to force Andrew's hand even further, which means that your father clearly doesn't know about this clause yet. It must have been slipped in by someone on their side," the queen said.

"Then why did you bring this to me?" Thomas asked. The queen studied her son.

"The Ardalonians didn't specify a crown prince, only a member of the royal family..." she said slowly.

Thomas' eyes fell to the papers again, the restlessness in his stomach lurching in an uncomfortable way as he followed his mother's lead. At least there was no threat of a crown settling upon his head, but what his mother was asking of him was more than he'd ever anticipated giving up for his brother's happiness.

"It can't be Anne," he said, refusing to look up at her, "But you knew that already."

"Your sister is hopelessly in love with James Amberly and ill-prepared to face such a challenge on her own. As much as I wish it weren't so, she doesn't do well outside of Highcastle," the queen said, continuing when Thomas looked up at her, "I realize that I am asking you to choose between your happiness or theirs, but I haven't shown this to either of your siblings yet."

Their blue-eyed gazes held as the queen leaned towards her brilliant, conniving middle child.

"You decide the outcome, Thomas," she said, reaching for his hand, "If you refuse, I understand. I will carry this to the grave with me if I must, but I'm leaving this decision to you as it is your future at stake. Andrew will be compelled to do his duty to honour this treaty unless we can find a way to utilize this loophole. You have the night to think on it, but the engagement ceremony has been announced for tomorrow morning."

Thomas remained seated as his mother rose to leave, resting a hand on his shoulder in farewell. Andrew had said that if he failed to comply, the king would go after Libby. Knowing his brother, he would already be planning some way to run off and marry her in secret, thinking that they'd be protected by the bond of holy matrimony. But if he did such a thing, not even a marriage would be enough to protect Libby from the full weight of the king's wrath. Their father would have his revenge and Andrew would break. The crown prince was strong, but not strong enough to recover from such a blow, especially if his own father ordered the murder of the love of his life.

Chewing on his cheek, Thomas rolled the thought over in his head, dissecting it. Andrew had a streak of his father in him that their mother had done everything to suppress, but there was no telling what would happen if he lost Libby. That being said, it now meant that this decision wouldn't simply impact his family's happiness, it would also affect the future of the entire country. It was no secret that the kings of Pretania were known as a line cruel pragmatists, but Thomas knew that the people held out hope that his kind, smiling, hand-shaking brother would mark the end of the terrible trend.

With an angry growl, he threw the papers to the floor, scraping both hands through his hair. There was a way out of this, there always was.

"It must have been slipped in by someone on their side..."

But who? He needed to figure that part out so he would know why the vaguely-worded clause had found its way into the treaty in the first place.

Jumping to his feet, Thomas paced, racking his brain for something, anything on the Ardalonians and their motives. The ambassador was a razor-sharp negotiator who would not have missed such a provision in the treaty. That he willfully signed it meant that he purposefully hadn't named Dulciana. But why would the princess leave such a loophole if she was so desperate for a crown?

Perching on the window sill once more, Thomas chewed his lip in thought. Perhaps the princess hadn't come of her own will, as they'd all assumed. In fact, as far as Thomas knew, his father had been the one to arrange the arrival of the Ardalonian delegation, much to everyone's surprise. Perhaps Dulciana was being forced into something she didn't want just as Andrew was. But then again, she wasn't the type of woman to turn down a crown. She was a princess, accustomed to wealth and power; she would never be happy without a throne to sit upon.

Crossing to the bookshelf, the younger prince hauled out a heavy, leather-bound volume. He flipped it open, hunting through the pages for the passage he'd read before, the passage that had first given him pause when the foreign princess had waltzed into his family's court with her sights set on his brother.

A king by blood shall evermore sit upon the throne of Ardalone. Should no son be borne, the claim of the next of kin shall be cemented by marriage to the heir by blood.

It was vague, but it was enough to confirm his suspicion. Marking the page, he hurriedly flipped to the back of the book, where the Ardalonian royal lineage had been carefully inscribed by hand. He scanned the family tree, noting the many branches running parallel to the reigning house.

He swallowed, an unwilling flash of admiration for the foreign princess' plotting blooming in his head. Ardalonian law was clear: Dulciana would never be queen, so long as there was a direct male heir in the form of Prince Frederico, her younger brother. But if he was somehow removed from the equation, Dulciana could marry any one of the many first, second, or third cousins who would no doubt vie for the throne and secure an Ardalonian crown for herself. In doing so, she would become the queen regent of her own country, while her husband would only be granted the title of prince, not king. Such a scenario would grant her infinitely more power than she would ever have as a foreign queen married to the direct heir of another kingdom.

Leaning back in his chair, Thomas knit his hands behind his head. It was clear enough, then, what the Ardalonians intended. If Dulciana didn't sit on Pretania's throne, she would sit on her own, while one of her many sisters honoured the treaty in her stead. Glancing back down at the family tree, the younger prince quirked an eyebrow as he made his decision.