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“You’re a fool,” she repeated as she crossed her arms and slumped in the chair.

“Please, you can’t tell Queen Janness I was here. We’re leaving today, and you won’t see me again until this is all over, I promise.”

Nevaria looked me up and down, and I had to stop myself from shrinking in my chair. “Why should I do that for you? What do I get in return?”

Elias growled in displeasure, but Nevaria only shot him a glare.

“Neevee, please” Max begged, probably feeling as defeated as I was.

I put my hand up. “No, that’s a fair question.” I straightened my posture and tried to appear as confident as I could. “What do you want?” I asked her. I briefly glanced at Elias, who still blocked the exit and watched us silently, looking as intimidating as ever.

Nevaria seemed to ponder this for a moment. Then a look of realization crossed her face. “We turn twenty-three soon,” she began. “Which means we have one year before one of us is crowned Queen or King.”

She was right. It was law in all the Four Kingdoms that the heir, first born of the King and Queen, be crowned on their twenty-fourth birthday. That way, should they marry and have their first child within their first year as ruler, they will get about twenty-five years of reign, depending on how long it took to conceive.

While marrying and having an heir immediately wasn’t required, it was conventional. Some rulers chose to wait, in order to prolong their reign. King Volund of Sprath, for example, had been ruling for over twenty years and had yet to show any sign of marrying or having an heir.

“And?” I asked, raising a brow.

“And,” she hissed, glaring at me, “our mother didn’t exactly have a first born, did she?” I thought about her statement, and slow realization hit.

“You don’t know who will be crowned?” I muttered.

“Technically, Maksym was born first, but our mother and father didn’t want that alone to determine who would inherit the crown. Twins are rare, after all. From what we understand, Mother will choose one of us on coronation day.”

I glanced at Max, and he nodded his confirmation. “I’m guessing you want to be queen,” I finished her thought.

“Obviously,” she said with a rude inflection. “Max doesn’t even wantto be king. He’ll be forced to marry a woman in order to produce an heir.”

And Max didn’t see women in that way, I knew. Having relations with the same gender wasn’t exactly forbidden, but certainly wasn’t a common practice. And many people didn’t take kindly to those who were different. So Max kept it a secret, one he shared with me in confidence on a visit to Rimor a few years back. He even kept it from his mother, as she was a traditional woman and he feared her reaction may not be welcoming.

I looked at Max again, and his eyes looked distant. “Is that true, Max? You don’t want to be king?” I asked gently.

He turned his focus to me, and smiled. “I’d rather stick a hot iron rod in my eyes.”

I imagined the analogy come to life, and crinkled my brows in displeasure.

“Why don’t you just tell your mother that? Tell her you’ve chosen the next ruler yourselves?” I asked.

“We’ve tried,” Max replied. “She won’t listen.”

“The woman is very traditional,” Nevaria continued, echoing my earlier thoughts. “She has a whole ritual planned. She plans to let the gods decide on coronation night. Whoever they decide, she will crown.”

“A ritual?” I cocked my head to the side in confusion.

“Don’t ask,” Max rolled his eyes. “Monuvians are a very spiritual people, but our mother is a little over the top.”

“So if she, or the gods, choose you,” I said to Max, “could you just refuse?”

Max shook his head solemnly. “I wouldn’t dare defy the gods. Or my mother. I’m not sure which would be scarier.”

I always thought of Queen Janness as gentle and peaceful, but the more I thought about it now, I noted that she could be quiteintimidating as well. I wondered what she was like behind closed doors.

We sat in silence for a brief moment. “So what do you want from me, then?” I turned to Nevaria.

The princess gave me an annoyed look, like I was supposed to already know. “For some reason, our mother respects your father immensely. When you finish your…mission or whatever you’re calling it, and you return to your father and clean up your fucking mess, perhaps you could tell him to convince our mother to rethink the ritual. To let us choose amongst ourselves.”

I considered this. My father hadn’t really respected my wishes in the last decade, and I didn’t see how this would be any different. But maybe when my search for answers was all over, our relationship would change.