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I remembered Father’s words: Estelle and I fled Forea the day Felicie was born. Our mother’s firstborn, smuggled from the capital . . . Did King Oren have a wife? No – he’d never married. But he’d had a sister . . . If I’d paid more attention to gossip in Bray, maybe I’d have remembered what happened to her.

Mors stared back at me, a grimace painting his lips. You really don’t know?

I frowned at him, desperate for an answer of some kind, but I couldn’t say a thing. Couldn’t expose myself in the presence of the Heartless King.

That deep voice spoke again, wrenching me back to reality. ‘I asked for Bane, not some girl,’ the Heartless King growled. Like Mors, his speech was refined, regal, but his tongue was rough, his words scored by an unfamiliar accent. ‘I told you to forget this – to focus on finding the bastard.’

‘This is yer chance,’ Aron said, sounding impatient. ‘Think how quick he’ll come fer her.’

Whoever Bane was, he couldn’t have been more dangerous than the people around me. Couldn’t have been more anything than the voice that rumbled from the shadows. Whatever this stranger wanted with Felicie – with me – it couldn’t be worse than what I’d face if the Heartless King decided I was dispensable.

Golde turned to glare over her shoulder at Aron and Mors. ‘Bane’s business wi’ Oren don’t concern us. Told ye I’d hunt the traitor down – just need a little more time.’

‘Time we don’t have,’ Mors replied, shaking his head. ‘Aron’s right. Bane’s too focused on his vendetta against Oren – he won’t spare us a second unless we make it worth his while, and this lass might just be Oren’s one weak spot. With Estelle dead and their brother . . . missing—’

Aron flashed him a grin that made my stomach turn. Gods only knew what they’d had to do with that.

‘—she remains the sole heir to the throne. Bane’s a smart man; he wouldn’t throw away a chance like this.’

The sole heir.

My heart was pounding in my throat. As far as they knew, I was the last living descendant of a king – the only true king the continent had. But they had to be wrong. They had to be.

I’d never set foot in Forea, where King Oren ruled from his gilded throne. I was no more familiar with the world of court than with that of pirates, but I knew enough to put the pieces together.

King Oren had never had children, but he’d had a sister. Dead now, as Mors said – and he’d called her Estelle. My mother. But he had to be mistaken, somehow. How could I be King Oren’s . . . niece?

I glanced down at my wrist, at the blue veins that snaked beneath my skin. Mors tilted his head, eyeing my reaction as I did my best to conceal the turmoil raging within. Unless these pirates were delusional – and I wasn’t entirely convinced they weren’t – then somehow, my sister and I were in line for the throne.

The realisation twisted through me like a blade to the gut. Father and Aberdeen . . . They’d shielded me from the cities as much as they had Felicie. After everything I’d done, everything I thought I was doing to protect our family, they’d never trusted me with the truth. Never thought I was strong enough to handle it.

A princess. I wanted to turn on my heel and race home, to laugh at these misguided pirates and whatever absurd scheme they spoke of. Luring some man to his death and using me as bait, it seemed.

I shivered. You have nothing to fear from us. Mors’ words echoed on. How could I believe a thing from the mouth of a pirate?

As if I’m innocent of deceit, another voice retorted, one uncannily like Aberdeen’s. I thought of my family, waking at the first hint of dawn to find my bed empty and Leviathan gone. I thought of Felicie, whose name I might well be wearing to my grave.

I swallowed my guilt thickly. I had more pressing concerns. Said grave, for one.

‘That sea dog will get what he deserves,’ the shadows spoke. Each syllable was twined with the promise of destruction, of pain. ‘I don’t need tricks to make him bleed.’

The stories could not have captured it, his voice – like the moon, breaking over the sea, only it was darkness that spilled forth. Pure, endless dark.

‘Aye, and this is the quickest way, Your Majesty,’ Mors insisted. He twisted gold rings around his wrinkled fingers, brow furrowed.

Why were they pushing this? If their own king wanted nothing to do with me, then why was I here?

‘After everythin’ he’s done,’ Aron said. ‘If ye’re gonna make him bleed, let it be over the planks he betrayed us on.’

‘You think that’s what this is about? I said no.’

‘But Yer Majesty—’

‘Enough.’

The lamps guttered in their gilded brackets.

‘Forget Bane,’ said Golde, turning to face me with brazen eagerness written across her sallow features. ‘May I do the honours?’