“It’s been a few weeks since we last met like this,” Duke Alan said. “I was starting to think you had forgotten about me, Your Highness.”

“And I was starting to think you were trustworthy,” she replied evenly. “Why didn’t you tell me that the 58th would be the one heading the army? I felt like a fool at the banquet.”

“Relationships must be give-and-take. Several times now, I’ve given you information that no one else would give, but you have yet to prove yourself trustworthy.”

“Duke Alan, you best watch your tongue,” Ninon said sharply. “The princess has promised to take action, and she will soon.”

“How soon? In a month or two, she will become a bride. While I have faith in the princess’ ability, I have doubts on how she will gain influence while she’s confined in some foreign lord’s castle.”

“That’s –”

“Enough, Ninon,” Caroline said. She couldn’t refute the duke’s words – the clock was ticking for her, and she hadn’t done as much as she had promised when she first established contact with Duke Alan. She had been twelve then, and fifteen seemed so impossibly far away. She had time, she’d told him, and she would make the most of it.

And she had made the most of it; there was just not enough time. She’d done her research on the many nobles in the kingdom, sneaking into the various parts of the palace with Ninon’s help and sifting through sheaves of documents and records. Surprisingly, the most valuable information she found was about the histories of noble families. If she wanted supporters, it was important to know the temperaments and desires of each family.

Of course, it’d all be impossible without the help of a member of the Royal Council. She chose Duke Alan for one reason: his family lineage was built through merit. His forefathers had served the kingdom as men-at-arms for generations, and King Maxime had finally rewarded them for their service by elevating them to high nobility.

“Ambition: common as rosemary,” her grandmother had once told her as they sat in the garden for their weekly picnic. “All these dreamers in the court.” She shook her head dismissively. “A man must prove that he can act on ambition. Ambition and action must be together.”

She knew she had been right to pick Duke Alan the first time they had met in secret like this. When she told him that she would be queen, he didn’t laugh at her or flatter her. He studied her as carefully as he was doing now before asking her why she wanted to be queen. When she gave her reason, he smiled and pledged to help her.

But two years had passed by as if they were days. She was steadily gaining support, but a noble’s verbal pledge of commitment was just one of many coins in his coin purse. If she wanted the entire purse, she needed ambition and action.

Charlie, her innocent, ineffectual brother, was perfect the way he was – his childish antics and general unruliness strengthened her claim to the throne. However, Gilbert, while only a baby, could create further divisions within the palace. And there was a more pressing matter: if she didn’t do anything, she would be married off soon. It was only fair that the duke was pressuring her.

Duke Alan smiled at her. “Don’t give me such a hostile look. I was just teasing you. I couldn’t have told you about the 58th because I had no idea. The king didn’t tell anyone about it beforehand. Everyone was caught off-guard. Well, everyone except Cardinal Eudes. Seems like he made some sort of deal with your father long ago.”

“Cardinal Eudes planned this?” she said with surprise. She had met the scholarly-looking man a few times when he was still a bishop; he’d given her scripture lessons whenever he came by the palace. Other than that, she didn’t think much of him.

“Don’t be deceived by his appearance,” Duke Alan said as if he could read her thoughts. “Or, rather, pay more attention to it. He was in his early thirties when he was appointed cardinal. It takes great merit to be a cardinal at such a young age. Great merit and great craftiness.”

“I hadn’t considered that,” she admitted.

“And have you considered why the cardinal chose Sir Roel as his champion in the first place?” he asked. She could tell from his wolfish grin that he was testing her, as he had done many times in the past.

She tried to recall what she had learned about the 58th in preparation for their meeting. “The cardinal was the one who nominated Sir Roel for the Battle of Wetshard. If I remember correctly, Eudes had just joined the council at the time, so he must’ve wanted to immediately establish himself by showing favor to the 58th. But…”

“But?”

“That’s the obvious reason,” she said. “There’s more to it, right?”

“Is there?” The duke was playing dumb, and she knew she was right. When she was still alive, her grandmother had told her about the deep, elaborate schemes of the Royal Council. Caroline had always taken them as entertaining stories filled with twists and turns, but it was only after she established contact with Duke Alan had she realized the truth in those tales.

She mulled over what little she knew of Eudes. “If the cardinal is as crafty as you say he is, there must be another reason.”

“Let me give you a hint: think about it from other perspectives. When Sir Roel emerged victorious from the Battle of Wetshard, why did the other council members not try to claim him? Why was it only Cardinal Eudes?”

“Isn’t that because – ah!” Some of the pieces were starting to click. “Because of his rank. The short-term benefit of claiming the 58th wouldn’t outweigh the long-term costs of not choosing a higher-ranked paladin.”

“So, why did the cardinal do it anyway?”

“There must’ve been long-term benefits. By choosing a paladin of such a low rank…” She thought of the most recent event, and she understood. “It allowed the cardinal to lay low. If he chose a higher-ranking paladin, the other council members would be cautious around him, and later, they would’ve never let him send his paladin to end the siege.”

Duke Alan nodded. “Four years ago, we all thought he was short-sighted for choosing Sir Roel. Now, it seems purposeful. It’s highly improbable that he was planning for this exact scenario, but some of it must’ve been part of his calculations. The 58th’s reputation grew tremendously, and the king was able to safely appoint him as commander despite not consulting with his council beforehand.”

“Seems like the nobles and other paladins aren’t too happy,” she said, recalling Sir Ignace’s disdain.

“Ah, yes, they’ve already taken to calling him the Pauper Paladin,” he said with a chuckle. “Despite how they might feel, they’re a minority of the population. Public opinion is everything. Look at the peasant crowds in the capital. They’re cheering for the paladin commander, their Pauper Paladin.”

“But I still don’t get it,” she said, frustrated. “Why did the cardinal want the 58th to be the commander of the Brackith army? It can’t be for the paladin’s sake. I met with Sir Roel today, and while he certainly seems like an honorable man, I didn’t see anything more to him.”

“You met with him already?” Duke Alan said with surprise. “You act fast, Your Highness.”

“Of course,” she said. “The road to becoming queen will be steep. I will take anyone who will fight for me.”

She decided not to mention Charlie’s role in the meeting. While he had ruined the mood, it was also possible that Sir Roel would’ve not shown up if not for the threatening letter.

“And what did you think of him?”

“Sir Roel is…” She recalled her conversation with the paladin and his somber story about Magerra. It had been a grisly tale, but she hadn’t been too surprised. Charlie had seemed to blame Duke Pinabel and the soldiers, but she knew where the true fault lay. Her grandfather was a better conqueror than a ruler. He was, unfortunately, a man of action and ambition – the brutal, violent kind.

What had made her angry about the story was the paladin’s intentions. Sir Roel had wanted to teach her brother a lesson – his eyes had stayed on Charlie the entire time, never once considering that a much more apt candidate for the crown was sitting across from him.

Aside from that, she knew she couldn’t rely on the 58th. From the first time they had met, the paladin had given her nothing but vague promises. Sir Ignace, for example, might not be a man of honor, but she would sooner trust him than Sir Roel.

“A man of little action and no ambition,” she concluded.

“Perhaps that’s what makes him so useful to Cardinal Eudes,” Duke Alan mused.

“That could be it.” She couldn’t fathom the cardinal’s motives, but after a moment of thought, she decided that it was low on her list of priorities. She needed to focus on her immediate circumstances.

“Duke Alan, you have served me loyally for the past two years, and I will meet your expectations,” she said. “I assure you that I’m laying the groundwork for what comes next.”

He stared at her impassively. “How so?”

“I am making preparations for the ball,” she said. This was the second reason she had called for him tonight. “As a council member, you must know who I will be marrying. In fact, it’s probably been set in stone the moment my father declared war. Am I wrong?”

“You are not,” he confirmed. “The Volshek Confederation is not known for its military strength, but it’s better if they’re with us than the Graecians.”

Dread filled her. She exchanged a look with Ninon, and the duke didn’t miss it. “Though it seems you already knew who we had chosen for you, Your Highness,” he said.

“I had hoped it was not true,” she said, unable to suppress the anger and panic in her voice. “Tell me it’s not. Lord Sigvard is a cruel brute. His fourth marriage, isn’t it? Surely, you know what happened to his previous wives.”

“He would not risk a war with Calorin by hurting you.”

She counted them on her fingers. “One beheaded, another died in a fire of unknown causes, and the most recent one is in bedlam.”

“Your father wouldn’t –”

“My father?” she repeated. “It was to my understanding that both you and my father voted to have me wed to Lord Sigvard.” It pleased her to see the surprise on the duke’s face. “You are not my only set of ears in the council, Duke Alan. Do you see now why I doubt your trustworthiness?”

To her dismay, he didn’t deny or object to her words. Not that he was the sort of man to do such demeaning things, but she had her hopes. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. “I swore to serve you, and I have never done anything that I did not think would be to your advantage. Believe me when I say that I truly support you as the next monarch.”

“You’ve sentenced your next monarch to death then,” she said coldly.

“A melodramatic way to see it.”

“There is only one way to see it.”

“I think your worries are–”

“I think you should leave,” she said. “I’ve tired of your presence for the night.”

“Very well,” he said calmly. “You should sleep soon, Your Highness. The Rite is tomorrow. Good night.” He gave a low bow to her, and after glancing out of her door to make sure that there were no guards in the vicinity, he left.

“Princess Caroline,” Ninon softly said the moment he was gone.

“I’m fine,” she said, but she accepted the maid’s comforting hand on her back.

She steeled her heart and resolved not to cry. She had learned from a different council member about her marriage partner, but she wanted to confirm it with Duke Alan, a more trustworthy source. Although it was unlikely, she had hoped that she would be married to a Calorin duke, but now that hope was gone.

She was running out of time. She had known this since she was a little girl and found her grandmother sitting and crying by the grove of yew trees in the garden. Despite being the queen, she had no servants nearby; she refused to let anyone near her while she was in the gardens.

“Why are you crying, Grandmother?” she had asked with a tilt of her head.

Her grandmother didn’t answer and continued to cry. She didn’t know what to do, so she sat down next to her and rested her head on her shoulder. After a few minutes, her grandmother stopped crying and seemed to notice her for the first time.

“Oh, Care-line,” she said quietly in her thick accent, missing the middle syllable of her name. “Care-line, how long have you been here?”

“I don’t know. Why are you so sad, Grandmother?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You were crying.”

“Yes.”

“What were you crying about?”

“Nothing,” her grandmother repeated.

They sat in silence for a moment. She had never spoken to her grandmother before; she had heard that she couldn’t speak Calcais or that she was even a mute. She stared at her grandmother’s forearms, her olive skin – it was nothing like her own pale skin that she had inherited from her mother.

Her grandmother began to hum. It was a strange tune, low and throaty.

“What are you singing?” she asked.

“You don’t know?” Caroline shook her head. “It’s from your land. Sir Gabin and the 27 Knives.”

“Hum it again,” she said.

So, her grandmother hummed it a second time and then sang it the third time:

Sir Gabin had twenty-seven knives,

Twenty-seven lives,

he was owed

One for his gold,

Two for their holds,

And twenty-four

for his friends in the cold

From then on, they would have weekly picnics in which her grandmother would tell her stories, ones that involved the political conflicts between nobles and kings. Being a foreigner, the queen heard a lot of things around the palace that others assumed she wouldn’t understand. They were hardly the stories that a young girl should be interested in, but Caroline found them enchanting.

At some points, her grandmother would interrupt the story to express her own opinion. She didn’t mind this either; she loved hearing the passion and contempt in her grandmother’s voice. It was abundantly evident that her grandmother hated Calorin, that she resented how she had been forced to leave her home to marry King Maxime.

Other times, her grandmother’s stories would hardly be more than vivid descriptions of her homeland: the rolling hills, the cry of eagles near the craggy shores, the long expanses of green and blue. It was a narrative of long pauses, sometimes because her grandmother didn’t know how to translate a word and other times because she was so lost in nostalgia, a peaceful expression on her face.

The queen always ended those stories the same way. “Don’t be me, Care-line,” she’d say with a sad shake of her head. “Not me.”

The Lost Queen, they called her. There were many reasons. She never participated in the court, only appearing at ceremonies and banquets in which her presence was required. Instead, she spent most of her time in the gardens, turning away any servants or nobles that came to see her. Finally, her homeland had been sacked many years ago, a decision approved by her own husband.

So, when Duke Alan had asked Caroline why she wanted the crown, she had thought of her grandmother, the Lost Queen, with a heavy heart.

Caroline would play the naïf, the pure-hearted damsel, but she would not be one. She would not stand by to be traded off as a broodmare. She would not wait quietly as the days passed by her like clouds, and she would not wither away, confined to a foreign land and an even more foreign man.

“Because I must be queen,” she told him.