Page 1 of Shadows and Roses

Prologue

Dead bodies were much the same as live ones. Limbs attached, mouth open as though about to speak, eyes staring at nothing.

People always said the light faded from the eyes. Perhaps my mother never had any light. Her skin was cold. Pale. The red line across her neck and the spreading stain on the sheets could have been splashes of paint.

Dark, bloody paint.

"Princess? Are you injured?" A woman's voice echoed nearby.

Injured? She was mistaken. We were long past injury, the body stiff and quite thoroughly dead.

I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus. The sunlight streaming into the hall was too bright. It should have been storming. It should have been raining fire and lightning.

Drip.

Dull pain throbbed in my palm. Blood dripped from where my claws had dug too deep.Ah.

To the woman beside me, I lied, "No, Escort. It's not my blood."

My fist slowly curled open. My lips parted.

"Captain. The Queen is dead. Make the arrangements."

There. I said the words. Now, if I could only breathe.

To his credit, the captain only paused for a moment.

"Yes, Princess," he said in a matching flat, cold tone. He gestured for servants to enter the bedroom behind me.

They walked out again with bundles of cloth. White silk bedsheets dragged on the ground, a corner of them red. I lifted a clean cloth—a handkerchief—from a passing servant's pileand pressed it against my wounds. The Escort stepped close, her body hiding my actions.

The bleeding stopped.

"With me, Escort," I commanded as I wiped each finger clean, shining the tiny scales on my clawbeds. Polishing them with blood.

The council would need to know, the court informed and controlled before any of the opportunistic snakes could strike. They would expect me to seize the reins, but they would try to slither away first, test my authority before it could be established.

My mother—

Jana.

Queen Jana had ruled our nation all my life, had taught me that blood must be answered with blood. The court understood nothing else.

First, a change of clothes. The fighting leathers I preferred, as elegant as they might be and acceptable for the princess, would not do for the Queen. Word would spread quickly. I was no longer just another lady, or a challenge for an ambitious swordmaster, or the Queen's irreverent daughter—but untouchable.

My journey took me past curious eyes and gossiping tongues, rumors swirling in my wake.

"...could be war…"

"...murder…going to hang…"

"...looked like a lover's spat…"

Their voices faded as I approached the Queen's Wing. Here, the eyes and ears reflected sympathy and true respect. My shoulders relaxed—slightly. This had always been a sanctuary—my mother’s, mine, our family’s. This hall was elegant in its simplicity, with the entry courtyard’s neatly trimmed bushes and smallfountain the only decorations. The Queen's Wing could rival a monastery for its sense of peace. Here, I could be me.

But today, I had to be the Queen.

"Anais."

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