Malik moved carefully.
Carefully was how kings were made.
He summoned a trusted scribe and dictated a letter.
In Aren's handwriting.
In Aren's voice.
Serah,
I cannot breathe knowing you are suffering. I will defy them publicly tomorrow. Meet me at the south courtyard at dawn. We will leave together.
Trust me.
Malik smiled as the ink dried.
"If she runs," he murmured, "Aren falls."
If Serah attempted escape, it would be treason.
If Aren met her, it would be rebellion.
Either way—
The fourth prince would become unstable in the court's eyes.
And unstable princes did not inherit thrones.