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If it comes to invading the headland, killing the Overking, taking the throne, and the whole of Protoris, she means.

“For Heald,” I whisper.

“For Heald,” she says. Then stands, helping herself to her own glass of wine.

“She’s been playing a very long, very dangerous game all these years.

” Aunt’s voice is low, laced with a deep worry.

She glances at the bath chamber door, then back at me, her dark eyes filled with a concern that touches me.

“And so have I.” Her pause after that statement pairs with a frown that creases her brow.

Why does she look guilty in a wave of emotion that has her turning away?

“I’ve done things, Remi. Things I’m not proud of. For Heald.”

Where did she ride in from? One of those things she’s not proud of? “We both have,” I say.

Aunt doesn’t argue, though she does breathe in deeply, shoulders back, head up, before she spins back and flashes me her familiar smile. “Only and ever for our homeland,” she says, saluting me with her wine. “Now, before she returns, tell me what you know.”

I adore my aunt. Idolize her even. There was a time when I would have told her everything. The fear I have for my mother pairs with my awe of the queen, but what I feel for the general who has loved me like a second parent is vastly different.

And yet, I have changed, I must admit, since I’ve come here to Winderose, and I find myself guarded even with my caring and supportive aunt.

I tell her what I think she needs to know, of Vae and the other princesses, reiterating the intent of the kingdoms to find a way to crush Heald if they can.

I tell her of Amber’s support and guidance, her advice that seems to be sound.

I mention my interactions with Chancellor Hallick and his offer of alliance. That makes her snort.

“He’d fuck a rock if it was warm and had a place to put his dick.” So, she knows him well, then? Has she been that rock a time or two I wonder? “Go on.”

I recount the attack in the bath, though as she questions me keenly about my attacker, I don’t mention that I feel strongly that I know who tried to drown me. In fact, when she comes out and asks if I have guesses, I shrug.

“The princesses are determined to end me somehow,” I say. “It’s likely one of them.”

She seems to accept my suggestion, nodding and pouring more wine.

“You are stronger than anyone believes,” Aunt says, voice vibrating. “I am and will always be so proud of the woman you have become.” When she meets my eyes, hers are rimmed in tears. “I love you as a daughter, Remalla. Never forget that.”

There’s something she’s not telling me. What is she hiding? Or is she simply masking her emotions behind the depth of her dark eyes?

I don’t know what to do with her when she’s like this, so I go on with my telling as if she hadn’t spoken.

I sketch out the bones of my attempts to woo and win the Overprince, but again, I hold back.

She doesn’t know he’s already asked me to marry him, though she’s grinning wickedly when I admit she was right about my carnal knowledge of him.

I hold off further insights, feeling a protective surge and the need to keep him safe.

His surprising kindness, his fascinating knowledge of ancient texts and suppressed histories, the sweet openness that I’ve learned to adore, all she would see as weakness to exploit.

I really have changed. Because when it comes to the last detail, I don’t bring him up at all.

Zenthris is mine and mine alone, and whatever it is he’s up to, whatever I feel for him, that’s not for anyone else to take from me. That secret feels too precious, too dangerous, too personal to share, even with my aunt.

That secret I will keep.

As I finish, a question, one that has been nagging at me, finally pushes its way to the forefront of my mind. “Aunt,” I begin, my voice hesitant, “my father. Mother never talks about him. I know he died, but what was he like? And what of his family?”

She stares, no longer listening. I can see the wall she slams into place, the hard stop in her eyes. “You’ve been told not to ask about your father,” she says.

You truly have no idea who you really are. Zenthris wasn’t wrong. No, I really don’t.

Except now I have reason to believe that maybe I know more than I thought I did. But can it be true?

“My father,” I say, pushing back because that is who I am now, a rebel raised to never disobey. “My father was drakonkin.” It feels right to say it. Why did I fight against it? There’s no shame in it.

Is there?

Aunt’s eyes widen. She’s afraid. “Never say that again.” She lunges for me, grasping me by the throat with one shaking hand. She’s never attacked me before, never treated me this way. Her dark eyes are furious, wild, terrified. “Never, Remi. Promise me.”

I choke as her fingers tighten, but I don’t fight her. I just stare back at her, aching inside. And nod.

She releases me with a shaking sigh before roughly kissing my cheek. When she backs away, she’s pale, ashen under her tan. The silence that follows, as I swallow and fight the urge to rub at my throat, the door to the bath chamber slams open, and Mother emerges, naked and refreshed.

“Let’s not keep the Overking waiting,” the queen says.

If she notes the tension between us, she doesn’t say, and I let it go.

With the answer I needed delivered loud and clear.

Drakonkin. So be it.