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Prologue

The Queen Consort died in the middle of the night.

Crown Prince Rolund rarely ventured into her quarters, but today was an exception. With the Consort’s women busy preparing her body and King Baylen taken to his bed with grief, there was no one else to watch over Rolund’s sister.

Half-sister, his mother’s voice echoed in his head. In the six months since Princess Given was born, the First Queen had never let him forget the infant only shared half his blood. If First Queen Amantha had her way, the little princess would share none of it.

Rolund stood next to the cradle and looked down at the sleeping baby. Silky eyelashes rested on plump, pink cheeks. A wisp of pale hair showed under the cap that covered her head. Such a small thing to cause so much grief and death.

Everyone in Sithistra had been shocked when the Consort conceived. At thirty-five and with eighteen unfruitful years of marriage behind her, it was assumed Vessa of Lar Satha was barren.

“Because your father was blinded by lust,” Rolund’s mother was known to mutter under her breath. “He allowed his desires to rule him and took a vampire to wife.”

Even as a boy, Rolund had been wise enough not to point out that Amantha herself, for all her pure human blood, had only borne the king one child. Rolund also found it odd that his mother—known for her religious devotion—disapproved of a marriage grounded in passion. It was, after all, the Lord of the Mir that called men to take two wives. A godly man chose his wives in line with the teachings of the Brotherhood, whose towers loomed tall over the capital city of Beldurn. Mirror images of each other, the structures nevertheless served entirely different purposes. The Tower of the Mind was where the Brotherhood worked and studied. The Tower of the Heart was a place for worship and celebrating feast days. The Lord of the Mir called for balance in all things, thus a man’s first spouse should be the wife of the mind, and the second the wife of the heart. And as in the body, mind and heart should never stand in opposition to one another.

That tenet was the foundation of the faith. Rolund’s father had prepared him to rule since before he could walk, and Rolund knew that no king who hoped to sit the throne of Sithistra would challenge it. As the future king, he was prepared to bow his head to the Lord of the Mir.

But as a man of twenty, he was experienced enough now to understand the practical realities of having two wives. Two queens. Two courts. Two beds. Queen Amantha was not mourning Vessa—and his lady mother would never consent to mother the princess.

And now the princess’s mother was gone. Rolund had never spent much time in the Consort’s presence. But he’d done his duty when it became clear she wasn’t going to survive the fever that had plagued her since the princess’s birth. He’d visited the hushed chamber. Had knelt by the bed and wished the Lord’s blessings upon the pale female in the bed. Even on the edge of death, she’d been achingly beautiful. But so still…until her blue eyes had flashed open and she’d grabbed his hand.

“Protect her. It’s important.”

His heart had pounded so hard he’d felt lightheaded. She’d released him before he could recoil, settling back into the stillness so quickly he was left wondering if he imagined the whole thing.

Protect her. It’s important.

He stared at the baby now. She was as still as the Consort had been. Panic gripped him, and he leaned closer, peering at the infant. Her little chest rose and fell. The pale brow furrowed once and then smoothed out. A dream, maybe.

He relaxed.

“She’s a lovely little thing,” a woman’s voice said.

He looked up to find a servant standing a few steps away. She was dressed richly, with the badge of Lar Satha pinned to her breast.

An attendant of the Queen Consort, then. And a devoted one, it seemed. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her pale cheeks tracked with dried tears. It was rare to find a human who cared for vampires, much less one willing to serve a bloodsucker. Now that her mistress was dead, the woman was likely to find herself dismissed. Already, there was talk of his mother “cleansing” the castle staff.

Protect her. It’s important. A dying woman’s words. Maybe her last ones. It was a burden, he thought, staring at the servant. But maybe he could do something to ease it.

“Have you been offered another position?” he asked suddenly.

The woman startled, then spoke quickly. “N-No, Your Highness. I wouldn’t dream of—”

He waved her to silence. “I’m not questioning your loyalty. I’d like to offer you a place in my service if you’re willing.” He gestured to the cradle. “My sister will need care. I would put you in charge of it with a staff to assist you.” Even as he said it, he realized he knew nothing of this woman. It was entirely possible she loathed children and would rather walk the streets than change the princess’s nappies.

But his worries were put to rest when her brown eyes rounded with shock—and then filled with tears of joy. “Oh my…yes. I mean, yes, my prince.” She pressed a palm to her chest, her gaze lingering on the baby a moment before returning to him. “I would be honored, Your Highness.”

Excellent. That was one problem of the day solved.

“I’ll see to it you have all the coin you need,” he told her.

“Thank you, sir.” She pulled a scroll of parchment from her sleeve. “There is something else, Your Highness. A messenger from the Tower of the Mind delivered this. He said it was meant for the king, but his grace is indisposed, so I thought—”

“I’ll take it.” He accepted the scroll and read quickly. “Did the messenger deliver anything else?”

“No, Your Highness. Just that.”

Rolund looked up. “Thank you.” Abruptly, he realized he didn’t know the name of the woman he’d just hired to look after his six-month-old sister. “I apologize. Your name escapes me.”

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