Moristaim Palace – or simply the palace, in the minds of nearly every citizen of Lucania – was a vast complex of ornate corridors and chambers, with as much space dedicated to ceremonial purposes as to the actual living space and comfort of the royal family.

Milisant Loredan, Princess of Lucania, hurried across the thick carpets that covered the second floor hallway, her gold and purple skirts of Dakruiman silk clutched in the gloved fingers of her hands, held up so that they did not drag and impede her progress. Two of her ladies in waiting, Cecily Falkenrath and Evangeline Howe, rushed to keep up with her.

The palace guards at the door of the king’s solar bowed and stepped aside, pushing the doors open for their crown princess. Millie didn’t pause to acknowledge them: serving their princess was honor enough for anyone in the service of the crown. Their princess, and their future queen.

While her grandfather, Roland III, had lived, the solar had been decorated modestly, if comfortably, with paintings of seascapes adorning the walls, and furniture of polished dark oak. Where handles or ornamentations had been necessary, they had been of scrimshaw, the old man’s one true weakness. Some had been imported from the markets at Al’Fenthia, but the most treasured pieces, Millie knew, had been gifts brought by the heir of House Syvä from the far north, during the trade negotiations a generation ago.

Millie’s grandmother had occasionally remarked that the old man would have been just as happy to be born a simple fisherman, and spend his days on the sea, as he was to sit the throne of Lucania. How ridiculous – not to embrace the power and luxury of the royal family!

Thankfully, Milisant’s father had redecorated the entire space as soon as his coronation was completed. While some of the furniture remained – the desk, for instance – all of the seating had been replaced with comfortable cushioned chairs and benches. New, thick carpets kept the winter chill in the floor away, and the monotonous old paintings had been shuffled off to storage in favor of portraits of the royal family. There was even one of Millie. Though it had been tedious in the extreme to sit for the artist, he had at least done justice to her beauty.

Cecily and Evangeline took up places along the wall of the solar, ready to step forward at their mistress’ slightest need. Millie, in the meanwhile, walked directly to the center of the room, where her betrothed, Bennet, stood at attention to report to her father. She took advantage of the momentary pause in discussion occasioned by her entrance to take him by the hand, step up onto her tiptoes, and kiss him on the cheek.

“Welcome back,” Milisant told her husband-to-be, with a smile.

King Benedict cleared his throat. “Lord Lieutenant Howe and the Baron of the Strand were just giving their report. Perhaps you’d have a seat while they finish, Princess.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Millie said. The dowager queen was sitting to her father’s right, so she took a chair to his left. Galleron Erskine, who she’d always felt had a bit of an evil look to him, lounged against the far wall, rather than stand at attention. The captain of the palace guard, Sir Alain Martel, had positioned himself near the door. The man was looking older and older every year, and Millie was surprised that her father hadn’t replaced him yet.

“Continue,” Benedict ordered.

“We pursued Journeyman Brodbeck to Valegard,” Bennet said, and Millie was interrupted from admiring his muscular calves by a flash of irritation.

“Surely Guildmistress Arundell has removed her rank by now?” Millie asked.

“Genevieve is still recovering from her wounds,” her father said. “That said, yes, I believe we may assume that whatever paperwork needs to be filed shall be. Liv Brodbeck is no longer a member of the mages guild, legally speaking. She is a criminal.”

“Brodbeck, then,” Bennet continued, “fled to Valegard with a group of her allies, after killing Anson Fane at the Coral Bay waystone.”

“We have that confirmed by testimony from the Sherard boy,” Baron Erskin broke in, nodding to the dowager queen. “That one’s been quite useful, by the way, and is highly motivated. I’d like to bring him in to work with me.”

“I have no objection,” the dowager queen said. “He’s not the heir, anyway. Go right ahead and put him to use.”

Millie risked a glance over to her grandmother. Though seven years had passed since her namesake was exiled, the old woman looked precisely the same as she recalled. It was difficult to tell, beneath the black veil, but she’d seen no sign that Milicent Loredan had aged at all. With the return of the dowager queen, flocks of seagulls once again patrolled the capital, bringing word of everything that happened in Freeport to the palace. Millie herself had even considered asking to be imprinted with House Sherard’s word of power, but her engagement contract with Bennet specified that she would have access to Vær, and she was wary of stretching herself too thin.

“Very well,” her father said. “Where did she go from Valegard, and why isn’t the girl here in chains?”

“By the time we’d arrived,” Bennet explained, “Brodbeck had already left the castle and entered the rift as part of a strike on the foundry. While Duchess Julianne returned with a portion of the expedition, Brodbeck and her closest companions diverted north into the mountains. We marched to pursue them, but it proved impossible to catch up before the snows began to fall in the high passes. Baron Erskine did manage to establish visual contact at one point.”

The spymaster stepped forward. “I found them sheltering in a minor rift at the summit of one of the peaks between Lucania and Elden lands,” he explained. “A truly desolate place; debatable which side of the border it would actually fall on. I took a shot, but the girl and her friends escaped on mana-constructs in the form of some kind of bird of prey.”

“That is consistent with our reports on what happened at Coral Bay,” Bennet added. “She seems to be using her magic to create enormous, flying birds as a kind of flying transport. We don’t have any way of following that. I presume she headed north into the lands of the Eld.”

“Courtesy of our ambassador in Al’Fenthia, I can confirm that,” Benedict said. “She’s been spotted by our troops there, making use of the waystone to move in and out of the city.”

“Seize her there – or better yet, kill her,” the dowager queen hissed. “She’ll be vulnerable when she arrives or departs using the stone.”

“That would be an exceptionally poor idea,” the king said. “The Eld are, apparently, on war footing. They’ve been gathering troops from at least half a dozen houses and funnelling them all through the waystone. The only thing that’s slowed them down is an ongoing eruption at the nearby rift. Any move against her on Elden territory would be, unfortunately, a provocation to war.”

“That’s fine,” Millie said. “We already have proof that she’s committed at least one murder, and then fled. She’s a criminal, and we can post a price for her head. She can do whatever she wants in the frozen north, mucking around with – whatever they do up there – but if she tries to return to Lucania, we have her captured and executed. If she goes to Whitehill, all the better – then we can finally charge Julianne with a crime. Harboring a fugitive.”

“We have sufficient cause for war already,” the king declared, with a dismissive wave. “I will prepare a proclamation that my dear sister has been charged with the crime of sharing the royal word of power illegally. As a result, her title and lands are forfeit, and she is commanded to surrender herself for trial. She will, of course, not do this. Lord Lieutenant Howe, consider yourself promoted to Lord Commander. I will be sending you with a regiment, as close to capacity as we can muster, to winter in Courland. Lady Cecily,” he called.

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Millie turned to watch her lady in waiting step forward from the wall of the solar.

“Yes, your majesty?” Cecily Falkenrath gave a perfect curtsy.

“You will accompany Lord Commander Howe,” King Benedict ordered. “You will help him to coordinate with your father. When the snows melt, Duke Thomas will support Lord Commander Howe’s march north into the Aspen River Valley with as much force as he can muster.”

“As you command,” Cecily said. The woman curtseyed once more, then retreated to her place at the wall.

“You should strike immediately,” the dowager queen argued. “The longer you give that bastard to prepare, the harder this will be. She’s got a low sort of cunning that’s kept her alive this far, and she isn’t to be underestimated. Use the waystone at Bald Peak.”

“Julianne Summerset has been fortifying the pass into the valley for months,” Baron Erskine countered. “She has the advantage of fighting on her own terrain, and she’s won the loyalty of the Crosbies by fighting for them personally at the Foundry Rift – and naming one of the younger sons a baron. If we send a force into those mountains during the winter, we’ll lose every one of them to cold and starvation, if not her troops.”

“Time is to our advantage, mother,” Benedict explained. “We have the greater population, the stronger economy. By the time winter has passed, we will have a second regiment ready to send to Bald Peak, behind her lines. At the same time, it will give Genevieve time to recover. We need her healthy in order to counter Julianne.”

“You shouldn’t need an archmage to crush someone who left Coral Bay early,” the old woman insisted. “And her husband’s been crippled for years. The son’s lost an arm as well, hasn’t he?”

“She has Luc,” Millie said, though arguing against her grandmother was uncomfortable. “I’m not sure anyone who hasn’t imprinted that word truly understands how destructive it can be. If you don’t have someone on a level to take the fight to her, she’ll annihilate an army from her walls.”

“I have a request, your majesty,” Bennet said, once there was a moment of silence.

“You’ve showed good judgement thus far, and avoided costing us politically,” Millie’s father said. “Ask.”

“I believe it would be prudent to hold the wedding before I depart,” Bennet said. “You have only a single heir, your majesty, while Julianne has, in theory, two – with, for all we know, a third on the way. We don’t want to allow her to make any argument that she would make for a more secure succession in your place. If the princess were pregnant by the time the assault on Whitehill began, that would raise morale substantially.”

Millie’s heart pounded. On the one hand, she found herself irked that Bennet hadn’t discussed this with her before bringing it to her father - after all, it was she who would be monarch, one day, not him. At the same time – he’d only just returned to the capital, and there truly hadn’t been time for them to meet. She’d come to the solar as soon as she had word of his arrival, and he’d been obligated to report to her father immediately.

Then, too, the idea of an impending wedding night – no months or years in the future, but now, as soon as possible – was not objectionable at all. And her betrothed was correct: having a child would only strengthen Millie’s own claim. The business of having the child wasn’t something she looked forward to, but the political advantage was worth it.

“I believe the Lord Commander has a point worth considering, father,” she said, before he could speak up and render a decision. “We should send Bennet north as a prince-consort, fighting in your name.” Quite deliberately, Millie rested a hand on her belly. “Please allow me to do my own part in securing our family’s future.”

The king tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well. I will contact the temple of the trinity when we are finished here to arrange for the ceremony. The holiday will be good for the city, in any event.”

“In that case, my granddaughter and I have much to discuss,” Dowager Queen Milicent declared, rising from her seat. “Give your pretty young officer a kiss, girl, and come with me. Wedding planning is not the sort of task one leaves to a man, even a king.”

Millie jumped up from her own seat, crossed the carpet in just a few steps, and reached out to embrace Bennet. “Have dinner with me this evening,” she murmured in his ear, then kissed his cheek again. Soon enough, she would not need to present such a chaste image.

“Of course,” Bennet said.

Before Millie could walk away from him, he caught her hand, raised it, and bowed just enough to kiss her knuckles. Millie’s gloves prevented Bennet’s lips from actually touching her skin, but she felt a blush come to her cheeks anyway.

Her grandmother snorted, then pushed the door open and burst out into the hall. Millie hurried to catch up, but when her ladies in waiting made to follow in their wake, the dowager queen waved them off. “I have things to discuss with my granddaughter alone,” the old woman said. “Make yourselves useful and go find the queen. She’ll want to be part of the planning. We’ll meet you all in Queen Artemisia’s chambers by the next bell.”

Millie was able to bite her tongue until they’d left Cecily and Evangeline behind, but no longer. “This can’t just be about the wedding,” she guessed.

“Hush until we’re safe in my chambers,” the dowager said, and both women remained silent until the guards had let them through the door. The old woman led Millie through her sitting room and deeper into the suite.

It was the same set of rooms that Milicent of House Sherard had occupied from the very moment she’d arrived at the royal palace, as a young woman, decades before Millie was born. While her grandmother had been languishing in exile, the rooms had been sealed, and Queen Artemisia had never shown the slightest desire to take the chambers over as her own.

The dowager led Millie into her private library, and then over to a particular bookcase, built into the wall. She removed an old and tattered history, reached into the gap left behind with her hand, and did something that Millie couldn’t see. There was a click, and the bookcase swung open like a doorway.

“It’s an old trick,” Milicent admitted, “but still one of the best ways to conceal a doorway. Come along, girl.”

Millie hurried after her grandmother into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything until mana stone in the ceiling lit with a cool blue glow, and then she gasped.

The two women were standing in a shrine – though not a shrine to the trinity. Instead, set against the far wall was a statue of a pregnant woman. Her hair had been ornamented with lengths of yarn, giving the illusion, in the dim light, that it might actually be real. Beneath the statue was a basin stained with rust.

“One of the old gods,” Millie said. That much was obvious.

“The most useful to women in our position,” her grandmother said. “Sitia may sanctify marriages, but the Lady of Changes makes no guarantees about birthing heirs. For that, you must pray to the Great Mother.”

The dowager crossed to the far side of the room and threw a piece of canvas back, revealing a cage of rabbits. They woke at the sudden light, even if it was dim. Millie’s grandmother opened a hatch in the top of the cage, reached in, and extracted a rabbit, holding it with one hand under the chest. Then, she beckoned Millie over.

“Go ahead and take one for yourself,” the old woman said. “Quickly now, and mind you don’t let it bite.”

Millie hurried over, reached in, and lifted one of the rabbits. It was so soft, she couldn’t help but smile and clutch it to her chest. Her grandmother replaced the canvas, and then brought her rabbit over to the basin.

“Listen, and pray as I do, for yourself,” the dowager commanded her. “Great Mother Ractia, Lady of Blood, I beseech your blessing,” she prayed, getting to her knees with some difficulty. “Quicken the womb of Beatrice Summerset. Give her a child, Great Mother, I ask you. Accept my sacrifice in token of my faith.”

Sacrifice? Beatrice? Before Millie could say anything, a dagger was in her grandmother’s hand, and then the dowager drew it across the rabbit’s neck as easily as threading a needle. Blood gushed from the rabbit’s throat into the rusted basin.

Not rust, Millie realized. Old blood.

“Now, girl,” the old woman hissed. “Two goals at once. An heir for us, and a mage pulled from battle on their side.”

Millie hesitated a moment, and then kneeled at her grandmother’s side. “Great Mother Ractia, Lady of Blood,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I beseech your blessing. Quicken my womb. Give me a child, Great mother. Accept my sacrifice in token of my faith.”

Her grandmother passed her the bloody dagger. In Millie’s arms, the rabbit trembled, so warm and soft that she wanted nothing more than to bring it back to her bed chamber and sleep holding it in her bed, all through the night.

Instead, Millie sawed at the rabbit’s throat with the dagger. Hot blood erupted all over her hands, her dress, all over her, and she couldn’t help but cry out. She felt hot tears leaking down her face as the rabbit in her arms died.

“Good,” her grandmother said. The old woman folded Millie into her arms and stoked her hair gently. “You did well, my dear. You did well. You’re strong like I am – not weak like your mother.”