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I think of Prince Ruarok Loftborn, the king’s son. I only met the man once, briefly, when my mother and I first arrived at the castle. We’d shared a dance, but then a plot to have both me and my mother murdered had been revealed, and the prince had been banished from the castle and the surrounding lands and cast out into the wilderness.

He’s most likely dead now, and even if he isn’t, I’d have no idea how to find him. If he is still alive somewhere, will word of his father’s death reach him? It doesn’t feel right for a son not to know of his parent dying, though I’m fullyaware of the difficult relationship the two of them had. My stepfather and mother rarely spoke of the prince, and, when they did, it was from between pinched lips and clenched jaws.

I remember dancing with Ruarok in the Great Hall on the first day I’d arrived at the castle. He’d certainly left an impression on me. The atmosphere between us had been charged. I’d been so conscious of the placement of his hand on my waist, the fingers of his other hand entwined with mine. He’d stared into my eyes the entire time we’d spun across the dance floor. I remember forgetting to breathe.

I’d never seen anyone quite like him before. His dark hair and eyes were so completely opposite to the natural paleness of the Fae. I’d struggled to believe he could even be half Fae, but then there was no way the king would ever have allowed someone who wasn’t his natural born son to live in the castle. Besides, he had the king’s birthmark behind his ear, so there was no question of his heritage.

I’d dreamed of him after he’d been sent away—dirty, heated dreams that I really shouldn’t have been having about my stepbrother. I’d blamed my age and hormones, conjuring something that never could have been.

Besides, Ruarok had wanted me dead. That was why he’d been banished. There was certainly no love lost. Maybe I’d entertained the idea of having a big brother, but he’d clearly never thought of me as being a younger sister. Plus, the dreams had nothing sibling-ish about them. Quite the opposite.

I’d been so young back then. My head had been in a whirl. I’d lost my father and my home and been whiskedoff to a new land and castle and introduced to a new stepfather.

It had all happened so fast.

Sometimes, I wondered if the king ever regretted banishing his only son. I couldn’t imagine having a child and casting him into a life of such torture and misery. But my mother often used it as a way of reassuring me as to how much the king loved us both—that he would choose us over his own flesh and blood.

I doubt I will ever become a mother. My child is the kingdom now, but I fear for its survival. If the rot is in the lands of Askos, as it clearly is, then how much longer will the city and the castle stand?

I close my eyes and knock back the remainder of my drink, and then spin on my heel.

“Princess,” Skylar says, “where are you going?”

I glance back over my shoulder. “To take command of the kingdom.”

10

TAELYN

Balthorne chasesafter me with my cloak.

In my haste, I’ve left my chambers in only my nightgown. I’d completely forgotten what I was wearing.

“Thank you,” I tell him, my hand touching his as he places it around my shoulders. “That wouldn’t have been the best way to make my first entry into the Great Hall as?—”

I cut myself off. I can’t quite bring myself to say it. As what? As the new queen? As the new ruler of Highdrift and the lands of Askos? It feels wrong to even think it, as though I’m betraying my mother’s and the king’s memories.

A number of footsteps come running toward us, echoing down the long hallway.

It’s Cirrus Planetree, the head of the King’s Guard, and several of his men.

“Princess,” he gasps, “thank the gods you’re safe.”

“What news of my mother,” I say, “and the king?”

I find myself grasping at the final strands of hope thatperhaps they weren’t in bed at the time of the collapse, that perhaps they’d gone for a walk in the middle of the night, or maybe they’d had a fight and my mother had gone to sleep elsewhere.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

I close my eyes briefly and nod, doing my best to hold myself together. Tears burn my eyes, and my throat feels like I’ve swallowed a sliver of glass, but I don’t lose it again. I need these people to respect me, and that won’t happen if they see me as an emotional mess.

“I want to see,” I tell him.

He frowns. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I need to.”

Maybe I’m torturing myself by wanting a close-up view of the place that has become their burial site, but I feel the need to confirm their deaths for myself.