Chapter 1

It was my sixth year as Crown Princess, yet my husband, Crown Prince Lawrence Glover, had still never touched me.

In the halls of his Eastwatch Palace, he sheltered the songstress he'd rescued from a pleasure house, a woman named Marina Reid.

I kept General Thomas's necklace on my own altar.

We were the kingdom's most noble couple, yet hearts and souls were worlds apart.

Everything changed when the court denounced him for his lack of an heir. He pressed me into the bedchamber for three days and nights.

In the flickering candlelight, his eyes held pure, icy hatred.

"If not for you," he hissed, "Marina would not remain a lady's maid!"

I fought back just as fiercely, my nails carving crimson trails down his back.

"If not for you," I cried, "my General Thomas would still be alive!"

I conceived. Forced by duty, he began to share my chambers.

In those long days together, something softened in him.

At times, he would return from court bearing a sprig of snowdrop. On some nights, he would even draw me into his embrace.

Then, on the day I gave birth, Marina cast herself into the palace lake and nearly died.

Instantly, his warmth vanished. "Julieta," he said, voice hollow, "I wish to take Marina as my consort."

I placed our newborn son into his arms and smiled. It was my first true smile since our wedding day.

"You may give her the title of Crown Princess as well. I am returning to Northwilds." My gaze drifted beyond him. "He has waited for me long enough."

"Julieta, you knew Thomas Hampton for six days!" Lawrence's control snapped, fury tightening his words.

Six years of marriage, a child between us, yet those six days with Thomas outweighed it all.

Lawrence finally lost it.

I was done with pretense. "I have given you an heir. What now holds you back from your Marina?

"I know a Crown Princess cannot simply vanish. So announce my death. Let the court mourn a ghost."

I heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his piercing stare as if it could lay my soul bare.

"No mother abandons her newborn. This is a gambit," he accused. "Do you think just because Mack Parsons is returning to court, because you have his favor, you can make demands?"

I looked at him, a cold clarity settling within. All stature, no substance. He could never measure up to Thomas.

"You overestimate my connections, Your Highness," I said, tone feather-light. "I am barely a Parsons. Mack is poised to become Prime Minister. I was never more than a footnote to him."

I feigned indifference, but my fingers clenched the baby's blanket, crumpling the delicate fabric.

The room was suffocatingly still, the metallic scent of birthblood mingling with heavy incense, turning my stomach.

Lawrence only half-believed me. That was enough.

"If Lord Parsons cared for me," I continued, "he would not have left me to endure six years of silence in this gilded prison."

I sank back into the pillows, weary to my bones.

I continued, "Your Highness, why not do for Marina what was done for me? Marry her into a powerful house.

"The Parsons would not refuse the chance to be grandfather to a future king. The Council would not dare oppose it.

"As for the title... once I am gone, say she earned it through devotion to the prince. That the child sees her as his mother. Then, petition to have her named Crown Princess."

I laid it out like a court strategist, detached and precise.

Lawrence's anger dissolved into confusion.

His hesitation made me want to laugh.

"You avoided me for six years for her sake," I said, a faint, tired laugh in my voice. "Now, with the path cleared and the map drawn, you hesitate?

"Lawrence Glover, it seems your devotion to Marina is not so absolute after all."

I had never used his full name in private before. A flush crept up his neck.

"I only wish for her security," he insisted, voice rough. "I swear to you, she will never eclipse you. You will always be my queen."

I was tired. So profoundly tired.

Now that the truth hung between us, it did not bring relief, only a thick, clinging mire, dragging me down.

I said, "Your Highness, I am weary. Should you not go to Marina?"

I expected him to leave, eager to comfort his precious songstress. Turning away, I tried to lull the baby to sleep, but the door did not open.

Instead, his presence enveloped me. Strong hands turned me to face him.

"Julieta," he asked, his breath hot against my neck, "are you truly willing to leave your child and me... for the memory of Thomas?"

His hot breath brushed against my neck, and I turned my head away.

Thomas Hampton.

All these years, every time I whispered his name, I'd picture him waiting for me, only to leave disappointed, walking away alone.

I slowly pressed my hand against Lawrence's chest and pushed him away.

Then I did what I hadn't dared in years. I looked him full in the face and let the country girl from the provinces rise to the surface, rolling my eyes with unladylike candor.

The world saw a Parsons lady. Only I knew the truth: a distant cousin, one of a dozen pauper relatives dressed in silk and fed on poetry and politics in the family's sprawling estate.

Lawrence, the Queen's sole son, was meant to choose his bride from the highest nobility.

He defied them all. He caused a scandal at the betrothal ball, and I witnessed him pluck the Queen's prized peony and place it in Marina's hair.

I only heard about the first part, but I saw the second with my own eyes.

They rode by, her laughter trailing on the wind. The blossom loosened, tumbling straight into my hands.

I returned the flower without a word and slipped away.