Mina Louvet waited anxiously inside the anteroom, just behind the throne of Castle Dragon, to enter the grand hall for the royal ceremony, imperial proclamations, and what amounted to the first official day—without any secrets—of the sapphire dragon’s rule.

The first official day of her rule as the queen of Dragon’s Realm.

Every important dignitary in the Realm was in that throne room: every general, every regent, and every constable. The courts of Castle Dragon, Castle Warlochia, Castle Umbras, and Castle Commons were assembled before King Dante as well. The high mage and the entire Warlock’s Council on Supreme Magic and Mystical Practices, minus Kristof Nocturne, were assembled by rank, region, and mystical position. The king’s witch, Willow; Castle Dragon’s steward; its chamberlain, chaplain, and treasurer—along with an unusually large delegation of Malo Clan giants—were all assembled in that blasted hall.

Mina felt as if she were going to retch.

Her stomach was queasy, her skin felt pasty, and she could’ve sworn her hair—which was wrapped in a dozen intricate plaits, interwoven curls, and chiffons—was beginning to droop. Never in a million years when she had entered the castle as a slave—as one of three subservient Sklavos Ahavi—had she dreamed she would walk in again, thirty-one years later, as a queen.

“How are you holding up?” Thomas the squire strolled into the room, his bright, hazel eyes alive with renewed hope and purpose.

Mina pressed her hand against her lower belly. “Are my parents here?”

“They are,” Thomas answered softly.

Mina nodded. “And Raylea?”

“Close to Prince Damian as always.”

Mina shuddered: Prince Damian. Great Spirit Keepers, King Dante was going to have to change that…

King Dante.

Her knees grew weak.

Thomas stepped forward to catch her, gently propping her up. “Milady, are you okay?”

Mina placed a hand on his shoulder, took three slow, deep breaths, and nodded. “Thank you. And milady…it isn’t necessary, Thomas.”

“Oh,” the squire argued, “but it is. You had better get used to it: milady and my queen.”

She blinked rapidly, her lashes fluttering in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. “Do you think Prince Dante still wants me?” she asked, sounding like an idiot, even to herself.

Thomas laughed heartily. “Um, yes. I think he’s been clear on that point for decades. And it’s King Dante—try to remember.”

Mina brushed the back of her hand over her brow. “I could use some chamomile tea, perhaps with a driblet of whiskey.”

Thomas chuckled softly. “After the ceremony, my queen.”

She nodded. “Then it’s time?”

“Almost time,” Thomas answered. “First, there is someone who has been wanting to speak with you, a very persistent young lady, and I thought I would bring her in before your attention is consumed by matters of court for the rest of the day.”

Mina frowned. She tried to smooth her unrumpled gown, the myriad of golden layers falling in a gilded cascade from her waist to her hips, to below her quivering knees. She tried to adjust her hair.

Thomas grasped her wrist. “Mina. Calm down. I think this visitor will help. I think she will boost your spirits.”

“Very well,” Mina rasped dryly, and then she sighed, “but just tell me now, so I’m not caught off guard. Is it a witch or a member of King Demitri’s staff, someone I should be wary of?”

Thomas just shook his head and laughed. “Why don’t you see for yourself?” He paced to the door, pried it open, and peeked out into the hall. “Mina,” he whispered, “the queen will see you now.”

Mina? the queen thought. Perhaps Thomas is cracking up, too. Perhaps he’s not quite as composed as he seems.

A beautiful lass, perhaps twenty-nine or thirty, strolled purposefully into the antechamber, wearing a simple dark brown chemise over a plain white pleated skirt. She stopped several feet shy of the Sklavos Ahavi and curtsied. “Milady.”

Mina pinched her brow before forcing her arms to her side and drawing back her shoulders. “My servant.” Great Nuri, that sounded preposterous.

The beautiful woman smiled—she was obviously human—neither a witch nor a bitter employee left over from King Demitri’s reign. She placed her hand on her chest, and her eyes instantly brimmed with tears. “Like yours, my name is Mina. Mina Brouchard. My father was a shoemaker named Jarett, and my mother was a seamstress named Anna. Sadly, they have both passed away.” She closed her eyes briefly. “The fever that swept through the commonlands several seasons back.” She took a moment to regain her composure. “But that is not why I’m here…why I begged to see you, if only for a moment.” She wrung her hands together, and for the first time, Mina Louvet could see just how nervous Mina Brouchard truly was.

“Go on,” the former prompted. “Do not be nervous, girl. I come from the commonlands as well, from a simple farm in Arns, as you likely already know. There is no need for consternation in my presence.”

The commoner blinked several times, folded her fingers together, and pressed on. “I don’t know if you remember her, but several decades ago, my aunt Jacine was placed in your service. She accompanied the royal caravan of Umbras to the sands of Dracos Cove as a maidservant, prior to the infamous battle when King Demitri slayed the Lycanian fleet.” She glanced to the side, almost as if in remorse, an unspoken apology for mentioning the late king’s name. “At any rate,” she continued, “she asked a favor of you. She asked you to hold my mother’s hand. You see, my mother, Anna, had suffered five miscarriages, the last nearly killing her, and she was at Dracos Cove as well. She was part of the caravan of merchants and laborers from the southern province, those who traveled to the beach to support the soldiers—to feed them, attend to their wounds, build weapons and repair apparatus. She was also pregnant again at the time, and—”

“Your aunt believed if her sister Anna could only hold the hand of a Sklavos Ahavi…” Mina interrupted before her voice trailed off.

“Yes,” the commoner said. “Then you do remember?”

This time, it was Mina Louvet who closed her eyes, even as she caught her breath. “I remember,” she said softly, slowly raising her lashes.

“I was that unborn child,” Mina Brouchard offered, although the queen had already pieced the facts together. “Her first, her last, and her only. I am alive because of your kindness.”

Mina Louvet cleared her throat. All she needed to add to her sickly complexion, wilting hair, and upset stomach were swollen, bloodshot eyes, yet a single tear escaped anyway. She stepped forward and grasped the maiden’s hands in her own. “Mina,” she said softly, now understanding the true significance of the girl’s identical name. “Your mother’s condition changed my fate…forever. Without going into detail, I will simply say she did me a tremendous favor as well.” Jacine, the maid, had switched clothes with the cornered Sklavos Ahavi, allowing Mina Louvet to slip out of the tent of Umbras undetected, allowing her to make her way to the traders’ encampment, where she later made love to Prince Dante Dragona for the very first time, where she conceived Prince Ari and set the chain of events in motion that led to the real Prince Damian’s demise. “I am forever beholden to your aunt, and to your mother, for making that desperate request.”

Mina Brouchard appeared to glow with pride…and love.

She reached into an old, tattered satchel slung over her shoulder, and withdrew a lovely wreath of flowers. “I made this for you. The flowers were grown in our garden, and I’ve pressed and preserved them. I would be honored if you would keep them at Castle Umbras.”

Ah, Mina thought, so she didn’t know…yet.

That Mina Louvet would be residing at Castle Dragon.

But then, how could she? The true assignments, identities, and appointments were yet to be made public.

Mina accepted the wreath with deep appreciation and gratitude. “Thank you so much, Mistress Brouchard. I will cherish them always, more than you know.”

The lovely maiden’s answering smile lit up the room as she stepped back, curtsied once more, and turned to leave, her chin held just a little bit higher.

A soft knock came against the antechamber door—three hollow taps from inside the throne room—and Thomas gestured toward the hall, bowing deep: “It is time, my queen. It is time.”