Genevieve
We’re only children the first time I see Kieran Greenbluff. His father, the new head gardener of Fairbright, is being given a tour of the grounds while my siblings and I play outside. The boy follows close behind his father, but he keeps glancing back at us, curiosity sparkling in his grass-green eyes. The nanny tuts at him, telling him to show respect to the royal family, to mind his manners and run along.
He’s filthy—all dirty nails, mussed dark waves of hair falling nearly to his chin, and a coat of mud caked onto his knobby knees. He looks like a child who has the freedom to splash in puddles and climb trees. A wild boy from a storybook.
All I see in him is my own longing, my own desire to be free, to feel the earth between my toes and muss up my pristine white frock. But as a princess, I’m not afforded such luxuries. Even at eight, I know such things only stir envy in my heart. And a princess shouldnever feel such emotions.
A quick knock on my door signals that I’m being summoned back to the parlor to continue the discussion of my arranged marriage. A footman in emerald-green livery escorts me to the room, the doors swinging open as he announces in a clear voice, “The Crown Princess Genevieve Ashcroft.”
The others rise and bow low, waiting for me to take my seat on the settee before resuming their own. I settle in, adjust my skirts, and sit up straight to keep my corset from pressing against my soft middle. Small talk hums through the room, and I glance to my right at my brother. It’s a small relief to see he’s joined us. Gabriel, only two years younger than I, has taken naturally to his role in the military, representing the crown’s interests in all military affairs.
Gabriel gives me a wink before asking, “How are you holding up, Genny?”
I shrug and murmur low enough for his ears alone, “As fine as can be expected. I’m just tired of these people interfering in my decisions.”
Gabe runs a hand through his fiery red hair—hair like our mother’s. Mine resembles no one in particular, except perhaps my youngest brother, Darian. With its raucous blend of yellows and nearly pink, Mother settled on calling it strawberry blonde, while Father nicknamed me Peach for its likeness to the delicate hues on a ripe fruit’s skin.
“I think you need to accept that this will be your lot in life,” Gabe says. “Old men meddling in your affairs.”
I roll my eyes in a most undignified manner. “As opposed to you, the second bornandgiftless, who spends your life as you please. Which, from all accounts, means bedding every willing woman in the kingdom.”
His lips quirk into a faint smirk, jest coloring his tone. “Don’t believe all the rumors you hear. There are many women who only dream that I’ve bedded them and enjoy spreading salacious gossip. What kind of gentleman would I be if I contradicted a lady’s word?”
I suppress a grin. If even half the rumors of my brother’s escapades are true, that’s far more than I care to be acquainted with. Ever since Gabriel didn’t receive a gift at twenty, he’s worked twice as hard to make a name for himself in other capacities—much to the Ashcroft family’s chagrin.
He and my youngest sister, Marielle, are both giftless, despite their fine blueblood lineage. The first generation of gifted bluebloods—those exposed to the mineral helachite—are probably rolling in their graves, knowing their sacrifice to unite the blessed has faded into nothing more than blood stained the color of ink rather than crimson.
Gabe grows serious, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “You know the rot is spreading, right? She’s trying to keep it from you.”
I know immediately who he means—Mother. The rot has been seeping into our borders, even appearing near the Naserian capital, Crawford. It’s eating away at the land, and there seems to be no cure, though the concentration remains contained. If Mother’s keeping its spread from me, she’s breaking her promise—and failing to prepare me for the crown I’ll inherit in two years.
“Why would she do that?” I ask, turning slightly to be sure no one else can overhear. I know the rot is caused by the misuse of helachite—the whole country knows this—butwhat I don’t understand is how it’s happening. Helachite is now highly guarded, prized for its ability to grant nearly magical gifts to bluebloods and create technology that has transformed life across the continent of Inver.
“She claims she doesn’t want you to worry, with your wedding approaching,” Gabe replies. “She knows how much pressure you’re putting on yourself. But I’ve seen the damage. You need to be included in these conversations. Don’t let her shut you out.”
I can’t help a soft, undignified snort. Nobody tells Queen Penelope what she should or shouldn’t do—not even her council. To expect her to listen to her children is foolish.
“You try telling her what to do,” I mutter.
He raises an eyebrow as the doors open, and we stand before I curtsy low as my mother and father’s names are called. “Queen Penelope and King Consort Hugo.”
My mother gracefully dips into her seat, a comfortable yet imposing chair resembling the throne two stories below us. My father takes his place at her side, sliding his hand into hers with a striking mix of tenderness and deference. The harsh lines on my mother’s face seem to ease at his touch.
All I can hope is that Prince Leland will be like my father: kind, gentle, and willing to stand by my side when I take the throne. From all accounts, he is that sort of man, with his gift as a peacemaker and his natural diplomatic skills. I hand-selected him as my future consort. Since I know that my own gift—my curse—will inevitably affect our relationship, and that he will love me in whatever false form my curse casts upon him, I find it prudent to choose a man with attributes that will serve the crown as well as my rule in Naseria.
“Shall we continue our previous conversation?” my mother asks, a saccharine smile on her face that fails to disguise the weariness in her eyes. “We will no longer discuss the necessity of Princess Genevievesecuring an heir. She knows her duty to the crown. Instead, I want to ensure she has no plans to change her mind.”
I keep my expression neutral as I meet her brown eyes. They’re the same shade as my brother’s, but without his warmth or softness—hard, like chips of flint. All the gentleness has long escaped her, except when it comes to my father. He alone seems worthy of her warmth. It wasn’t always that way. I remember, as a child, how she would welcome me into her arms, how she once seemed to crave our company. But years of being queen have eroded all that away. She’s warned me that the crown will devour who I am and mold me into something else entirely—and her own harsh gaze has long made me believe her.
I meet her eyes and say evenly, “I have no intention of going back on my word, Your Majesty. As you know, a love match like yours and King Hugo’s isn’t possible, and I wish to do my duty to the crown to the best of my ability. Prince Leland possesses the qualities I find agreeable in a husband, and an alliance with Queen Kalise will secure our kingdoms against the growing unrest along both our borders with Wylan. Nothing on my part has changed in themanydiscussions we’ve had.”
I shouldn’t add that last quip, but if she wants to insult my decision before the entire council, I’m more than capable of offering a retort.
Her left eye twitches again before she composes herself. “Yes, dear, but all the council is aware of your gift. They’ve also been informed of the—” She pauses, unsure how to broach the subject of my volatile power in public. It’s something we’ve long avoided speaking of. For years, we’ve pretended it wasn’t a problem, hoping it would simply go away. It hasn’t—and I’ve grown tired of waiting to secure a future for myself. “Of your reaction when someone encounters your gift.”
A low murmur ripples through the council chamber. Gabriel reaches for me, squeezing my gloved wrist, but I don’t dare meet his eyes.
“Genny…” he cautions softly.
