All my life, I’ve been told how horrible the country of Montovia is. As I grew older, I realized it wasn’t Montovians that were horrible—something terrible happened in my family to make them feel that way. Something terrible must have happened to my father, too, as he’s taken up the feud even more than past generations. He’s never revealed that secret to me, though perhaps he’s revealed it to my brother.

Reginald’s rage runs too deep for it to have been caused by only my father’s stories of the atrocities of Montovia, and he’s also had a number of run-ins with the Montovian princes, which certainly might contribute to my brother’s anger

Reginald breaks into a run when he gets to the bottom of the stairs, still cradling his injured hand.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Our countries are not so different that we couldn’t find common ground—

“You’re sure you’re all right?” William places a hand on the shoulder where Reginald had grabbed me, startling me from my thoughts. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” I pull his hand into mine. “I’m much more concerned about you. You…you hit your head pretty hard, William.” Tears fill my eyes. “This fighting…it needs to end.”

He runs a hand through his hair, probably checking for injuries. “I seem to be no worse for the wear. I’m sure I’ll feel differently about it tomorrow, however.” He grins at me, an obvious ploy to cover his anger with my brother. “It always hurts worse the next day, so we should take advantage. Enjoy today—”

“William.” My voice is much softer than I expected—the past few times he’s thrown punches to defend my honor, I’ve been pretty upset with him. Today, however, I would have joined the battle. “I mean it. I—”

“I’ll not allow anyone to speak of my wife using such horrible terms.” He takes a step toward me, releasing my hand so that he can slide it around my waist. “I will always defend you.”

I tilt my head to look up into his eyes, lifting my hand to straighten his mussed hair. “I appreciate that, William. I do, but I wasn’t speaking of only you. The fighting—the feuding between our countries—it has to stop. I know the troubles are old—”

“Centuries old. Maybe older than that.” He catches my wrist, pulling it away from his hair to place a kiss on the back of it. He looks into my eyes for a long moment. “I brought us breakfast.”

Laughter spills from me at his unexpected change of subject. “William—”

He motions with his head toward the spilled cup of coffee on the top of the steps. “I hope you didn’t need coffee, my love. But I think our pastries survived.” He releases his hold on my waist before he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a bag. “I know it isn’t oatmeal, but shall we?” He motions to a nearby bench. “I also know it’s chilly out here—it’s why I brought the coffee—”

“It’s perfect.” I pull his hand into mine again, leading him over to the stone bench just outside the library.

We sit, and he hands the bag to me. “I’ll let you choose first, seeing as you’re eating for three.”

“I wouldn’t call what I’m doing at the moment eating, per se.” I smile up at him. “But I appreciate the gesture.” I look in the bag—there are several pastries in there, all broken and combined. “But it looks like we both get to taste them all.”

He looks down into the bag before he gives me a sheepish grin. “Perhaps my little scuffle was worth it, if only for the interesting mix of pastries, then.”

I lift a brow. “I don’t think I’d go that far.” I pop a piece of a chocolate pastry in my mouth. “But this is very good.”

“I can go back and get us another coffee, if you like. And whole pastries—”

“Don’t you dare.” I smile at him. “I rather like this. Sitting here, eating broken breakfast food with you. It’s much better than oatmeal.”

He grins. “I rather like it, too.”

“Though I do think you should be examined by a physician. I…I heard your head hit the ground, William. It…” Honestly, the memory is still making my stomach turn over on itself.

“Perhaps it knocked some sense into me.” He smiles, grabbing another bit of a muffin. “Though, I do hope your brother seeks some medical attention. I’m fairly sure he broke his hand.”

I look down at my lap, trying not to feel guilty for being almost happy that my brother finally suffered some consequences for his actions. He tries to raise hell wherever he goes, often trying to rope other royals into his shady games. I’d heard about the Prague incident with William’s brothers through the grapevine—it might have been the entire reason for Andrew’s original plan to put on his pageant to find a wife. And since that incident led to my marriage to William, perhaps I have my brother to thank for it after all. I suppose things might have gone a little better—been a little less violent, anyway—but I’m sure William and I never would have married if I hadn’t been part of that charade in the first place.

William is silent for a long moment, too. He finally speaks after eating several more bits of breakfast. “Do you…do you know what he was talking about?”

I look up at him. “Which part? About my being a whore—?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, taking another bit of muffin and stuffing it into his mouth. He looks away from me—we can see a large part of the campus from this vantage point, but I know he’s not admiring the lovely view. “No, I meant the bit about Montovia being ruined.”

“I…I don’t.” I chew on my lip for a few moments. When we were in the Rosvalian palace, William always suspected there was something going on in the east wing. And perhaps there was. But even if my father and brother were planning some battle, they would never allow me to be privy to that information.

He finally looks over at me. “I believe you.”

I lift a brow. “Good. Because I’ve always told you the truth, William. I have no interest in any feuds—I hope you know that about me by now.”

He pulls my hand into his. “I do. I trust you. I’ll admit, I had my moments—there was a time when I was sure you were in on their plans.”

“He…my brother might have been making idle threats. He’s been known to do that. Perhaps…perhaps it’s nothing. Maybe he was embarrassed that you won your little fight out there…” I motion to the spot where they’d had their scuffle a few moments ago. “Maybe he was trying to make you fear for something more than yourself.”

William pulls my hand into his. “Don’t you see, though? I’m not thinking of myself. I’m thinking of you…our children…” He searches my eyes. “Our future. And I think that should include the fate of our countries. For all our sakes—our children are half-Montovian, are they not?”

My other hand finds my abdomen, almost involuntarily. “I suppose they are.”

“And I want them to know that part of their heritage. I want them to know both.” Something clouds his expression. “I know…I know you don’t like to talk about it, Justine, but…” He lets out a sigh. “This is bigger than both of us. We have a chance, the two of us—a chance to change our fates. The fates of our countries.”

My stomach churns again at the direction this conversation is going. I know I need to think about it—especially in light of Reginald’s threats—but the thought of actually ruling my country makes me physically ill.

“Justine…” His voice softens, and he pulls my other hand into his, turning his body so that he’s facing me. “I know it isn’t what you want to hear—I know your family has been telling you since birth that you’re not fit to be queen—”

“Because I’m not.” I shake my head. “I don’t…I don’t have the same sensibilities my father and Reginald have. I don’t—”

“But that isn’t a bad thing, my love. That’s…that’s a good thing, at least as far as Rosvalia is concerned. I wish you could see yourself the way I do—the way your people do. They adore you.”

“They only adore me because I try to give them what they need. I can’t do what they actually want—”

“That is why they love you. Because you care about their needs. Because you can see past the pettiness that has festered inside that palace for centuries. Have you looked at Rosvalian history at all?”

My shoulders drop—I do not want to have this argument again. “Of course I have. All Rosvalian children study the history of our country. I’m sure you had to study Montovian history—”

“I did. You’re missing my point.” He frowns, shaking his head. “There’s been one Rosvalian queen in the past three hundred years, right?”

“William—”

“Let me finish.” He searches my eyes again. “One queen. She ruled for forty years, right?”

I give him a single nod of my head. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“Her reign was the only peace Rosvalia had known in centuries. And it lasted the entire forty years.”

I shake my head as tears fill my eyes again.

“It’s your birthright. I know this isn’t the time—I know you’ve had it drilled in your head that you’re unfit. But it’s your birthright in more ways than one, isn’t it?”

“William…don’t—”

“What was her name?” He smiles down at me. “I just want to hear you say it.”

I close my eyes for a moment. He’s right, of course—my family has told me since birth that it didn’t matter that I was the first born and next in line for the throne. They’ve convinced me that even if I do produce the required four male heirs, that I’ll never be fit to rule my country. It’s going to take a lot more than William saying some kind words to convince me otherwise.

“Please? I just want you to say her name.”

I open my eyes and look up at him. “It isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It will to me.” He releases my hand and places it on my cheek. “Please?”

My heart hammers in my chest—the strange mix of emotions would probably make no sense at all to anyone else. But it means nothing. Her name means nothing. I’ve been told for so long that I mean nothing, that I’m not sure how I can change that now.

“Please?” His eyes are pleading with me, almost shimmering.

My eyelids flutter closed again—I’m not sure I can make eye contact with anyone. It doesn’t matter, I remind myself. None of it matters. It doesn’t change anything.

I steel myself as I open my eyes, squaring my shoulders, almost as though I’m about to enter a fight.

“Fine,” I finally say. “Her name…her name was Queen Justine.”