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I drum my fingers on the tabletop. “I’m cold and wet and would really like to change, so if you could?—”

“The real reason Memnon acquired this palace wasn’t for fame or glory, it was for you.”

I already knew this, but Eislyn shouldn’t have. That she has been privy to this knowledge is a shock to me. Did Memnon tell her this?

Just how muchhasMemnon confided in this fairy?

Eislyn laughs when she sees my face, misinterpreting my surprise at her being briefed as instead my ignorance of Memnon’s plotting.

“You don’t believe Memnon schemes, even when it comes to you?” she says. “He overthrew the last king for you—and for your legacy.” Her gaze drops meaningfully to my stomach.

I was following Eislyn’s logic until that last part.

“Think about it,” she continues. “Constant riding and traveling can be hard on women’s bodies.”

I stiffen as a prickling sort of awareness creeps up my spine. Legacy. Pregnancy.

“Perhaps this nomadism is whyyouhaven’t produced a child in all these years.”

The air seems to leave my lungs. I reach for the back of a nearby chair, bracing myself on it, not wanting to believe her, even as what she said sinks into me.

I don’t think Memnon confided in this fairy after all. This doesn’t sound like an explanation he’d voice. And yet, didn’t Memnon first speak of palaces after touching my stomach wistfully?

The thought has me flinching.

“I’m sure an heir is important,” Eislyn continues. “So important that the lack of one could cause unrest among your people.”

“There alreadyisan heir,” I finally say, my voice hoarse.

“Katiari, you mean?” Eislyn raises her brows. “Because she seems to enjoy a man’s touch enough to produce an heir of her own,” she says sardonically.

Katiari’s sexual preferences are something she keeps private. But I know, as apparently Eislyn does, that my sister does not enjoy a man’s touch.

“What a predicament,” Eislyn whispers, her voice hypnotic.

I force myself to not glance down at my flat stomach. Sex and spells haven’t helped me.Hopinghasn’t helped me.

“What will happen to your people if you do not produce an heir?” she asks.

I remain silent.

“Your peoplewillget nervous,” she adds. “All nations want security.”

I give her a skeptical look. “Then why thrust them into a hopeless war against Rome?”

“Hopeless?” She scoffs. “Do you really have that little faith in your husband? Because I don’t.”

I narrow my eyes at her, watching her like she’s a serpent waiting to strike. I can practically taste this fairy’s desire to come between me and Memnon.

“It is not war that I worry about,” she continues. “It is Memnon’s lineage.”

Of course it’s his lineage she cares about. She’s been cultivating it for generations.

Magic slips out of my palms, coiling around my wrists as I fail to keep my emotions in check. “My womb is none of your business.”

“On the contrary, as queen, your womb is your entirenation’sbusiness, whether you like it or not.” Her expression softens. “I’m trying to give you political advice because you are queen. How you feel about it is entirely up to you.”

I burn with the need to ask Eislyn aboutherwomb. She seems to have done just fine without words likelegacyandheirbeing thrown around.