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“That man’s never worn armor in all his life,” he growled under his breath.

“Madrence is a soft country filled with soft people,” Erida answered. She eyed the herald as he crossed the bridge, two soldiers in tow. “Too weak to rule. Unworthy of command. I will relieve them of it, and shoulder the burden they are not strong enough to bear.”

The herald stopped at the highest point of the bridge, halfway between the gate and the waiting army. His throat bobbing as he found his voice.

“Your Majesty, Queen Erida of Galland.” The herald bowed, a picture of respect. “And Your Highness, Prince Taristan of Old Cor,” he added, bowing again to Taristan.

He only sneered, disgusted.

The herald swallowed again, and met Erida’s eye with a sterner manner. “You are trespassing in the kingdom of Madrence.”

Taristan made a show of looking over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping across the massive army at their back.

“You’re an observant man, sir,” he called across the bridge. Then to Erida, and Erida alone, he whispered low, “May I kill him?”

She gritted her teeth, fighting another wave of annoyance. “He carries a truce flag. It would be poor form.”

“Under whose judgment?” Taristan’s eyes flashed, both black and red, man and beast. Even through her cloak and beautiful armor, she could feel the angry heat of him.

Erida bit her lip. Again, he was not wrong to wonder.We intend to conquer the world. Why must we answer to anyone?

Thornwall spoke up, stepping forward.

“The Queen of Galland declares a war of conquest upon Madrence,” he said, his voice booming. Erida had never heard him speak with such force, not in the council chamber at least. This was Lord Thornwall at war, where he truly belonged. “Kneel, pledge loyalty to Her Majesty, and be spared her wrath.”

The herald’s jaw dropped open. “A war of conquest is no cause. You have no right to this kingdom!”

Erida drew herself up, chin raised, her voice cold and sharp. “I claim it in the name of my line, my heirs, who will be born the blood of Old Cor.”

There was more scuffling at the gate. Before the sputtering herald could form some semblance of a reply, a golden-haired man burst out onto the bridge, six knights trailing behind him. One of them held another truce flag. They stomped across the bridge like spoiled children.

Taristan tightened at the sight of the newcomer, his grip on his sword unyielding. His breath turned strangely ragged, as if he could barely contain the rage burning inside him.

Why, Erida had no idea. If anything, she found the sight of theMadrentine prince cause for amusement, not anger.

The herald scrambled to catch up with his prince, half shouting as he ran. “I present Orleon Levard, Crown Prince of Madrence, son of His Serene Majesty, King Robart of Madrence—”

The prince waved him off, a look of disgust marring his otherwise-handsome face.

“I see no heir beside you, Queen,” he shouted, a lock of blond hair falling into his blue eyes.

Maidens the realm over would have traded their youth to be so close to such a man, a beautiful crown prince. Erida wanted to shove him in the marsh.

Orleon’s eyes passed from the Queen to her consort, roving over Taristan like he was an insect to be stepped on. “I only see a mongreldogyou found in some ditch, with no proof of blood but his own hollow word.”

“Jealousy does not become you, Orleon,” Erida snapped, neatly stepping between the princes, lest Taristan’s temper get the better of him. Not for Orleon’s sake, but for the sake of the conquest. “Surrender in your father’s name. If you even have the power to do so.”

Orleon flushed, furious. “The realm will rise against you. Even Galland can not do as it pleases. Our allies in Siscaria—”

“Are weaker than you are,” Erida said, cutting him off. “Their eyes face behind, to an empire fallen. I look ahead, at what must be rebuilt.” She shrugged, making a show of her indifference. It only incensed Orleon more, precisely as intended. “In fact, they’ll probably join me, if only for the chance to see the old empire reborn.”

Orleon trembled with rage, his face matching his burgundysurcoat. He had no skill in hiding his emotions, and Erida knew exactly why.

He is a man. His emotions are not considered a burden or a weakness. Not like mine, which I must keep hidden, so men might feel a little less threatened and a little more strong.

Her fingers curled until she felt her own nails dig into her palms. Part of her wanted to claw Orleon’s red face right off and give him a mask to wear all the time, as she had to.

The prince raised a hand, and Erida half expected him to strike her. Instead he fixed his hair back into place and adjusted the collar of his tunic, drawing up the fine silk edged in silver. His pale blue eyes flashed over her again.