Free The Rebel Prince by Celine Kiernan

that it, brother? I must confess, I cannot see how one could come to such a conclusion – but, still, I am prepared to accept that you might have?’
    Wynter stared at her old friend, willing him not to make the accusation she knew was poised on his tongue. Her heart clenched when he spoke again.
    ‘Or perhaps,’ he said, ‘you were persuaded to stay silent?’
    ‘Alberon Kingsson,’ she hissed, ‘you ignorant pup .’
    Alberon did not so much as glance her way.
    ‘Tell me, brother,’ he insisted, still leaning across the table. ‘I am most interested to hear your explanation. Knowing that the future of our kingdom depends on the support of the Sultan, why is it that you concealed this mortal weakness at the heart of the Moroccan court?’
    ‘Someone has misled you,’ said Razi very quietly.
    ‘I think not!’ cried Alberon, slapping his hand down onto the map. ‘According to my sources, the Sultan’s court is hopelessly divided, and it is only a matter of time before our father’s most powerful ally is dragged from his throne and cast aside. Tell me I am wrong, Razi. Sit there now and dare to tell me that I am wrong, when I have documents proving it, and a contingent of ambassadors on their way here ready to attest it.’
    ‘You are wrong .’
    Alberon held Razi’s gaze for a long, intense moment. Then his face softened and he reached across to pat his brother’s hand. ‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘All right, brother. I believe you are honest. You have obviously been misled; but I believe you fully believe that which you have told our father.’
    Razi sat back, his face rigid, his eyes full.
    ‘Alberon . . .’ hissed Wynter, almost speechless with rage.
    ‘Alberon, I swear it to you . . . I swear it, I will kick your . . .’
    Alberon reached across to squeeze her hand, and she tugged it free with a snarl. He chuckled.
    ‘Do not be angry, Wyn. Razi understands, don’t you, brother? I had to be sure of his integrity. Here,’ he tapped his head, then slid his hand to his heart, ‘as well as here. Tell her, Razi. It is simply what men like us must do.’
    Razi averted his eyes. He coughed into his hand. ‘It is . . . it is simply the world we live in,’ he said hoarsely. ‘One can never be certain.’
    ‘Aye,’ breathed Alberon. ‘One must be certain.’ He shifted the beakers slightly and gazed down at the map of his father’s kingdom. ‘And so,’ he said, ‘one must make strong that which one has discovered to be weak.’
    ‘There are no weaknesses in the Moroccan court, Alberon. I can assure you, Sultan Abdallah ash-Shiekh is as strong as ever. He has no—’ ‘Hush now,’ murmured Alberon, waving his hand. ‘You will see. Tomorrow, if my informants finally arrive, I shall be able to prove to you that you have been misled.’
    ‘I assure you, brother—’
    Alberon looked up. ‘That’s enough now,’ he snapped. ‘You have proved yourself to me; you do not need to go on .’
    Razi blinked. His jaw popped. Wynter saw him push some dark emotion down behind his eyes.
    ‘The Northlands,’ said Alberon, tapping the huge expanse of land that comprised Shirken’s kingdom, ‘and Princess Marguerite. She is the key.’ He turned to Wynter. ‘What is she like?’ he asked.
    ‘An unrelenting tyrant,’ she said tightly.
    Alberon laughed. ‘I have no doubt you think so. But that is not what I meant. I meant what does she look like, sis? Paintings can only tell one so much, and one wonders, doesn’t one, how such strength would manifest itself in a woman.’ He looked fondly at Wynter. ‘She would have something of your look, I imagine? A certain fierceness about the eyes? That keen watchfulness not usual in a woman?’
    ‘I am nothing like her,’ hissed Wynter. ‘It appals me that you would suggest it.’
    Alberon grinned, amused at her ferocity. ‘Oh, don’t be tiresome, Wyn. In her letters, Marguerite constantly reminds me of you: her directness of speech, her