Chapter One

It takes all the strength I can muster to resist rolling my eyes as a thud reverberates through the war chamber.

"We cannot afford it, sir! There is simply not enough coin." Lord Petras rises, slapping his palms against the table with finality.

The General's eyes flash with anger as he rises from the seat to my right, his hands meeting the smooth wood of the table in equal challenge. A golden strand of hair falls forward and comes to rest on his forehead.

"Then I suggest we find another solution, unless you wish your head to be sitting on a spike alongside my own," he says. "We need the men if we're to stand a chance against the King of Risian on the battlefield."

Lord Petras' nostrils flare and I drop my eyes to examine the ring on my finger as the two men stare at one another. Though it is my duty as sovereign to be a part of all talks concerning warfare, it's not necessary to endure such nonsense. In the end, this will amount to nothing more than simple jousts of sharp tongues by lesser men.

Out of the corner of my eye, the General lowers back into his seat, watching me closely.

A nasally voice cuts through the tense silence. "Your thoughts, My Queen?"

I lift my eyes and pin Lord Petras' with my gaze. "You are well-versed in the histories, yes?"

"Y-yes, My Queen." A thin bead of sweat rolls down his neck.

I stand and clasp my hands behind my back before sauntering over to the window that overlooks my mother's gardens. Tiny buds of the plumeria flower indigenous to my home unravel as the sun begins its descent. Shades of blush creep down and bleed into a soft golden amber at the delicate tips of each petal. My late husband, Calor, had once said the flower and I were akin in that sense. So much beauty encased in such a petite frame. Breathtaking to behold, yet deadly in unfathomable ways once unleashed.

Through the reflection of the glass, Lord Petras shifts his weight on the balls of his feet.

My nails bite into the skin of my palms behind my back as I turn to face him. "And during this thousand year war, how many times has Risian emerged victorious?"

"N-Never," he stammers.

"Very good. Hear me now, sir." I take a long stride toward him, anger bubbling in the back of my throat. "I, Ellesandra Sorrell, Second Ruling Queen of Minalis, vow that this kingdom will not fall. Regardless if the enemy is the mirror of my soul or not—"

"But, Your Grace," he interjects.

I inhale deeply through my nose as fury blossoms in my bones and spreads through my chest. A fool, well and truly.

The air in the chamber is heavy and crackles with tension, matching the tumultuous, gray storm clouds that roll over the horizon just beyond. Lady Florison flinches when a tendril of bright, white lightning flashes through the chamber and an ear splitting crack of thunder follows. He withers like the coward he is beneath my glare.

"Should you ever think to interrupt me again…" The promise of death laces my tone as I take another step. He casts his gaze downward when I stop before him, leaving less than an arm's length of distance between us. "The crows will feast upon your bones."

The coinkeeper visibly pales and runs a trembling hand down the side of his breeches. He blinks rapidly at the stone beneath our feet before ducking his chin and taking a step backward.

"I-I apologize, My Queen. I meant no disrespect," he murmurs.

Disregarding his show of submission, I give him my back, the skirts of my crimson gown snapping as I return to my place at the head of the table. My light steps echo across the stone, the rigid silence that smothers the air telling of my councilman's apprehension to earn my ire.

Though most who occupy positions of power in my court were strong allies of the former Queen, the crown now sits atop my brow. It's their coin and status I require, not their acquaintances. All folly notions of friendship turned to dust in the wind when they quickly realized that I would not lie down arms.

While I understand their advocating for both the people of Minalis and peace, it's not they who will face the consequences of waving the proverbial white flag.

Many of the lords and ladies that gather cast their gazes away as I take my seat. The General's hand comes to rest lightly on my thigh beneath the table. The corner of my lips threaten to curve upward with the unspoken reverence behind the touch. His features soften when I meet his eye, the small crease between his brows smoothing.

Sweet notes of blackberry fill my nose as I pick up my golden goblet and bring it to my lips, taking a small sip. The stars know I can't endure the fae population without wine. Taking another, larger sip, I run my tongue along the front of my teeth.

Setting my goblet back down on the table, now half-empty, my gaze flickers upwards. Lord Petras wisely keeps his stare on the pages of the large book before him, his narrow lips set into a thin line.

"I will write to King Alardin and ask for men," I say at last, allowing my eyes to come to rest on each of the members of my council. "Although I am not of his blood, he will not deny aid to the widower of his son. Apart from that, he has much to lose should the King of Risian have his way."

Following in the footsteps of my mother, Queen Emeline, I took my place on the Foliage Throne when I was one hundred and thirty three. My kingdom was irrevocably bound to Brealan when I married its prince twelve moons later.

Low, rough whispers burst to life and ricochet off the stone walls of the war chamber as my councilmen turn and begin to speak to one another. The embers of fury that crackle in my veins give little care to the content of their conversations. Should they have their wishes, I'll be reduced to no more than a broodmare and sold to the most despicable fae in all the continent of Norweth.

Heads snap upward to attention and conversation dies to an impassable silence when I clear my throat. Meeting Lord Petras' fearful gaze, my lips curl into a cruel, mocking smile. "Now, get out."

After a beat of stunned silence, the General lightly squeezes my thigh as the scrape of wood against stone resounds throughout the chamber. Ladies of my council stand and smooth the skirts of their gowns, while the men straighten their doublets and file out of the chamber.

The warmth of the General's touch vanishes when he pushes his chair from the table and makes to follow them.

I peer up at him through thick lashes when the last remaining councilman disappears from the room. "Come to me tonight."

Though our meetings are of official business to everyone else in the Amber Palace, Alexander Soldato is no stranger to my personal chambers, nor my bed.

Although whispers passed behind the hands of servants the first night the General had been spied slipping quietly from my chambers, I've never been ashamed. He is a handsome man, after all.

With sandy hair and eyes that outshine the deepest gold deposits of Brealan, he's always drawn attention.

Aside from his handsome features, it's his sheer command of that attention he demands upon entering a room that makes my toes curl.

One who can be viewed as meek or soft-spoken will not do. When I forgo the crown at the end of each day, I have no desire to be Queen any longer.

I need someone who I can relinquish control to, who can ease my mind and feed my body's insatiable appetite. Seeing that he does the job well enough, I simply ignore the way my soul aches each time our bodies come together.

A broad grin stretches across his face and delight dances in his eyes as he pauses. My fingers curl tighter around the wooden armrest when he leans down and the heat of his breath fans across the side of my neck.

"As My Queen commands," he whispers into the shell of my ear. I allow him a small smile as he plants a light kiss on my cheek and straightens. I do so love a fool who desires nothing more than to please me.

My fingers dance mindlessly over the smooth oak of the round table when the door snicks shut behind him and his departing footsteps grow fainter.

The silence that stretches through the chamber is a welcome reprieve because, as of late, my duty as Queen has included the responsibility of ending the quarrels of fully grown males.

Unlike leaders of the other kingdoms, I have no illusions of power. Upon my ascension, I quickly came to realize that thrones were not a seat of fulfillment of hopes and dreams, nor love or glory.

Being Princess and the crown's only heir apparent, I learned the bitter truth of the matter at a young age. Thrones are the monsters that lurk beneath the darkness, that coax you to lock any semblance of emotion away in preparation for the inevitable betrayals that are to come.

Cruelty and callousness are the only ways to ensure the survival of a ruling queen. Without those qualities, it's likely my head would have been mounted on a spike long ago. Thank the stars, I've been quite adept in the matter. The men who once graced my life saw to that. It's of little consequence though seeing that, in my opinion, there is nothing men have in which women do not equally possess or excel.

A huff of annoyance escapes me as yet another rap sounds from across the room.

"Yes?" I call, not bothering to hide the sourness of my tone. A moment's peace is far too great of an ask, apparently.

The door to the chamber swings open and my personal guard, Warwick, steps over the threshold a moment later. A curious glint appears in his sea green eyes as he marks my position at the head of the table, though he is wise enough not to comment. Often, when these exhaustive meetings come to a close, I leave the chamber at once to tend to other matters of importance.

Having been assigned to watch over me as a girl of six, the stout man knows me better than anyone remaining in the realm. Whether it was cleaning a small wound when I scraped my knee, or standing watch outside the kitchens while I snagged chocolates before supper, he has witnessed every stage of my growth.

At every lavish ball my mother hosted, he danced with me, despite the curling of lips and strange looks he received for doing so. On the fateful night when tears flowed down my face, my heart irrevocably broken in two, he came and sat stoically beside me beneath the great Evodia tree. Despite the fact that he is one of the only people who understands why I cast aside my innermost feelings, unmistakable disappointment hangs heavily over him. In his eyes, the years bearing the crown have made me cruel.

"Your Highness, the lady Sianna has arrived for tea."

"Very well. Have wine sent," I say with a dismissive wave of my hand.

Though I'm not particularly in the mood for Sianna's incessant chatter, tea is a weekly occasion she looks forward to. Although she means well, I hoard the precious moments of silence I'm given, as it's inevitable that my attention will be required somewhere else far sooner than I wish.

While outwardly I'm an exemplary model of a proper sovereign, each morning I contemplate the repercussions of fleeing to where the enemy's stare cannot find me.