Chapter 1

The frozen marble corridor felt like needles against her Aymeri skin as she walked toward her mother's private chambers. Winter had been unkind in the kingdom that year, and if she hadn't gotten up in such haste to tell her mother of the dream she'd had of fiery, perilous wars, she would have remembered to put on her socks and boots.

Just as she did every morning, she knocked on her mother's door, the sound ominously echoing in the empty hall around her. When she didn't hear the usual sounds coming from the chamber—the creaking bed, the chair scratching against the floor as her mother pushed it out of her way, or the sound of water rushing—her heart began drumming in her chest. It was unlike her mother not to answer.

From the time she was presented with her own personal chambers, her mother allowed her to wake her for tea and breakfast in the morning. They had fallen into a routine of waking with the sun. Taking a deep breath, she turned the gilded lock, only to find the door secure from the inside.

But mother never locks the door… Rolling her eyes at the obvious carelessness of the new servant, she placed the tea tray on the small table outside her mother's room and ran to her chambers to get her key ring. When she opened her mother's door, the sun was spilling into the room like fresh orange juice into a cup.

" Yuma , it's time to get up," she said in her sing-song voice as she pulled the curtains apart to allow more of the light in. When her mother still didn't stir, Aymeri crossed the room to gently shake her. "Come on, Yuma . I know you are exhausted, but there is much to do and tea to be served."

Lately, her mother had been overworked, constantly writing things down, always having secret meetings, and sometimes even leaving the castle without telling Aymeri where she was going. It was all very peculiar, but she understood her mother's duties as Queen of Treoles. She had begged her mother to let her help, but she kept saying it was too late.

Everything was too late this week .

She walked around the room, cleaning the mess of papers lying all over the table and strewn on the floor, wondering what had happened the night before. Her eyebrows knit together as she noticed the illegible writing scrawled across the pages. Shaking her head, she piled the papers and stuffed them in a drawer. " Yuma. I have tea for you."

She stepped back out into the hallway and retrieved the tray, setting it down on the now-clear table. "Alright, yuma, you get the last laugh. I'm nervous now. Please get up."

Her mother still didn't stir. Her stomach tucked itself behind her other organs and twisted into knots. Perspiration formed on her forehead. If this was her mother's idea of a prank, she did not find it amusing.

Making a sound of defeat, she crossed the room and stood over her mother, who was sleeping soundlessly on her side. Shaking her gently, she called out again, " Yuma? " Shaking her head, she gently pulled the covers off her mother's sleeping body and tried to turn her over. Her mother's body was limp as she rolled onto her back, her piercing blue eyes clouded over and wide open with fright. Crisp, dried blood covered her nostrils and lips, cakes of it pooled at the corners of her mouth and streaked down her chin.

No, no, no! It can't be… "Mother!"

The antagonizing scream reverberated through her mind, but nothing formed on her lips. Not a sound escaped her throat.

Mother! Oh, gods! Mother!

Tears streamed down her face as she tried to gather the strength to call for Jorlyn, her and her mother's newest handmaid, but her throat was burning lava and her tongue was cotton. She feared that if she moved, her legs would buckle beneath her, and the floor would claim her life.

"Princess Aymeri, what is—Oh!" After a brief pause, Jorlyn shouted, "Guards!" and ran out,leaving Aymeri on her own again. If it wasn't for the sound of Jorlyn's boots hitting the marble as she ran, Aymeri might have believed she was imagining the whole ordeal.

" Yuma !" Aymeri whispered, falling to her knees. What happened? Tears flooded her eyes as she held her mother's cold hand in hers and rested her head on her lap. She barely registered the steady hand on her heaving shoulders before she heard a gruff voice call her name.

Ser Parzival had been part of the Royal Guard for as long as Princess Aymeri could remember. In fact, not only was he head of the Royal Guard, he was also her one and only advisor; there was no one Queen Ismana trusted more with her life, and so did Aymeri. She didn't have grandparents like the other kids in the kingdom, so it was Ser Parzival who filled—or at least tried to—the void they left behind.

"I am sorry, my child."

The words touched her heart, and she knew she should respond, but she couldn't find the words. There was nothing anyone could say that could make her pain disappear. It gripped her tightly and squeezed her like her mother's hands would squeeze lemons to the last drop. No matter which way she wriggled, she could not shake herself loose from its grip.

Standing up, Aymeri straightened her red gown and wiped her eyes. Balling her hands into fists, she squared her shoulders. "Gather everyone in the throne room."

The hardness in her voice was foreign to her as she channeled her mother's strength and wisdom. If she was going to get through that disastrous time, she needed to remember her mother's resilience. She was the sole heir to the throne, even if she didn't quite understand what that would mean for her going forward. Every time she had asked her mother when her duties would start and when she would be able to start carrying out some of them, her mother always told her there would be time enough for that.

When you're twenty-five , she would say.

Now she was twenty-three, without a mother and father, or event a single piece of knowledge of how she should run the kingdom. She knew they had relations with other realms, and she'd eventually have to send word of her mother's passing. And she knew her mother regularly hosted events to continue her relations with the other kingdoms. But what meetings were there to attend? Were there papers to be signed? Oaths and promises to be upheld? She didn't know.

What she did know was that everyone in the castle needed to be informed of her mother's untimely demise. Later, she knew she would have to make a proper address to the kingdom and go through all the motions of being coronated as Queen of Treoles. She'd always imagined her mother would place the gold crown on her head—the one with the lines grooved in it and the triangular points jutting out from the base. Who will do it now?

"Princess?" Ser Parzival's voice was laced with concern that only a grandparent could show a grieving child. After all, what more was she reduced to now? Though the age of a woman, she was sheltered like a child, always in her mother's shadow. Never allowed out of the palace walls. Never allowed out of her sight.

At least she had her mother's wisdom. She had seen it when her father passed away. Barely the age of ten, she found him lying motionless and scary still—the same way she had found her mother.

She knew what Ser Parzival was going to say. It would be the same words he told her mother. She should take some time; they could handle it all for her. What they'd never understand is that they couldn't do it for her. Her mother had always made her promise to handle the good and the bad that came to her, on her own. It was the one thing she insisted on, so everything else seemed of lesser importance. Her lack of worldly knowledge was something she could address later.

At that moment, all that mattered was informing everyone in the castle that her mother was dead and that she was taking her rightful place on the throne, whether they thought it a premature move or not. That was the way it was going to be.

Without looking at him or anyone else gathered in her mother's chambers—servants who had probably never even entered the chamber before—she walked out of her mother's room, only pausing briefly to say: "Now, please, Ser Parzival."

"Yes, Princess." He bowed at the waist, but Aymeri didn't wait for his exit. She didn't care how much longer they lingered in her mother's room or what they touched or didn't touch. Nothing mattered anymore. There was nothing left in her world. She was completely and utterly alone. Her mother was her best friend. Who am I to turn to in times of despair? Who is going to hold me as I grieve?

Tears didn't stop falling as she changed into a more appropriate dress—long and black with white embroidery. While it wasn't the official color of mourning, it depicted exactly how she felt: like she'd been swallowed by the darkness with light at the fringes, yet far enough out of reach that she couldn't touch it.

Stop crying, she told herself. There will be plenty of time for that later .

But was there?

I am all alone in this world. Broken. Dazed. Confused…

Despite how much she wished for them to stop, her thoughts kept rolling and barreling into her, pushing the tears out of her eyes and down her cheeks as if they were mountains and the tears were waterfalls rushing into the river.

The scent of cherry blossoms and apples filled the air. A scent she had begun to associate with her Jorlyn. Her mother appointed her mere weeks ago, saying she had been sent by a friend to aid them both with menial tasks. Aymeri was glad she was there, though the woman's hand on her shoulder did nothing to ease the tumultuous emotions rolling inside her. It did, however, provide some semblance of comfort. Though she had only been part of the castle staff for a short time, she knew so much about them. Even the things they didn't say aloud. It was a comfort to have her around, even if nothing could ease the pain taking hold of her.

"Everyone has been gathered, Princess."

Aymeri turned toward the handmaid and forced a smile in return. Her face was stiff from the tears she had cried, but there was no time to wash them away. And why should I? After all, I have just lost my mother, my only family remaining.

"Thank you, Jorlyn."

The warm smile reached the handmaid's reddened eyes, swimming with tears. She hadn't expected the woman to be so emotional, but she supposed she would be, too, if she were a servant who spent most of her day following the queen around and helping with all matters. They must have gotten to know each other better than Aymeri and Jorlyn knew one another.

"Why does everything move so fast when you're royalty?" Aymeri asked, her voice soft and broken.

Jorlyn tucked a stray strand of hair behind Aymeri's ear and pulled a pin out of her own hair to secure the princess', a gesture she imagined an older sister would have done. But Aymeri didn't have an older sister. Not anymore at least. Suddenly, though, she wondered what it would have been like if her older sister had survived childhood, and they grew up together. Would she be the strong one so I could break down and cry? Would we be equally strong for each other? Would we both fall apart after delivering their speeches?

"Because you have a kingdom to protect, my queen." Jorlyn's response pulled Aymeri out of her thoughts of what was never meant to be. "Think about what you do know, not what you don't ."

Aymeri smiled briefly at the sincerity of her tone, thankful for the advice.

"Are you ready, Queen Aymeri?"

A tear slid down her cheek again. "Maybe just Princess Aymeri for now, Jorlyn. I don't know that I can live up to the title of queen just yet."

Jorlyn nodded. "Princess it is."

As Aymeri followed her out of her personal chambers, her stomach did somersaults, her chest tightened, and her hands shook like flowers in a fall breeze.

She took one shallow step at a time, using the banister and the length of the winding staircase to steady herself. Aymeri was grateful that Jorlyn stayed only a step or two in front of her, almost as if she knew the princess was taking her time to gather her thoughts and courage. The princess was grateful that she had a friend in the handmaid, and not just another servant. So many of the people working the castle were not willing to engage in conversation with her. Not the way Jorlyn was.

By the time she stepped into the throne room, the sun was at its highest, spilling through the entire room. Not a single torch was needed. Murmurs filled the space and through the buzzing in her head, Aymeri couldn't understand a single word. Not that she wanted to. Only the gods knew what they were saying.

Many were probably speculating about the queen's sudden passing. Others were probably wondering if Aymeri was fit to take over. Some were likely plotting her death or figuring out ways to overthrow her. None of it would surprise her. History was comprised of people backstabbing each other, demanding what they weren't entitled to. Killing for less than a piece of clothing. Her kingdom was not an exception.

The moment she stepped onto the carpet lining the way to her mother's throne, all murmurs seized and silence weighed heavily in the room. Her body grew rigid as the stares of the staff, guards, knights, and soldiers followed her every move as if waiting for her to make a mistake.

Keeping her shoulders squared and head high, facing forward, Aymeri walked toward the intricately designed throne that Queen Zara, her grandmother, had redesigned for her mother. Queen Zara, as far as Aymeri knew, was one of the most beloved queens, as well-liked as all of the women in the Maudlin family. In her mother's stories, Queen Zara fought for Dramolux as a young warrior in a war that rocked the continent and was heard around the world. Her mother never said anything more, though.

In all her life, Aymeri had never seen a throne quite like her mother's—and she had seen a variety in the paintings on the walls. Now, that throne would see its first bare day. Shecould swear it knew it, for the throne did not look as inviting as it always had. The jewels that adorned it refused to shine, instead as dull as the light in her eyes. The gold intricacies that used to throw themselves at her suddenly blended into their surroundings. The velvet cushion, which would always lure her to sit, did no such thing. It was as if it knew she would never sit where her mother had.

Once she neared the throne, she closed her eyes and summoned her grandmother's courage, the very same that had helped her grandmother win countless battles in the war. Her only goal: protecting their kingdom. Aymeri knew she had to do the same. There was no telling if there were any enemies who would reveal themselves in the wake of her mother's passing. No telling if there was danger lurking, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Aymeri focused solely on Jorlyn, who placed herself strategically at the back of the throne room. It was as if she knew Aymeri would focus on the doors and, ultimately, her escape. As much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn't escape it. Its was her life now. Protecting Treoles was her duty.

Swallowing the lump of emotions in her throat, Aymeri addressed the people surrounding her. Many of them had a direct hand in raising her. She couldn't name the others. So many of them were unfamiliar to her, though she was sure there hadn't been any new servants except Jorlyn. "My humblest apologies for having Ser Parzival bring you all here under short notice. You are well aware that my mother and I do not believe in making announcements without proper notice. However, these are extenuating circumstances."

Aymeri's chest heaved as she thought about the next words she had to say as if saying them aloud made it all true, all the more real. "This morning, I found my mother, your queen, dead in her chambers."

Whispers and questions interrupted her speech, dying as soon as they started as she held her hand up. It was something she had seen her mother do often.

"I am aware of the questions you all have, and the shock that plagues you. I, too, share these emotions. I assure you that Ser Parzival and the Royal Guard, along with the Knights of Maudlin will do all they can to get to the bottom of what happened." She paused for a moment. "Ser Parzival, if you will please tell the people what you found?"

He stepped out of the crowd and onto the platform next to Aymeri. "After a thorough examination of Queen Ismana's chambers, it appears as if something has been plaguing her for quite some time; an illness that couldn't be cured."

Aymeri breathed deeply, her head swimming. An illness? Mother never said anything about feeling ill. All my time spent in her chambers, with her in the throne room… not a cough, nor sneeze, nor fever, nor chill. What, then, could have plagued her?

"—see to it that her final wishes be followed and carried out as soon as possible," he concluded.

Gathering herself as Ser Parzival looked over to her to finish, Aymeri took a steadying breath. "We will keep you all informed of the timing and procedures of Mother's funeral. No one is to leave this castle without my permission. Word of mother's death needn't get out before we have all of her things gathered." Aymeri took another breath. "You are all dismissed."

She waited as patiently as she could, without falling over, until the room cleared out. "Ser Parzival? What's going on?" She wasn't sure what she was expecting to hear, but it certainly wasn't that her mother had been ill. Outside of her meetings and coming and going from the kingdom, her mom didn't seem sick.

"Jorlyn, please close the doors on your way out. The princess and I must have a private conversation."

Aymeri grew wary. How ill is this news that he felt it could not be said in the presence of our handmaid?

Jorlyn bowed dutifully to the both of them, closing the doors behind her as ordered. Aymeri turned back to Ser Parzival, heart pounding as blood rushed to her ears. "What is it? You're frightening me."

"Well, Princess, there is no easy way to say this…" He held his gaze to the floor as Aymeri grew more impatient.

Her stomach was all knots, and her hands shook. Her thoughts were frantic, and panic set in. "Out with it, Ser Parzival, please ." She forced down a yell that would have bounced off the walls.

"I think I should let this do the talking."

The elder slid a paper out of his breast pocket and handed it to Aymeri. It had her mother's seal—broken by Ser Parzival, she assumed. Thumbing the paper, she tried to imagine what was written on it, but dreaded opening and reading it.

"What is this?" Her eyes widened, revealing the horror whirring inside her being.

"It seems your mother wrote it before her…" he let his words trail off. "It explains the…events…of this morning."

Hastily, Aymeri unfolded the paper and read it word for word a dozen times before the words came out of her mouth. "What kind of pressures could she not confide in me about? To lead her to this?" She dropped to her knees, her world closing in on her. "Why, Mother?! Why ?" she screamed, her tears choking her until she was gasping for air.

The room spun around her and as her eyes slowly opened and closed, she could see the door to the throne room ajar. The next time she opened her eyes, it was closed. Had someone—

Her thoughts didn't have time to form before all went dark.