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The window seat wasn’t comfortable. Then again, nothing inside the Winter Palace aspired to those levels. Comfort had never been a priority inside the great stone fortress. Form followed function. Necessity lorded over luxury. Utilitarian came before beauty. Her father hadn’t aspired to anything else. Well, other than charity and the human witch who’d beguiled him.

Adjusting the lumpy pillow behind her back, Lyonesse curled her wings close, creating a cocoon for herself, and stared out into the abyss. No beauty to be found out there. Just howling wind, barren mountain peaks, and miles and miles of snow. Ice crystals formed on the windowpanes, mocking her while she waited for the machine to work.

She’d hear it from where she sat in the dusty antechamber, a short walk across the corridor from her father’s favorite room. The place the machine called home.

Picking at her cuticles, she frowned at her nails. Filed into sharp points, the ink-black tips lightened to pale pink paint. Glossy. Perfect application. Stunning in its effect. The artistry made her feel pretty and powerful. Her father would’ve scoffed at the idea, calling her fascination with the beauty industry an exercise in vanity.

The thought set her teeth on edge.

Maybe Leonidas was right. Maybe she enjoyed primping too much. Maybe that made her vain, but what did she care? She was a queen with a vison for the future — strong-willed, powerful, chosen by divine right. And a king who abandoned his blood kin in favor of an outsider didn’t deserve the privilege of opinion.

Shifting on the hard bench seat, Lyonesse glanced toward the entrance. The double doors stood open, providing a clear view across the hall into the machine’s chamber. She glared at it. Ridiculous contraption. Such an antiquated way of communicating. What the devil had her father been thinking…

And what the devil was taking so long?

Time in Earth Realm mirrored Azlandia’s, same flow, same twenty-four-hour clock and 365 days a year. Hours had passed without word. More than enough time for Isaac to hunt and capture the Door Master.Honestly — what the devil was he doing?The Yeomanry should’ve contacted her by now.

Impatience rolled into restlessness. She readjusted her wings. Snow pelted against the glass panes next to her, dragging icy fingers over the sill. Cold air drifted into the room. Eyes narrowed on the icicles hanging from the roofline, Lyonesse clenched her fists and spun in her seat. Her feet hit the floor with a thump. The wood of her well-heeled shoes struck stone. The rap echoed as she strode across the room. Probably a bad idea, but she couldn’t sit still any longer.

Standing post in the hallway, Anckar looked around the jamb. “My queen?”

“I’m tired of waiting.”

“We all are, majesty,” he said, blue eyes fixed to her face. “But we knew it would take time. Humans are unreliable creatures.”

“Hang them all,” she muttered, her temper slipping. If she could, she would rip theEcotonefrom its moorings and leave Earth Realm to float away. Into the abyss. Into emptiness. Let them stew in the filth they created. Reaching the threshold, she stopped beneath the soaring archway. “Have you and the others eaten?”

“Yes, majesty,” he said, gesturing to the long table that had been set up in the main corridor. “Only you have not.”

She wasn’t hungry. She’d lost her appetite the second she realized a Door Master breathed, living carefree in Earth Realm. “Make sure the table is kept well-stocked. I don’t want any of you to suffer while trapped in this God-forsaken —”

A rumble shook the granite slab beneath her feet.

Air left her lungs in a rush.

“No,” she rasped, the infinitesimal threads of her feathers standing on end.

“Another door.” Stepping close, Anckar raised his fists, intent on protecting her from an invisible threat. “So soon. It’s too soon. My Queen —”

“Quiet,” she said between clenched teeth. Magic seething, her vision-eye opened inside her mind. Perception expanded as she set the magical eye sailing above her lands, seeking the location of the open door. Rage stirred behind her breastbone. “The faithless witch. She’s crossed over. She’s in Azlandia.”

Anckar growled, low sound full of affront. “You’re sure?”

“She’s here,” she snarled back at her guard.

“Where?”

Lyonesse tilted her head, fine-tuning the eye to pinpoint the signal. Pink shimmer washed in, dusting her cerebral landscape. The magical flight stopped. She hovered over the red cliffs, not far from the ocean shore. “Near Forrestarian.”

“But that’s close to —”

“Ipsalar.” The Capital City… the seat of Azlandia, Lyonesse’s home. A small town in the Southern Kingdom, Forrestarian lay nestled against the cliffs, not far from the endless sea, on the edge of the lands given to her at birth by her father. An Assenta stronghold, a place where Electi rarely ventured and were not welcome. “Assemble the guard.”

“Majesty,” Anckar said, deep voice rumbling. “We’re too far north. It’ll take a day of flying to reach it. And with this weather —”

“Even longer.” Pacing into the corridor, Lyonesse pivoted toward her guard. “Who remains in the Capital?”

“That we trust?”