The princess lost her voice to a gasp as Geneva drew her close. This woman was real, her body warm and solid as she enveloped Amarande. She smelled of firewood and rose water, her skin soft with creams and care. As the embrace waned, mother held daughter at arm’s length, brilliant eyes inspecting every inch of her girl.
“Look at you, Amarande. As beautiful as I’d expected.”
Stunned, Amarande could only blink back. Gently, the Runaway Queen smoothed a lock of hair away from Amarande’s brow as if she’d wanted to do such a thing every day they were apart. “My dear daughter, we have much to discuss—but first, what is this blood? Do you need a medikua? And what is this of Pyrenee on your heels?”
Amarande’s suspended consciousness lurched into motion. Her breath returned, her heartbeat, her voice. “Mother… why are you here? Now?” It wasn’t the most elegant question for this reunion, ham-fisted and too direct, but suspicion was quickly overtaking shock within Amarande as her pulse skittered and skipped. She speared Satordi with her attention—he had faded into a corner as her mother had approached. “Councilor, why did you tell the guards I was dead? What is going on here?”
Satordi glanced away, meeting her mother’s eyes before her own. “I myself am very glad to see you alive, Your Highness,” he said, adjusting the collar of his ivory-and-gold robes. “But you have arrived at a very awkward time.”
The strangeness of that statement shook Amarande loose of her mother’s palms. “Awkward? This is—”
Her voice died as another figure stepped into the candlelight. Amarande stumbled backward and the hilt of Maite, her father’s sword, clanged into the stone wall behind her. The figure—a young man—came to a halt. Fully illuminated, he was the spitting image of the twenty-year-old coronation portrait hanging in the castle foyer.
This boy was King Sendoa come to life.
The princess steadied herself against the wall. “Who are you?”
Geneva tilted her head, smile suddenly not so tentative. “Come now, darling daughter; you know who he is.”
Amarande’s gaze didn’t waver from the familiar green eyes, sunset hair, and hulking shoulders. Yes, she knew. But she wanted to hear it from the boy himself. “I addressedhim.”
The boy sank into the nearest chair. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, failing, very much like her father had, at making himself seem small. “My name is Ferdinand.” Even his voice sounded like Sendoa’s. Shock ran ice cold down Amarande’s spine. “From what I understand, Princess, I am your younger brother.”
With the confirmation, Amarande’s world shifted again. She had a brother.
Her mother had run while pregnant. And then stayed away. But… why? How? And did Sendoa know? More questions stacked upon the teetering pile she kept for her father’s star-bound ghost. Atop it all—what was his plan? And now—was this part of it?
Three rapid knocks and General Koldo entered the room in full garnet-and-gold regalia.
“Koldo!” Amarande lunged for the woman she’d always considered a surrogate mother as much as a friend. The general was just as surprised to see the princess. Still, Koldo was as quick as ever, catching her in a natural embrace, while casting a questioning eye over Amarande.
“Princess, you’re hurt. I shall call for a medikua.”
This struck Amarande off guard—there wasn’tamedikua; there wasthemedikua, Aritza. Yet her mother had used the same descriptor. How much had the castle changed in the past few days?
“No, no, it’s not my blood. It is Renard’s.” That drew a sharp inhale from Satordi. “It can wait—please, regiments from Pyrenee may be upon our door in hours, if not this very minute.”
Her mother, her brother, the general, and the councilor stilled.
“Speak first, Princess.” Koldo led Amarande to a chaise across a low table from where Ferdinand sat. “The rest can come after.”
The general sat next to the princess, never letting go of her arm—not that Amarande wanted her to. She needed Koldo’s steadying touch, the one that had guided her through so much. Geneva chose to stand behind Ferdinand, her small hands resting against the seat back of his chair. Satordi remained standing. Amarande’s world swayed.
“Fetch the princess water, Councilor,” Koldo commanded, and Amarande was mildly surprised when he listened, moving to a small cupboard against the far wall. “Your Highness?”
“I left the Itspi unannounced on the night of Father’s funeral because kidnappers stole away.…” Amarande’s eyes found her mother’s, and her brother’s, as she grappled for a way to describe him that didn’t make her feel so naked to these all-but-strangers. “Luca, my… my best friend… to push me into marriage with Prince Renard—the crown prince of Pyrenee.”
“Is this the boy from the Torrent?” her mother asked. “Lygia’s son?”
Amarande was surprised again by her mother’s voice—and her knowledge. How long had they been at the Itspi? What did they know? Koldo nodded in answer. “Yes, a stableboy. Sendoa took a liking to him and allowed him to be a companion to the princess.”
Something passed over Geneva’s eyes, but Amarande pressed on. She shouldn’t be surprised her mother remembered Lygia from her castle days, as they would’ve been a similar age—seventeen or eighteen. Luca’s mother had died of a lung infection the same night Geneva had disappeared. Losing their mothers on the very same night was one of the strange coincidences that twined them so tightly. It was one thing to both not recall their mother’s face; it was quite another for the person closest to you to feel the exact same thing for the exact same length of time.
“After failing to make a diplomatic peace with Renard, I felt I had no choice but to rescue Luca myself. I left immediately and covertly because I feared him to be in grave danger. After a few obstacles, I rescued Luca from the kidnappers, who had pushed deep into the Torrent. On our return, we were intercepted by Renard, his brother Taillefer, and several guards and hired hands.”
“Prince Renard was intent on rescuing you.” Satordi set a crystal glass before the princess. She didn’t drink.
“Know that is a lie.”
