“It is as long a story as the one you’ve just told,” the general answered, direct enough, as always, to look Amarande in the eye. “I will explain it all one day. But now, you are right—I must warn my soldiers. I am sorry, Princess. Another time.”
Again, Koldo turned for the door, Satordi on her heels to alert the other councilors to Amarande’s tale. When they were gone, Amarande stared at her newfound family as her insides lurched—she might never feel upon solid ground again.
Swallowing hard, the princess speared her mother with a look. “Why did you present Ferdinand as your son?”
The woman did not bat an eye. “Because he is.”
Fair enough. Blood was not the only bond. “Koldo may not have had time to tell her story, but you do not have the excuse. What happened? I deserve to know.”
“I would not prefer to renew our relationship this way,” her mother replied, looking away, “but… the simple truth of the matter is this: I learned of Ferdinand’s birth and stole him away in a moment of weakness.”
Bile rose in the princess’s throat. “YoustoleKoldo’s baby?”
“He was a day old—a threat to your station and mine.” Geneva’s words could etch diamonds. “And after what I’d done… I fell in love with him. I raised him. I made him mine.”
Mine.
Amarande had always pictured her mother as someone so sad that she gave up on her enchanted life. On her father. On her. Someonewho had married for position and who yearned for love to the point of such desperation that she had no choice but to take action. To steal into the night and on to another adventure. But this—Amarande could barely envision the truth as her mother told it. How could she? Who would steal a baby and leave her own?
And then there was Koldo.Did she know? All this time? How could she stand it?
No matter which answer, something about the way the general stood in the same room with her mother and the history between them made Amarande’s stomach lurch. Koldo was the strongest woman she knew, and yet the general hadn’t run Geneva through with a sword the second she’d learned of this startling deception.
Was that weakness or was it strength?
Amarande stared at the Runaway Queen. “And you brought him here to claim the crown in my stead.”
Her mother did not look away. “This kingdom deserves a steady-handed ruler who will not put it in danger or leave it in a precarious spot wedged between law and convenience. And though Ferdinand is not of my blood, I have no doubt he is the best choice for Ardenia.”
A shiver ran across her spine. Amarande swallowed.
“He is only the best choice if I am out of the way.”
“Amarande, you just committed regicide in a neighboring kingdom, bringing war to Ardenia’s door. This after you shirked your duties in the name of chasing after a boy like a hen tails a rooster. Ardenia is on a precipice and you, my darling daughter, are willing to toss it over the edge.”
No. It wasn’t like that. Was it?
“I am your daughter. I am not a danger.”
Her mother tilted her chin. “My dear, I am afraid you are both.”
“And so I am to be out of the way, then.” The princess shot to her feet and drew the sword at her back. She wasn’t sure why—she did not plan to attack—and yet the blade was in her grip as she fought back against her mother’s assertions and obvious machinations. “And so the plan is what? To lie? To tell everyone I’m dead until I reappear like you, years later and in perfect health?”
A hand clenched her neck. Squeezing precisely on the artery that supplies oxygen to the brain. An arm gripped around her middle—an arm clad in garnet-and-gold regalia.
Koldo.
Amarande’s heart slowed, vision going black, limbs losing strength. She had mere seconds of consciousness left. The princess’s sword fell, clanging to the marble tabletop.
“Yes, exactly that, clever girl,” the Runaway Queen answered as she bent to pick up the fallen sword—Maite, it was Maite, “love” in old Torrentian. “It is not a lie if we tell them the truth eventually. After the kingdom is safe, you can return. With your stableboy, if you like. But for now, Princess Amarande of Ardenia, your presence is too much of a risk.”
Just as Amarande’s consciousness fled and her body went slack, the general whispered, “I am sorry, Ama.”
CHAPTER6
LUCAand his crew arrived at the next point in the resistance constellation in the black hour before dawn. It appeared to be a sheep farm, snuggled between steep grades of rock, the Torrent a hard pass and descent away.
“This is it?” Luca confirmed as they stared at the squat juniper-wood cabin. Within, candles burned with the promise of daybreak chores. Even if the sheep were for show, the chores would be real.
