Chapter 1

When Crown Prince Edmund Ashford married Charlotte Somners, the chancellor's daughter, as his consort, I, Evelyn Winters, left Kingston.

I took our four-year-old son Andy and departed, leaving only divorce papers.

But half a year later, Andy fell gravely ill. The medicine that could save him cost ten gold coins a day.

Watching my purse grow empty, I finally tore down one of the notices Edmund had posted across the Northwilds in search of me.

And I returned to Eastwatch Palace on my own.

Back at the palace, I became the model crown princess.

No longer did I vie for his affection or weep, begging him to abandon his title so we could live as a simple couple, devoted only to each other.

Even when I found him whispering intimately with a chambermaid, I simply closed the door gently for them and ordered bath water prepared in advance.

Yet it was he who stormed out, eyes blazing, and shattered the water basin at my feet.

"I have already defied the entire court to demote Charlotte to a concubine and raised you, a woman from a cookshop, to be my princess consort!" he shouted. "What more must I do?"

He said, "Evelyn, I beg you, cease this endless turmoil."

I stared at him, genuinely bewildered. In what world was I the source of turmoil?

But for Andy's medicine, I bowed my head and accepted the blame. "You are right, Your Highness. I shall remember, and not repeat the mistake."

My submission seemed only to fuel his fury.

Before I could ask what he desired, for I would have granted anything, a crossbow bolt hissed from the shadows behind me and thudded deep into his chest.

Eastwatch Palace descended into bedlam.

When order was restored, the royal physician was summoned.

As he tended the wound, he murmured, "A stroke of divine fortune. An inch to the left, and not even the legends of old could have saved him."

Once assured of his survival, I watched Andy take his draught, then retired to my chambers for a dreamless sleep.

Deep in the night, I was roused by a violent presence. Edmund stormed in, pinned me to the bed, and kissed me with a desperate, bruising intensity.

The moment I recognized him, I fought back in panic.

Then, a cold tear struck my cheek. His voice, raw and shaking, broke the silence. "Evelyn... you do not love me anymore.

"Once, a mere cough from me would keep you awake with worry all night. Now, I brush with death, and you do not even come to my bedside. You sleep peacefully. As if it meant nothing."

His wound had reopened, staining his linen shirt crimson. He looked wounded, wretched.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "Your Highness misunderstands. With the physician in attendance, my presence was superfluous. I never doubted your recovery."

He searched my face, my clear and untroubled gaze, hunting for any flicker of the old devotion.

Finding none, he left without another word, his expression thunderous.

For days thereafter, whenever I presented myself at his quarters, I was left standing at the door, unanswered.

A new fear took root that he would cast me out of Eastwatch entirely. And then, how would I pay for Andy's medicine?

Driven by desperation, I knelt outside his chamber. My plea was to restore Charlotte Sommers as Crown Princess.

"I was but a cookshop girl," I confessed, voice low. "I smell of smoke and cheap tallow, my letters are few, and courtly manners are a foreign tongue to me. I am unfit for this station.

"Your Highness, I implore you. Let Lady Charlotte take her rightful place. Grant me this."

Finally, the door flew open.

Not to admit me, but to launch a medicine bowl that struck my brow. Blood warm and immediate blurred my sight.

His voice dripped with venomous fury. "Do you despise me so deeply, Evelyn? The title of my Princess is so odious to you?

"Men keep mistresses. It is the way of the world! And I am not merely a man, I am the Crown Prince. I have already bent knee to the court to raise you. Is that not enough?

"You would choose squalor? What nobility did you find in poverty? You watched the man who raised you die for want of a physician's fee!"

His words were a physical blow. I was a foundling, discarded by all, until the old man took me in.

But six years ago, when I dragged Edmund, half-dead, from the desert, I spent every last coin to save him. I sold what little I had and plunged into debt.

It was then that my adoptive father caught a chill. A simple fever. Yet we were so destitute that we could not afford a single tonic.

I even sold my old hound, the companion of my childhood. I watched as they led him away to the butcher's block, but the coins still fell short.

In the end, the old man died, dragged down by that trifling cold.

And all the while, Edmund watched. He stood witness to both deaths, a test, he later said, to see if I coveted his power or wealth. He did not lift a hand. He did not spend a single copper.