“Mmhmm,” said Kell, adjusting his pose.

“While I’m sympathetic to your sudden bout of narcissism,” said Rhy, “this is important, Kell. When you’re wearing that mask, you cannot be the most powerful magician in Ames.”

“I understand.” Kell tugged the helmet back off and struggled to smooth his hair. “Rhy,” he said, “are you certain …?” His heart was racing. He wanted this. He shouldn’t want this. It was a terrible idea. But he wanted it all the same. Kell’s blood sang at the idea of a fight. A good fight.

Rhy nodded.

“All right, then.”

“So you’ve come to your senses?”

Kell shook his head, dazed. “Or lost my mind.” But he was smiling now, so hard he felt his face might crack.

He turned the helmet over and over in his hands.

And then, as suddenly as his spirits had soared, they sank.

“Sanct,” he cursed, sagging back onto the couch. “What about my guards?”

“Silver and Gold?” asked Rhy, his pet names for the men. “What about them?”

“I can’t exactly ditch Staff and Hastra for the entire length of the tournament. Nor can I conveniently misplace them for each and every bout.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were a master magician.”

Kell threw up his hands. “It has nothing to do with my skill, Rhy. There’s suspicious, and then there’s obvious.”

“Well, then,” said the prince, “we’ll just have to tell them.”

“And they’ll tell the king. And do you want to guess what the king will do? Because I’m willing to bet he won’t risk the stability of the kingdom so I can let off some steam.”

Rhy pinched the bridge of his nose. Kell frowned. That gesture, it didn’t suit the prince; it was something he would do, had done a hundred times.

“Leave it to me,” he said. He crossed to Kell’s doors and swung them open, leaning against the frame. Kell hoped the guards had truly stayed behind when he left King Maxim, but they must have only granted him a berth, because Rhy called them in, closing the door before his own guards could follow.

Kell rose to his feet, unsure what his brother meant to do.

“Staff,” said Rhy, addressing the man with silver temples. “When my father assigned you to shadow Kell, what did he say?”

Staff looked from Kell to Rhy, as if it were a trap, a trick question. “Well … he said we were to watch, and to keep him from harm, and to report to His Majesty if we saw Master Kell doing anything … suspicious.”

Kell scowled, but Rhy flashed an encouraging smile. “Is that so, Hastra?”

The guard with dark gold hair bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“But if you were informed about something in advance, then it wouldn’t be suspicious, would it?”

Hastra looked up. “Um … no, Your Highness?”

“Rhy,” protested Kell, but the prince held his hand up.

“You both swore your lives to this family, this crown, and this empire. Does your oath hold?”

Both men bowed their heads and brought their hands to their chests. “Of course, Your Highness,” they said, almost in unison. What on earth is Rhy getting at? wondered Kell.

And then, the prince’s countenance changed. The easiness fell away, as did his cheerful smile. His posture straightened and his jaw clenched, and in that moment he looked less like a prince than a future king. He looked like Maxim.

“Then understand this,” he said, his voice now low and stern. “What I’m about to tell you regards the safety and security of not only our family, but of the Arnesian empire.”

The men’s eyes went wide with concern. Kell’s narrowed.

“We believe there is a threat in the tournament.” Rhy shot Kell a knowing look, though Kell honestly had no idea where he was going with this. “In order to determine the nature of this threat, Kell will be competing in the Essen Tasch, disguised as an ordinary entrant, Kamerov Loste.”

The guards frowned, cheating looks toward Kell, who managed a stiff nod. “The secrecy of my identity,” he cut in, “is paramount. If either Faro or Vesk discovers my involvement, they’ll assume we’ve rigged the game.”

“My father already knows of Kell’s inclusion,” added Rhy. “He has his own matters to attend to. If you see anything during the tournament, you will tell Kell himself, or me.”

“But how are we supposed to guard him?” asked Staff. “If he’s pretending to be someone else?”

Rhy didn’t miss a beat. “One of you will pose as his second—every competitor needs an attendant—and the other will continue to guard him from a safe distance.”

“I’ve always wanted to be in a plot,” whispered Hastra. And then, raising his voice, “Your Highness, could I be the one in disguise?” His eagerness was a barely contained thing.

Rhy looked to Kell, who nodded. Hastra beamed, and Rhy brought his hands together in a soft, decisive clap. “So it’s settled. As long as Kell is Kell, you will guard him with your usual attentiveness. But when dealing with Kamerov, the illusion must be flawless, the secret held.”

The two guards nodded solemnly and were dismissed. Saints, thought Kell as the doors swung shut. He’s actually done it.

“There,” said Rhy, slouching onto the couch. “That wasn’t so hard.”