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The ice bowl hit Gareth square in the face. His nose crunched. Blood sprayed across white fur.
Valen didn't wait to see him fall. He rolled left as the executioner's axe came down and bit into frozen ground where his neck had been. The crowd was screaming. Half of them were trying to get out. The other half were pushing closer.
Eliza was already moving.
She crossed the sand in four strides, that bloody knife still in her hand. Two of Gareth's guards stepped in front of her. She didn't slow down. Just flicked the blade twice. Both men grabbed their wrists and dropped their swords.
"Stand down," she said.
Her voice cut through the noise like she'd been giving orders her whole life. Maybe she had. Valen didn't know what hostage princesses did in their spare time, but apparently it involved making grown men back off.
The executioner turned toward her. Big guy, arms like tree trunks, face hidden behind a black hood. He raised the axe.
Eliza pointed the knife at him.
"You wanna execute a foreign dignitary in front of five thousand witnesses?" she said. "Go ahead. See how that treaty holds up."
The executioner hesitated. Looked at the Trial Master.
The Trial Master was still standing at the judge's platform, hands gripping the rail. His face had gone gray. He was staring at the ice bowl on the sand. At the glowing Frostblade crest still pulsing inside it.
"Your Highness," he said. His voice shook. "You can't—"
"I already did," Eliza said.
She stepped between Valen and the executioner. Close enough that Valen could smell blood on her dress. It wasn't hers.
Gareth was getting up. His nose hung at the wrong angle. Blood ran down his chin and soaked into his collar. He spat a tooth onto the sand.
"You're dead," he said to Valen. Then to Eliza: "Both of you."
"Funny," Eliza said. "I was about to say the same thing."
She turned to face the stands. Raised her voice so everyone could hear.
"Ten years ago, I was eight years old," she said. "I was brought to this kingdom as part of a marriage pact I didn't agree to. I was locked in the north tower. But I wasn't blind. The night of the coup, I saw three men climb the king's balcony. I saw them go inside. And when they came out, one of them was carrying a sword."
She pointed at Gareth's waist.
"That sword."
The crowd went quiet. Not all at once. It rippled outward from the front rows, spreading up into the stands like ice forming on water.
Gareth's hand moved to his belt. To the ornate blade hanging there. His fingers touched the pommel, then froze.
"You're insane," he said.
Eliza smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Maybe," she said. "Let's test it. Trial Master, I'm invoking witness law. I claim the right to provide testimony."
The Trial Master opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"This isn't a murder trial," he said. "This is the Frost Trials. A sacred—"
"A sacred trial that just revealed a royal bloodline," Eliza said. "One you were about to execute. I'm betting the old laws say something about that."
The Trial Master's jaw worked. He looked at the high priest, who'd gone very still.
The priest nodded once.
"Testimony may be heard," the priest said. His voice was thin. "If it concerns the legitimacy of the trial."
Gareth's face went dark.
"She's lying," he said. "She's a hostage. A prisoner. She'll say anything to—"
"To what?" Eliza said. "Save a mercenary I've never met? Why would I risk my life for a stranger?"
She glanced at Valen. Just for a second. Her eyes said: play along.
Valen kept his mouth shut.
Eliza turned back to the priest.
"I'm not asking you to believe me," she said. "I'm asking you to look at the sword. The king's blade had a name. Winterfang. It had an inscription on the crossguard. If that's not Winterfang, then I'm lying. If it is, then Gareth's wearing the murder weapon."
The crowd erupted. People shouting. Arguing. A few trying to climb down onto the sand.
Gareth drew the sword.
For a second Valen thought he was gonna run Eliza through. But instead Gareth held the blade up, turned it so the light caught the crossguard.
"This is my father's sword," he said. "A gift from the king. There's no inscription. No name. She's lying."
The priest stood. Walked down the steps from the platform. His robes dragged through the sand.
"May I see it?" he said.
Gareth hesitated. Then handed it over, hilt first.
The priest took the blade. Turned it in his hands. Studied the crossguard.
His face didn't change.
"There's no inscription," he said.
Eliza's jaw tightened.
"Then it was removed," she said. "Ground off. Check the metal. You'll see the marks."
The priest ran his thumb along the crossguard. Frowned.
"There's some scarring," he said slowly. "But that could be from use. From wear."
"Or from someone trying to hide a name," Eliza said.
She took a step toward the priest. The executioner moved to block her, but she ignored him.
"You want proof?" she said. "Fine. The night of the coup, one of the assassins was injured. The king's bodyguard got a blade into his shoulder before he died. I saw blood. A lot of it. If Gareth's father led the coup, he would've had a scar. High on his left shoulder. Ask anyone who saw him at the baths. Ask his servants."
Gareth went very still.
"My father's dead," he said. "You can't question a corpse."
"No," Eliza said. "But I can testify to what I saw. And you can explain why you're so desperate to execute a man whose blood just proved he's royalty."
The priest looked at Gareth. Then at Valen. Then at the glowing ice bowl still sitting on the sand.
"This requires deliberation," he said finally. "The trial is suspended until—"
"No," Gareth said.
He grabbed the sword back from the priest. Turned toward Valen.
"He's a traitor," Gareth said. "He abandoned his crown. Faked his death. Hid like a coward while real men held this kingdom together. Royal blood or not, he's a deserter."
"Funny," Valen said.
It was the first time he'd spoken since Eliza burst in. His voice came out rough. Tired.
"I didn't fake anything," he said. "I was thrown into the river with a slit throat and a knife in my ribs. Someone wanted me dead. And I'm betting it was the same someone who killed my father."
He looked at Gareth.
"Guess we'll never know, though. Since your father's dead and all."
Gareth's hand tightened on the sword.
"Careful," Eliza said. "Kill him now and you prove everything I just said."
Gareth froze. The point of the sword was three inches from Valen's chest.
The whole arena held its breath.
Then Gareth lowered the blade. Sheathed it. Turned to the Trial Master.
"Suspend the trial," he said. "Hold them both. We'll sort this out in private."
The Trial Master nodded. Looked relieved to have a decision made for him.
"Guards," he said. "Escort them to—"
Eliza laughed.
It wasn't a nice sound.
"You really think I'm going back to that tower?" she said. "After this?"
She looked at the Trial Master.
"I invoke sanctuary law," she said. "As a foreign noble, I claim protection under the old covenant. You can't hold me without cause."
"You broke into the arena," Gareth said. "You assaulted my men. That's cause."
"I prevented an illegal execution," Eliza said. "That's duty."
She turned to the priest.
"Am I wrong?" she said. "Does the law allow the execution of proven royalty without trial?"
The priest hesitated. Then shook his head.
"No," he said. "It doesn't."
"Then I committed no crime," Eliza said. "And you've got no grounds to hold me."
She looked at Valen.
"Him either," she said. "Not until you decide what to do with a prince you thought was dead."
The Trial Master rubbed his face. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.
"This is beyond my authority," he said. "I need to consult the council. The high families. This'll take days."
"Fine," Eliza said. "We'll wait."
"Under guard," Gareth said.
"Under protection," Eliza corrected. "There's a difference."
Gareth's jaw worked. But he didn't argue.
The guards came. Four of them. They didn't draw weapons, but they didn't leave room to run either. They formed up around Valen and Eliza, started marching them toward the gate.
Eliza leaned close as they walked. Close enough that her shoulder brushed his.
Valen felt the heat of her through two layers of fabric. Her breath was warm against his ear.
"The Serpent's Kiss," she whispered. "Third form, high guard to low sweep. You used it in the second round. I've only ever seen one person fight that way."
Valen's stomach dropped.
"I don't know what you're—"
"Yes you do," Eliza said. "I was ten when your father brought you to the tower. You practiced in the courtyard. Drove your tutor insane 'cause you kept improvising. You called it the frozen river style. Said it had to flow."
Valen didn't answer. Couldn't.
His pulse hammered in his throat. She was close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes. The dried blood on her collar. The way her hand was still white-knuckled around that knife.
Eliza smiled. It was sharp. Dangerous.
"Help me escape this cage," she said. "And your secret stays buried."
She pulled back. Walked ahead like she'd said nothing at all.
Valen followed. The guards closed in behind.
The crowd was still roaring, but he couldn't hear them anymore. Just his pulse in his ears and Eliza's words on repeat.
She knew.
She'd always known.
And now she