Liana’s heart stopped in her chest. The standard and the name—it was too much to be a coincidence.
“And Prince Amron, he is the king’s…?”
“Brother,” the girl said. “Of course.”
“Ah yes. King Amril and Queen Aratea, right? How long has he been on the throne?”
“Seventeen years. I was born on the day of his coronation.” The girl shot her a gap-toothed grin as someone called for more beer. “Look, I must work. If you want to talk, I can call the tavern keeper.”
“Just one more question, please. Prince Amron, is he married?”
The girl shook her head. “He’s a widower.” And then she pulled her hand from Liana’s grip and dashed away.
Seventeen years.
Liana suppressed the urge to run straight to the palace and shout his name in the courtyard. Seventeen years since Amril’s coronation, seventeen years since his father’s death. Which meant the year was 361 and she was right back where—when—she’d left. Except, Amril was on the throne, and Aratea with him, which meant the war with the Empire had never happened.
She crumbled the steaming pie crust on her plate, trying hard not to cry in a tavern.
They did it, they stopped the war. The years of fighting, of death and destruction, never happened. No wonder Abia looked so prosperous. History had taken a different turn, and seventeen years later, this was a different world. A world where Amron ruled Abia in peace, where he didn’t have to run errands for his royal nephew and hold the broken kingdom together for him. A world where the king never sent him on a doomed errand, a world where he hadn’t died.
Her hands shook as she stuffed the food in her mouth, focusing on chewing, swallowing, breathing. Not crying, definitely not crying.
Hope was the most dangerous, the most cruel of all feelings, and she didn’t dare, she didn’t dare…
Liana finished her meal, leaning on the table like a drunken sailor. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, her legs had forgotten how to walk.
He was alive, and close, and all she had to do was…what?
Would he even remember her? He’d known her for three days, three confused, catastrophic, traumatic days. It would be no wonder if he’d deliberately forgotten them.
She rose and stumbled into the street.
This Amron was not the same Amron she’d known, that was certain. His life had been dramatically different—seventeen years of different choices, different events, different people.Seventeen years without her. No historical turmoil to erase rank and throw them together, no years of hardship to bring them close. Would he even like her?
You didn’t come this far to run away like a coward. Face him and find out.
Outside, the town was in full morning rush. The scent of warm bread wafted from the bakeries as women hurried with baskets filled with fruit and vegetables and young men lingered in squares, gossiping and teasing the maids who filled their jugs at the fountains.
There must have been a Liana-shaped hole in Amron’s life. Who’d filled it? Some accomplished noblewoman who read poetry in bed and kept his high visitors amused? Some clever courtesan who kissed him hard and kept him awake in the long winter nights? Some random girl he fell in love with simply because she was there?
Men had it so much easier. They could duel their opponents and no one would bat an eyelid. What could women do? Poison them?
As she rushed towards the palace, Liana’s fingers itched with the need to strangle this entirely imaginary woman who shared Amron’s life. She went in through the main gate—enough people were crowded there that even her blood-spattered uniform attracted no attention. In the courtyard, she veered away from the entrance to the great hall and turned towards the stables instead. She considered going down to the basement, scrubbing up quickly, making herself presentable, but so much time had been wasted, she could not waste a moment more. What was the point of a pretty dress if he didn’t care about the person wearing it?
She passed the first floor with relative ease, but from there on, it got complicated in the mid-morning flood of people filling every corridor. What the guards might overlook, the maidscertainly wouldn’t.
Where would Amron be at this hour? Definitely not sleeping, he was an early riser. Working, probably, in his private study or his official one, or somewhere on the first floor with the clerks, or receiving people in the great hall, or even somewhere outside, with the merchants or councilors. But he wouldn’t be alone there, and she needed to see him in private. Which meant only one place—his room.
The one he’d always liked? The one with blue tapestries? Through the servants’ corridor, turn right, open the door…
“What do you think you’re doing?” A voice behind her back and the unmistakable jab of a dagger somewhere in the vicinity of her kidneys.
She hadn’t heard him, she hadn’t smelled him, she hadn’t felt him. All her instincts were as blunt as a wooden sword.
“I need to talk to Prince Amron in private,” she stammered.
“Really? Why? Who sent you?”
