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Ruya shakes her head.

“Not since that night,” she says, remembering the blood and claws. The night Honora finally told him ‘no.’ “She is barely lucid. The lavender tonic addles her mind.”

Vanya clenches her fists. Ruya slumps forward, head in hands.

“We have been fools,” she whispers, a sob stuck in her throat. “How could we ever have trusted him?”

“No.” Vanya turns to grab her friend by the wrists, forcing her to lock eyes. “The blame is with him. Not Honora, nor us. If he were a good man, we would not be in this mess. Do you understand?”

Through tears, Ruya nods.

“We need to proceed as planned,” Vanya continues, releasing her. “Before we are out of time.”

25 Years Ago

The castle is quiet as Queen Honora slips out of her bed in the dead of night.

She is wearing an outfit she made herself, tight enough to stop any snagging but flexible enough to be comfortable. Dark as the night sky to creep through shadows undetected. Her chestnut hair is pulled back and tied, trailing down her back.

She glances at her bookcase, standing tall and silent in her chambers. She knows the secret it holds, but…she cannot. She must find Ruya and Vanya first. She awoke with cold sweat across her brow and dread in her chest. Her baby kicks, unsettled, as panic shoots through her veins. Something is wrong with him—she is certain of it. She needs her friends.

Honora eases open her chamber door, wary of the creaking noise it makes, and peeks through the halls. The guards are on their shift change, she knows, and there is a small window of a few minutes where there is no one stationed outside her door. She clutches her swollen stomach and moves as quickly as she can to the hidden door behind a large landscape painting. Ruya had told her about the passageways the servants used to get around quickly, and she had kept the knowledge firmly in her mind, biding her time. She closes the hidden door behind her softly.

The passageway is dimly lit, with only a few small torches dotted across the walls, but she has always had keen eyesight in the dark. It does not deter her. She strokes her stomach, heavy and uncomfortable, and whispers to the baby.

“We can do this,” Honora tells him—and herself—before she strides on. Her jaw is set.

The only sound is her laboured breathing mingled with the damp drips of the brick walls. The air is thick with moisture, making it harder for her to breathe, especially with swollen feet and a sore back. Nevertheless, she grits her teethand continues.

When she reaches the other end of the passageway, she knows she will be outside the kitchens. She presses her forehead against the door, catching her breath for a moment and listening on the other side. The guards do not patrol this area often, so she should be safe. But there is always a chance one is passing through…

Honora shakes this doubt out of her head. It is not a useful thought and she does not have space for things which do not help her. She takes another deep inhale before cracking the door open slightly.

As she does, she becomes aware of a wetness at her feet, and her thighs glide off each other as she moves forward. Glancing down, she sees the puddle of fluid on the passageway floor. She stares at it, her resolve wavering. She is running out of time.

You are Honora, she tells herself.Daughter of dragons.

The image of her husband flashes through her mind and her nerves harden into steel.He has taken my life from me, she thinks,but he will not take my baby’s.

The corridor is silent and dark, the torches burning low. She narrows her eyes and surveys both ways before creeping out. Honora wastes no time and hurries towards the servants’ quarters, where she knows they have their own entrance. And exit.

She is almost there when she feels the first sharp pain just below her stomach. She halts, squeezing her teeth together to stop from groaning, and presses a hand against the wall. It passes after a few seconds, and she blinks, taking deep, quiet breaths. She knows what is happening, but she cannot afford to stop. She must push on.

She walks on shaky legs as sweat begins to form on her brow. She wipes it away irritably and makes it to the servants’ quarters as the next contraction kicks in. This time it is worse, like someone has reached inside her and grabbed her womb with a tight fist. A whimper escapes her lips before she presses them firmly together in a thin line. She stops, clutching her stomach as sweat runs down the sides of her face. She cannot wake the servants. She needs to make it to the exit.

She stumbles on, gasping, her legs threatening to crumble beneath her at any moment. She sees the exit and Ruya standing in front of it, waiting for her. She tries to raise a hand, but the contractions are coming quickly now and lasting longer. Ruya spots her, bent over double and rushes over.

“Your Highness,” she gasps, horrified. “We must get you to your bed!”

“No,” Honora moans through gritted teeth. “No, there is no time. We need to leave—ah!”

She cries out and collapses, but Ruya manages to catch her.

“Honora, please, think of the baby.” Ruya scoops an arm under her back. She can hear the servants begin to rouse from their sleep.

“Iamthinking of the baby!” Honora cries. The pain is too great, her face is contorted with it, and all sense of stealth has left her mind. “He cannot be born here. I will not let the king have him!”

Honora is on the brink of blacking out, her vision sprinkled with bright spots. The servants have woken and are concerned, gathering around her.