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Sableton was the largest port city in Harendell and, much like Vencia, was the nexus for merchants intending to ship their goods through the bridge. The air smelled of fish and tar, the docks bustling with sailors and workers loading and unloading vessels of every size and shape, crates of goods moving to and from the vast warehouses lining the wharf. The large shipyard boasted several vessels in different stages of completion, and as the wind blew over her, Ahnna inhaled the scent of cattle from the lots beyond.

She had never seen anything like it.

Resting her elbows on the rail, she eyed a pair of Amaridian merchant vessels that sailed past. For all they spat and snarled at each other, the two nations conducted an impressive amount of trade with each other, much as Valcotta and Maridrina had always traded despite being continually at war. Yet as James joined her at the rail, she turned to him and said, “Will Harendellian ports start refusing Amaridian vessels after this attack?”

“No.”

His hands gripped the rail, and her eyes were drawn to them. Large, with long fingers marked with fresh scrapes from the fights, but also a multitude of old scars. Strong hands. Unbidden, the memory of him gripping her thighs as he lifted her filled her mind’s eye. Ahnna forced her gaze back to Sableton. “Then why make demands that Ithicana do so?”

“I am in no position to make demands of Ithicana,” he said. “It was a suggestion.”

A strongly worded suggestion, she thought, but only said, “Seems hypocritical. It might have happened on Ithicana’s shores, but it was Harendell they attacked. Trade sanctions from Harendell seem more appropriate.”

“Such a decision would come at great cost to Harendell’s merchants and is not to be made lightly.”

“Yet you’d have Ithicana make similarly costly decisions before the blood on Northwatch pier had even dried.”

He exhaled a slow breath, then turned his head to look at her, sun reflecting in the amber of his eyes. “As pertains to trade with Amarid, my opinions matter little and yours, arguably, even less. This is a speculative conversation with no tangible worth, given that neither of us has the ability to influence the trade policies between Amarid and Harendell. Silence is preferable to a fruitless argument.”

He wasn’t wrong, but irritation flared in Ahnna’s veins, and she said, “If you spoke out of turn or above your station, then just say so, Your Highness. As a courtesy, I’ll allow you to retract the statement.”

“I retract nothing.” His eyes narrowed. “The Amaridian merchants haven’t dared to bring violence to our ports, but they dared to bring it to Ithicana’s. Which suggests that they are of the opinion that they can get away with it. It behooves Ithicana to remedy that opinion lest Amarid begin to question what else they can get away with in Ithicana’s waters. But again, my opinion is of no relevance.” He turned his glower on the port. “This conversation is over.”

Ahnna scoffed. “Are you seriously ordering me to be silent?”

“I’d never be so presumptuous as to order you to do anything,” he retorted. “But I am most certainly suggesting it.”

The captain and Georgie chose that moment to join them, and Ahnna stewed in silence as the port master quickly made room for the Victoria ’s impressive bulk, dockworkers tying off the vessel and pushing the most ornate gangplank she’d ever seen in place next to it. With its polished wooden rails and gilt, she felt almost compelled to remove her boots lest she soil the crimson carpet. On the dock waited several dozen uniformed soldiers standing in neat rows, and as James offered his arm to her, six of the soldiers lifted trumpets and blew a series of notes.

All around, the bustle paused, and Ahnna’s skin crawled as she felt the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes. Though she was still irritated by his comments, Ahnna took James’s arm, and her fingers tightened reflexively at how exposed they were. All it would take was an Amaridian in the crowd skilled with a bow, and they were both dead.

“This is an unexpected arrival, and few will suspect your identity, much less be prepared for it,” he said softly. “We’d intended to make port at Elmsworth and take a riverboat to Verwyrd, so that is where any potential attack would have been planned.”

“They’ll recognize you,” she said between her teeth. “Or at least that cursed purple banner flying from the mast. It’s your life that hangs in the balance, Your Highness.”

“The local garrison is prepared.”

“You just said they weren’t prepared!”

“Prepared for proper ceremony,” he hissed, pulling on her arm. “Now walk. The longer you stand there, the longer you invite an assassin to take advantage of the opportunity our position gives.”

Ahnna bit down on a curse of irritation and allowed him to lead her down the gangplank, her eyes taking in everything as she hunted for threats, though the soldiers kept sailors and civilians well back.

If this was a lack of preparation, Ahnna couldn’t help but wonder what had been intended in Elmsworth. The soldiers formed ranks around their small group, marching in lockstep to the beat of the drummer at the fore. More soldiers waited at the end of a dock, as did a carriage decorated in gilt pulled by a team of six black horses, their trappings plated in polished silver, purple feathers fastened above their ears.

The coachman opened the door, James taking Ahnna’s hand to help her inside. She sat on the velvet-cushioned bench as Bronwyn and Taryn climbed in, sitting across from her, which necessitated James sitting next to her. As he did, the shoulder seam on his borrowed shirt split, and he exhaled an aggrieved breath.

“Perhaps we ought to take the time to commission you a new wardrobe before we travel,” Ahnna said. “At the rate you ruin clothing, you’ll be naked by the halfway point.”

“We’ll have time aplenty, given your own wardrobe needs to be remedied,” he muttered. “You look as though you stumbled out of the jungle.”

“He’s not wrong,” Bronwyn said. “And I have to admit, that awful grayish green you Ithicanians insist on wearing is not your best color.”

Ahnna shot her friend a glare. “My choice of attire has proven to be good foresight on my part, given that we keep being attacked. I’d be dead thrice over if I was wearing a gown and corset.”

“A valid point.” Bronwyn rested a boot on her own trousered knee. “It’s much harder to fight in skirts.”

The carriage began to move, rocking from side to side as the horses increased their pace, causing Ahnna’s body to press up against James’s. Having spent her life in the tight quarters of Ithicana’s small vessels, she was used to contact, but Ahnna found herself intimately aware of the heat of him. Of each part of her body that was touching him.

“There will be no more attacks, no more fighting,” James said, shifting restlessly. “You will be under guard at all times until we reach Verwyrd, so your attire should befit a lady, not a soldier.”

Ahnna gave a soft snort. “If there is anyone who should be under guard at all times, it is you. You’re the one the Amaridians are trying to kill. With a proper bodyguard, you won’t have to worry about ruining any more of your princely clothes.”

He cast his eyes skyward. “I can take care of myself.”

“Given the number of times I’ve had to save your life, I beg to differ,” Ahnna countered. “Indeed, I think it prudent that I continue to attire myself in such a way that I’ll be able to provide you with the protection you clearly need.”

Bronwyn and Taryn were both smirking, and it struck Ahnna that this was the first time since before the war that she’d seen her cousin both sober and happy. It made baiting James, which was probably not a wise choice, seem very much worthwhile.

“You are insufferable.” He glared out the window, seeming to be trying to compress his broad shoulders to create more space between them. “Do as you will. But don’t come weeping to me when you stumble into the consequences of your lack of decorum.”

“Oh, you have my word on that.” Ahnna rested her elbow against the side of the carriage, admiring the buildings they passed as they bounced over the cobbles. She wanted to get out and walk so that she might better see the purpose of all these structures, which did not seem to be homes. Inns, perhaps? Or taverns? Seeing a pair of women with dresses cut so low that their breasts almost spilled out, she suspected more than a few were brothels. Ahnna was struck with the sudden urge to see inside one, for Ithicana had no such establishments, prostitution being illegal.

“What is going on in those buildings?” Bronwyn asked, pointing to large structures from which emanated smoke and steam.

“Foundries,” James answered curtly. “Several of the commercial foundries, Cartwright being the largest, built up production in Sableton after Ithicana began allowing the shipment of weapons through the bridge to be purchased by the Maridrinians. The market has collapsed, for obvious reasons, so they converted much of production to farm equipment. Hammers, spades, horseshoes, and the like. Less profitable.”

“But much more peaceful,” Ahnna said, not forgetting how Silas had cleverly used Harendellian weapons in his invasion. “I’ve never had anyone attack me with a horseshoe.”

“Indeed,” James said, scowling out the window.

They passed into a large square lined with market stalls overflowing with food and goods, the plenty that Harendell enjoyed on display. At the center of the square was a large statue of King Edward, whom she recognized easily from her brief meeting with him. Though the piece was from his younger years, he was not much changed, and Ahnna was struck by how much James resembled his father, the only notable trait that he’d received from his mother being his amber eyes.

She knew as much as anyone about the indiscretion that had led to James’s birth, which was to say not much at all. His mother had been a servant of Cardiffian heritage, and Edward had had an affair with her while betrothed to Alexandra. Had kept up the affair even after he was wed, even when Alexandra herself fell pregnant with William, for apparently, he’d been deeply in love with his mistress. The affair only ended when James’s mother was murdered, and it was said that she’d cursed her murderer with her dying breath. The infamous words, My son’s fate will be revenge upon her. The speculation was that Alexandra was the her in question. While that made a certain amount of sense, it had always struck Ahnna as odd that if the rumor were true, Edward hadn’t hanged Alexandra for killing the woman he loved. For it meant that he either knew a different truth or had spent the last twenty-six years with a woman he loathed.

She risked a sideways glance at James, who was staring broodily out the window. He undoubtedly knew the truth, but there were limits to how far she’d push him, and asking him whether the queen murdered his mother was far outside those boundaries. The spies said that Alexandra hated him, but they made no mention of whether the feeling was mutual. Yet the thought drew to the forefront of her mind the conversation she’d had with Keris just before he set sail to Devil’s Island, his voice filling her head. Alexandra is Harendellian to her core. She’ll kiss both your cheeks and pour you a cup of tea, then smile prettily with her ankles crossed as you choke to death on the poison she put in your cup. She’ll then blame Amaridian assassins so that your brother doesn’t come sailing in to avenge your death.

Words that now felt prophetic, and goosebumps rose on Ahnna’s skin despite the heat of the day. Had Alexandra thought to kill two birds with one stone, then frame Ithicana for throwing the rock? Perhaps those hadn’t been Amaridian soldiers but privateers hired by Harendell’s queen?

No, she decided, shoving away the thought. Alexandra was a threat, but hers was a poison-in-the-cup variety, not coordinated military strikes. Katarina avenging her son’s balls was more believable than that.

“Fernleigh House,” James abruptly said, and Ahnna jerked from her thoughts to notice they were passing through a gate in a high stone wall. They headed up the lane, to either side of which was a short-clipped lawn with no discernible purpose. The lane curved around a large statue, and Ahnna caught a glimpse of the manor house itself. Constructed of a honey-colored stone, it was perfectly symmetrical, with a grand portico supported by twin columns. A row of men and women waited on the steps, large doors flung open behind them.

The other carriages transporting their party pulled up next, and Ahnna heard Jor’s distinct laugh, along with Georgie’s voice. The coachman opened the door, and James stepped down, holding out his hand to her. Ignoring it, Ahnna stepped onto the gravel, inhaling air that smelled of roses as she took in Fernleigh. Ivy climbed the sides of the large manor, birds flitting among the leaves.

“It is my pleasure to introduce Her Most Royal Highness, Princess Ahnna of Ithicana, as well as her companions, Princess Bronwyn of Maridrina and Lady Taryn of Ithicana,” James said, then rattled off the names of the staff members standing on the steps. “If you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to. Georgie, with me.”

Then he disappeared inside.

As Georgie followed, he said, “Fernleigh has a lovely orangery. I suggest you take your tea there today.”

“A wonderful suggestion, my lord,” the older woman James had identified as the head housekeeper said, eyes jumping between Ahnna and her friends. “We will have baths drawn so that the ladies might wash and dress for tea while the orangery is prepared. We were not expecting noble visitors, so please forgive our disarray.”

“I don’t think she likes your clothes either,” Bronwyn said under her breath. “You sure trousers are a hill you wish to die on, Ahnna?”

“Yes,” Ahnna growled, then smiled at the woman who was looking down her nose at Ahnna’s attire despite being a full head shorter. “A bath would be lovely. I thank you for your gracious hospitality.”

They were led inside, the large entrance hall illuminated by a chandelier, the crystal sending a rainbow of color dancing across the marble tile of the floor. A circular table sat at the center, holding a large vase of white roses. The grand staircase rose and then split into two directions, an oil portrait of King Edward on a rearing horse gracing the wall at the top of the landing. Ahnna struggled not to smirk at the thought of her brother decorating Eranahl with a giant oil painting of himself captaining a ship.

They were brought into the west wing, the hallways covered with more portraits of past monarchs, their unsmiling faces watching Ahnna as she walked, the feeling more than a little oppressive.

“Your rooms, my lady.” The housekeeper opened a door, revealing a large room decorated with birchwood furniture and damask upholstery. The open window had a view of the rear of the property, which was dominated by a hedge cut into what looked like a maze. Ahnna walked to the window and took in the scope of the grounds, which were surrounded by the city. So much space, and until they’d arrived, it had held only the serving staff, while the rest of the city’s populace was crammed into small stone houses with barely enough room to breathe.

A footman came in bearing her trunk, and as he departed, Hazel said, “By your leave, my lady, I would make arrangements for you to see one of the city’s modistes for a dress suitable for dinner tonight.” She coughed delicately. “They often have gowns that were never paid for, and I can alter it to fit you as well as anything made for your measurements.”

“Thank you, but I’ve no need of dresses.”

Hazel’s jaw tightened, and she smoothed her already impeccably tidy hair. “My lady, I’d ask you to reconsider. There are expectations for a lady’s appearance, especially once you join the king’s court.”

“Then I’ll cross that bridge when we reach Verwyrd.” Ahnna gestured to the door. “However, I would like a bath before tea.”

Hazel bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lady.”

Once she was gone, Ahnna rounded on her friends. “In my discussion with James about trade—”

“That was an argument,” Bronwyn interrupted. “You two seem incapable of discussions.”

Ahnna’s cheeks warmed. “In our argument, he implied an alternative market for trade that doesn’t require using the bridge. I want you two to see what you can learn about new markets or expanding markets, because our spies haven’t reported anything of the sort. We need their business, so if we have competition, Aren needs to know. Be discreet, and have Jor do some digging with the footmen.”

“We’re supposed to be watching your back, not spying,” Taryn said. “I know that it seems as though all these attacks were directed at James, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t people who want you dead. Even when he assumed disguises, Aren always kept his guards close when he traveled onto the continents. There are a thousand threats in this kingdom, Ahnna, and while I know you can hold your own, you also have no experience outside of Ithicana. No amount of research, no amount of reading spy reports, is really going to prepare you.”

“There are soldiers guarding Fernleigh,” Ahnna said. “I’ll be fine.”

Taryn shrugged. “I’ll go find Jor and then see what I can learn in the kitchen.”

“You’ve been betrothed to William for…what? Around eighteen years?” Bronwyn asked, watching the door close behind Taryn. “Didn’t it occur to you to get the lay of the land by visiting before you arrived to marry the crown prince?”

It had, but Ahnna had convinced herself that she didn’t have to. That Aren wouldn’t go through with marrying a Maridrinian princess and that she’d be released from her own obligations as a result. When that hadn’t manifested, she’d been busy with Southwatch. Then busy fighting for her life.

And because you didn’t want to, her heart whispered. A choice for which you will now bear the consequences.

When Ahnna didn’t answer, Bronwyn said, “You’re not that much taller than me that Hazel can’t let out the hem of one of my dresses for you to wear.”

Part of her bristled, tired of the reminder that nothing about her was good enough, but Ahnna only shook her head. “Your gowns are Maridrinian, Bron. Friends as we are, I’d rather go to tea naked than wear a dress from a Veliant court. I want the Harendellians to see me as I am. To never forget the nation I represent, and that means dressing like an Ithicanian. If they take offense to that, it’s on them.”

Silence stretched.

“I know how you feel about my sister,” Bronwyn finally said. “Except keep in mind that Lara also came to Ithicana with the goal of helping her people. And I’d bet my last coin that Lara used far more cream than vinegar to get everyone to trust her. To do what she wanted. You might consider learning from her example.”

Anger bloomed in Ahnna’s chest. “I am not Lara. I am nothing like her. And I refuse to stoop to her level to achieve my goals.”

Bronwyn opened her mouth as though to say something, then looked away. “I respect your desire to be honest and forthright, Ahnna. I truly do. But I can’t help but think that you care more about doing everything differently from Lara than you do about succeeding in your goals. The Harendellians won’t respect you if you walk in wearing the same clothes you do to hike through the jungle. They’ll think you’re a joke. They’ll smile to your face and laugh while your back is turned. Play the fucking game, Ahnna, or you’re going to lose.”

Not giving her a chance to respond, Bronwyn departed, slamming the door behind her.

Play the game play the game play the game.

Ahnna rested her head in her hands, skull throbbing as the words repeated. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the need to play politics, it was that she wanted to do it on her terms. In a way that she could feel proud of.

Except was that only another way of putting herself first?

Opening her chest, Ahnna surveyed her clothes. All drab colors, leather and cotton and linen suitable for trekking through the jungle. New and clean but nothing like the gowns the Harendellians wore. Imagined laughter echoed through the room.

They’ll think you’re a joke.

Lurching to her feet, Ahnna started to the door, intent on taking Bronwyn up on her offer. Except as her fingers rested on the handle, she paused, memory filling her mind’s eye. Lara, dressed in Ithicanian garb, perfectly mimicking Ahnna’s people. Their delighted voices filled her ears, telling her about their admiration for how Lara had adapted. How she’d abandoned her Maridrinian ways. How she was the true queen of Ithicana. All of it fading to screams and hollow eyes as they realized they’d been deceived. That it had been an act. That the queen they’d fallen so hopelessly in love with was responsible for the dead children they held in their arms.

“I will not be her,” Ahnna hissed.

She paced the room, bending her mind to a solution. Valcottan women wore trousers—Zarrah herself wore them exclusively, and she was the empress. No one laughed at her. Ahnna drew into her mind an image of what the Valcottans wore, the lush silks and decorative embroidery, and when Hazel entered, she said, “I am hoping for a compromise.”

The young maid nodded slowly as Ahnna explained, then said, “I will arrange for the purchase of fabrics, my lady.”

As she departed, Ahnna went to the window and looked out over the gardens. She’d do what it took to earn the Harendellians’ respect, but she would never, ever let them forget she was Ithicanian.