Chapter 1

Queen Calixte Voxspira stared at the pair of portraits hidden within the locket she cradled in her palm. It had been almost thirty years since her affair with Basil. They’d spent several glorious months together, using the secret passages in her palace to keep their clandestine encounters secret, pretending in public that they weren’t lovers.

The anger—and also anguish—she’d experienced after his betrayal had diminished over time, leaving her nostalgic. She often wondered what happened to Basil after he abandoned her without apology to return to his country. Had he felt any remorse? Did he realize he’d left her with a greater treasure than the rocks he’d been so eager to steal?

Poor Avera, the result of that short coupling. A child who’d suffered the name bastard since Calixte had been unmarried at the time of her birth. Calixte’s fourth and youngest offspring, and also the brightest of the royal children—most likely because of her sly father. Or was Avera’s keen mind the result of having been left so often to her own devices?

A young woman now, full grown, and yet Calixte barely knew Avera. Not by choice. They might live in the same palace, however, politics—among other things—made a close relationship with Avera impossible. The guilt Calixte felt over the neglect gnawed at her daily, but she had no choice. The foretelling so long ago had warned her to remain remote lest Avera’s life end before it began.

A sigh escaped her. Sometimes the weight of her tiara overwhelmed. How she would have loved to flee with Basil. He’d asked her at the beginning of their tryst, but she couldn’t leave her people. Couldn’t leave the kingdom of Daerva to the not-so-tender mercy of her oldest heir, Aldrich. She never understood where her son’s darkness came from. His father, a lord of even temperament, never had that streak of cruelty Aldrich displayed.

Thankfully, he’d never be King. The same vision that warned Calixte to ignore her youngest daughter had also touched upon the end of her reign: Upon thy passing, the crown shall be inherited by one worthier than the First Prince.

Would it be her second daughter, Zironia, the Tiara in Waiting who’d yet to bear a child? Or the Spare Tiara, Merie, who worried more about the curls of her hair than the people of their land? In truth, Avera would have been the best choice, but with so many heirs in line before her, including Aldrich’s own children, she would never sit on the throne.

Or would she?

The foretelling had also claimed that Calixte’s youngest would have a great burden to bear. That the fate of the kingdom would rest upon her slender shoulders and she would face terrible ordeals that would test her strength. Hence why Avera knew how to ride and fight, and was well-learned, taught by the best Calixte could hire. She might not be able to mother her daughter as she wanted, but she’d made damned sure Avera never lacked for anything else.

Despite the sun having yet to crest the horizon, Calixte tucked the locket away with her other treasures and prepared to start her day. As she turned from her cabinet she heard a noise, a scraping sound that raised the hairs on her nape.

She whirled, seeking the source, and gaped as someone stepped out of the secret passage to her room. A hidden entrance no one but she—and her long-gone lover—should have known about.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my chambers?” Calixte exclaimed, noting the intruder wore a hood to mask their features. Their eyes were the only features visible through the cutouts.

“I am death,” a male voice intoned.

Probably meant to frighten, however, Calixte wasn’t the type to get vapors that easily.

“Who sent you?” she asked, her fingers reaching into her pocket for the dagger she’d been carrying around of late. Blame the nightmares plaguing her these past months. Dark dreams of violence and bloodshed that she couldn’t entirely shake when she woke. It turned out her niggling sense of something not right hadn’t been paranoia.

“Someone who needs you gone to clear the path to the throne.”

“Did Aldrich hire you?” she asked. She’d seen how her son, the First Prince, chafed in the wings, waiting to sit on the throne.

“Doubtful seeing as how your first born is being killed as we speak.”

How awful she didn’t feel sorrow but only relief at knowing Aldrich wouldn’t survive her. He’d long been haranguing her about stepping down so he might start his rule. It had been done in the past, but Calixte kept refusing, knowing her son wouldn’t serve the people well.

“Who is the traitor?” she asked as the intruder moved closer, his step stealthy. She could have yelled for her guards—a pair stood outside her door—but she wanted answers.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ll be dead in a moment.”

“Exactly. So why not tell me? Or do you not know?”

“I don’t need to know who hired me. The guild entered into a contract, and I am here to complete its terms.”

The phrasing made him an assassin, indicating someone had gone through great trouble and expense.

“You do realize I can pay you more than they’re offering,” Calixte bargained.

“I took a vow to not be bribed.”

“Ironic words coming from a man who sees no problem with murder.”

The assassin shrugged. “Have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Which of my daughters are they planning to put in charge if I and my son are to die?”

“None. Your line ends today.” The assassin lunged with his blade and Calixte had little time to react. The dagger emerged from her pocket and barely blocked the blow aimed for her heart.

“Guards, to me!” she yelled as she recoiled to give herself space.

“Yell all you like. By the time they break down the door, you’ll be dead,” the hooded man taunted.

Thump. Thump.

The pounding at the portal had her cursing the fact she kept it locked at night. She’d thought herself safe once within, the secret passages unknown to anyone else, her kingdom at peace her entire reign. How could she have missed the bubbling discontent?

“You’ll die for this,” Calixte spat as she narrowly avoided a slash.

“Only if they catch me, which hasn’t happened yet. The guild sent their best for this job.” He darted forward and she dodged to the side, only she made a mistake in watching the hand gripping the sword. She missed the dagger the assassin pulled with his other hand. It slid into her gut with ease, and she gasped.

“You’ve killed me.” Disbelief marked her words. Of all the ways she expected to die, murder wasn’t one of them.

“It’s not personal,” he remarked, pulling the weapon from her flesh and wiping it on his trousers.

She slumped to the floor, more in shock than pain, her fingers clasped over her midsection as if that would stem the flow of blood.

He crouched in front of her. “You don’t have to suffer. Hold up your head and I’ll finish you quickly.”

“How kind of you to offer,” was her dry reply.

“I’m not a monster.”

“Could have fooled me,” she murmured, ducking her head.

“Just doing my job. Speaking of which, your soldiers are about to enter, meaning I have to leave. Are you sure you don’t want a swift death?”

She lifted her chin, baring her throat. “Yes, but first, might I see the face of the man killing me.”

He hesitated only a moment before tugging off the hood, not that she cared about his appearance. In that moment of inattention, the dagger she still held plunged. Unlike him, she didn’t miss.

The jugular she severed spurted, and he recoiled, his mouth opening and shutting without a sound, his eyes wide with disbelief. The assassin died before her guards burst into the room.

While they ran to fetch a doctor and applied pressure to her wound, Calixte already knew she wouldn’t live to see another dawn. Only the foretelling and the hope it offered kept her barking orders.

“Bring me my daughter!” Calixte kept repeating as they put her to bed and pretended they could fix her.

“They’re dead, Your Majesty,” the flustered Duke Petturi stated. “The Heir, the Tiara in Waiting, the Spare, even the baby.”

Calixte stared at the fat man who’d been her advisor for the past decade. “Where is Avera?”

“Who?”

“My youngest daughter,” she snarled.

“Oh, her. ” His lips pulled down in disapproval.

“Yes, her!” she snapped. “Bring her at once.”

“Why?” The man dared to argue despite knowing she had little time.

“Gustav!” She bellowed for her Grand Rook, a man who’d been by her side for decades. A loyal soldier who would obey his queen.

Her grizzled rook arrived, wearing a grim expression framed by short silver hair. “Your Majesty.” He dropped to a knee by her bedside. “My failure to protect is inexcusable. I await your punishment.”

“This isn’t your fault,” she muttered. More like hers for refusing to live like a prisoner in a kingdom known for its peace. She gestured him close and whispered, “You must find Avera. Protect her, Gustav. She is all that matters now.”

“Yes, my queen.” He thumped his chest and left abruptly.

She closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed for her youngest. Prayed for her people. And most of all, prayed those responsible would die horrifically for what they’d wrought this day.