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You don’t know what I can do, Bella, or what my destiny demands,Erida thought wearily. She patted her lady on the arm, offering a small, pleasant smile.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” she said, turning back to her maids.

Behind her, Harrsing dipped into the best curtsy she could still give. Her cane shook beneath her. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The maids resumed their work. One put the finishing touches on Erida’s hair, setting the four braids into a single long plait, the length spangled with jeweled pins in gold and silver. Another dabbed rouge onto her cheeks and lips.

Harrsing watched her for a moment, as she used to do. Like a grandmother, filled with pride and contentment. But it was not the same as their days in Ascal, when Erida was a queen alone, a single throne beneath her. Now something darkened behind Harrsing’s eyes. Erida wanted to blame pain or age. Lady Harrsing was an old woman before they even left the capital, before a hard march across the continent. The girl Erida used to be wouldhave dismissed the strange look on her lady’s face. The woman, the queen Erida had become, could not ignore it.

“By the way,” she said, “have you had any news from your daughter, Bella?”

Harrsing sighed, looking grateful for the change in subject. She smiled truly. “Which one, Your Majesty?”

Erida’s lips twitched. Lady Bella had three well-connected daughters across the continent, each with a fleet of children and a powerful husband.

“The one married to an Ibalet prince,” Erida said sharply.

A shadow crossed Harrsing’s face. She dropped her gaze, eyeing her cane as she weighed an answer.

“No, not recently. She sends letters, of course, but we’ve been long from Ascal, and anything would be slow in finding me,” she said, her words coming too quick. “Why?”

Erida hid her own disappointment well. She knew what it looked like when Harrsing lied.

“The Gallish navy is having issues in the Long Sea. Pirates, Thornwall says,” she said, forcing an exaggerated shrug. She wore a look of disinterest, keenly aware of her many maids and ladies following their conversation. “But I’ve never known pirates to cause such trouble. I suspect something else is at play.”

Harrsing fluffed up like a startled bird, her skirts sweeping around her. “Certainly Ibal would not cross you, even with their fleets.”

“Certainly,” Erida echoed.

A maid offered a looking glass and she barely glanced at it, knowing exactly what she looked like, down to every fold of hergown. No longer a queen, but an empress risen. She needed only her crowns now, specially forged for the occasion.

Erida clapped her hands once, signaling her approval. The maids stepped back and dropped their eyes, glad to be finished.

The ladies fell in quickly, already dressed in their finest clothing. But none outshone the Queen. They knew better than to make such an easy, foolish mistake.

Erida eyed them once, just to make sure. Even Countess Herzer, doll-like, looked demure and drab, simple in a gray silk gown.

Satisfied, Erida looked back to Bella, fixing her with a stare, her eyes hard as sapphires.

“Ibal would challenge Erida of Galland, but I am twice queen now, with two kingdoms in my fist. It would be good to remind them of such things,” she said, her voice filled with meaning. “Daughters do listen to their mothers, especially ones as wise as you.”

Again Harrsing dropped into a shaking curtsy. Erida tried not to notice the discomfort on her lady’s face.

With Taristan gone, Erida entered the throne room alone, the Palace of Pearls yawning around her with its pink-hued walls and precious paintings. It still felt like walking through clouds, iridescent after a rainstorm, cut with gilt molding and crystal-paned windows. The light in the sky deepened with the sunset, making for a splendid sight, as if all the realm hung beneath a shield of hammered gold.

The light flamed across the marble floor, throwing Erida’s shadow jagged onto the walls. She kept her pace steady and even, neither too fast nor too slow as she strode the length of the hall,down the long aisle of assembled courtiers. Her Lionguard flanked her, their golden armor brilliant in the waning light of afternoon. Their armor and boots were the only sound in the room, Erida realized with a burst of satisfaction.

The nobles were not whispering around her anymore.

They dare not.

The throne of Madrence was familiar by now, after many weeks upon it. She was already their queen, but the pageantry served a purpose. And Robart was part of the display, forced to stand at the front of the crowd and watch. She caught his eye as she passed, noting the gold shackles at his wrists and ankles. He stared at her without seeing, lifeless as the corpse army camped in the hills outside the city. The loss of his daughter and son dragged him down like two anchors, making for a pitiful sight.

But an important one. Erida wouldn’t give his nobles the hope of a restoration, not with a king so perfectly conquered.

In Madrence, they worshipped Pryan above the rest of the pantheon. The charming god of art, music, celebration, and storytelling occupied little of Erida’s mind, but it was an easy tradition to honor. His hand upon the realm, a priestess known as Pryan’s Joy, stood before the steps of the throne. She was a tall, beautiful woman with white hair and golden-brown skin. She wore the same lavender robes as her circle of priests, set apart only by the silver tiara across her forehead, thin as thread.

In her hands rested a velvet pillow, where the crowns lay.