“Does he know?”
Ula shook her head. “I haven’t told him. But there’s an underground movement of those who want to reinstall the family. I could connect him and challenge the Warlord’s rule.”
The clarity of what this meant hit Amarande in that moment. It was a long road, but the change it could bring … King Sendoa came to her again: Survive the battle, see the war.
The princess was bone tired, but suddenly she was ready to run, to go, to fight.
“We could heal the Torrent,” Amarande whispered, words gaining steam with each breath. “And give Ardenia a powerful ally against the wrath of the Pyrenee and the greed of the southern kingdoms.”
And, no matter the law, she would have her prince and love in one.
EPILOGUE
THE Itspi without its king or princess was a quiet place. In the days following the funeral and all that came after, the visitors fled, the soldiers, too, leaving a skeleton crew of those who only circulated at the most intimate levels of the castle.
The maids. The cooks. The council.
Those left waiting for word, going about their duties in an anxious daze, every unexpected sound an imagined threat of war on the Itspi’s doorstep. The Warrior King was still lying in state, rotting away and unable to defend what he built. Even his swords were gone and missing.
But one morning, the silence bent toward a low hum until the whispers rose to deafening.
At the gates, a rider swaddled in the copper exhale of the Torrent.
It wasn’t the princess, or even Prince Renard or his minder, Captain Serville. No, it was someone else, surfaced from the abyss of absence.
Slight form. Dark hair. Blue eyes.
They knew her in an instant, though it had been fifteen years.
The Runaway Queen.
“I request to see the Royal Council. Now.”
The north tower sprang to life, no hesitation. Satordi, Garbine, and Joseba were summoned from breakfast and straight to the council room. General Koldo, back to report from the front, was summoned as well, this visit more than falling under the duty of her regency.
The Runaway Queen was already in the room when the council entered, her riding gloves plucked off as she examined the scrolls left upon the council table—marriage contracts.
“It’s no wonder my daughter ran off—these stipulations are ridiculous. A military state in Ardenia until a male heir is born? She’s sixteen and she’s been signed away as a broodmare with war on her shoulders.”
The council scooted around the table. On gestured orders from Satordi, Joseba scooped up the scrolls and removed them. The Runaway Queen smiled. Satordi met her expression with something of his own, filled with brisk annoyance yet reverence—because the last time they were in the same room, this woman had worn a crown.
“Geneva, my lady, you forfeited your title long ago. Therefore, if you will excuse me, I will not address you as Queen.”
She was Domingu’s granddaughter by his third marriage and had been raised as a connection to be bought and sold. That upbringing sat heavy on her slim shoulders, and though she was as petite as her daughter, she had learned very early to hold a room as if it balanced on her palm. Her long absence hadn’t diminished that talent.
“Fine. I did not come here to discuss such trifles.”
“Yes, why are you here, my lady?” Satordi pounced. He liked to claim ownership of meetings in this room, even ones he did not call.
“I came to discuss succession. My daughter is missing, yes? You can confirm this news?”
“Princess Amarande is missing, it’s true, my lady.” Satordi bristled. They were teetering on the abyss of a dead line, and he didn’t want this woman who’d abandoned her station and her kingdom to believe she stood a chance. If that was what she’d come for, she would be sorely disappointed. “Until the princess returns and marries for her crown, General Koldo is regent. The general is within the Itspi and is on her way here, though I’m not sure it’s necessary to continue, as there is no need to discuss succession with you—”
“Permanent succession is indeed a discussion I wish to be a part of.”
Satordi sucked in a stiff breath and launched into a more pointed statement.
“I apologize if you came all this way—from wherever you were—to discuss this, because there may be a misunderstanding on your part.” Here, he stood, the implication clear—he was about to come around the table and escort her out. “My lady, a woman cannot rule on her own, as you know, and you have not the blood for this crown.”
Geneva didn’t move other than to grin again. “I don’t, but he does.”
The council room doors opened and in came General Koldo, donning fresh garnet and gold, and on her arm … a boy.
Sunset hair.
Green eyes.
A body built for battle though he’d yet to sprout a beard.
Satordi’s breath died out and his eyes swung to Geneva, who stood much taller than she had right to, a little smirk about her lips. The other councilors stilled to stone in their seats, and Satordi’s knees locked to keep him upright as he asked the necessary question: “Did you have a son with King Sendoa, my lady?”
“No, but she did.”
Geneva gestured to Koldo.
“General?” was all the lead councilor could force himself to ask. Behind him, he heard Garbine mutter, “A bastard?” under her breath.
Koldo lifted her chin, as proud as ever. “This is Ferdinand, my child with Sendoa. Born more than fifteen years ago. I had him while on injury leave at the Itspi. The king was on the front, aiding Pyrenee as they fought an invasion by the Eritrians.”
The Divide Conflict—where Sendoa was when his young queen vanished. The council knew what was coming next. The pieces were falling into place.
The Runaway Queen drew in a deep breath. “Upon learning of his birth, I worried about my daughter’s place and future—mine, too. Sendoa loved Koldo in a way he could love no one else. His lack of marriage all these years is proof of that.”
Satordi found his voice. “Did he want to marry you, General?”
“He asked, but I said no. More than once. I always rebuffed him—at first because I didn’t want to be queen, and later because I worried my son would die if I did.”
All eyes shifted to Geneva for confirmation of the last missing piece.
“I wanted to protect my daughter, who wasn’t even a year old. I did not think of anything other than that. And, out of love, I did something horrible.” She paused and not a soul breathed. “I stole away Koldo’s child and fled from the castle. Blackmail literally in my arms, and my daughter’s claim safe.”
As Geneva spoke, the council shifted in their seats, eyes bouncing from her to Koldo to this boy who indeed was the spitting image of his father. His nose was like Koldo’s, and the set of his stance, too—pin straight—but there was no denying who this boy’s father was.
“I ran him to the stable, intent on stealing a horse. It was past midnight; the woman who kept the stable was awake, her toddler fussing. But I couldn’t have her tell the castle where I’d gone and what I’d done.” She lowered her eyes. “And so … I ensured she didn’t.”
The stableboy’s mother long had been thought to have succumbed to sickness, her body found blue in the face, her son tucked away in their shared bed. She’d had a cough since the day she’d arrived in refuge at the castle. The boy was quickly adopted by the Itspi’s other Torrentian refugees, and his mother’s death wasn’t interpreted as anything more than simply a tragedy, further speculation lost to the drama of the queen’s disappearance. The Runaway Queen looked away as the truth became plain.