Ice-cold rain poured down in sheets. It had penetrated through Quilla’s heavy cloak and everything beneath. Her clothes clung to her shivering body, her hood to her hair, and her hair to the side of her face. Freezing water ran between her eyes and over her nose. It was horrible and she felt she might freeze to death at any moment. It was also somehow enjoyable.

It was like a mirror to her mood and that was appropriate.

People usually associated rage with heat, but really, cold was a better fit. Heat slowed a person down. Cold made them more alert and ready to move. Quilla was ready to tear the gate open if she needed to, both out of rage and a desire to get out of the cold.

Cold also fit being miserable, which was pretty much her eternal mood these days.

But she enjoyed the idea that the weather was just as miserable as she was, along with the possibility the man on the other side of the gate was even more miserable. If he wasn’t, she’d make sure he became more miserable by the time she was done with him.

She’d been through this gate many times in the past, but Garet had always been with her, and the gate might as well have opened of its own accord for him. The guards always moved fast to let him pass. On her own, the gate remained stubbornly closed, the guards making no move at all, nor this blasted courtier.

Maybe if she was lucky, the rain and sleet would strip the gold from the bars, to spite the family living on the other side. There was nothing Quilla would love more than to see their precious wealth gone—visibly gone, that is, so a dull grey gate would fit that desire perfectly.

“Name?” the courtier said.

Was he an idiot? “I told you my name. Quilla Steranovist, Prince Garet’s fiancée. I have an important message for the King. You must let me in to speak to him.”

“The King is a busy man, miss, and can’t meet with just anyone with no notice. If you’d like to petition for a formal audience—”

“I’m Prince Garet’s fiancée! The King will want to see me. I bear important news.”

“Can you prove your identity?”

Quilla steadied the quivering of her lips and spoke slowly. “The King knows me. He will recognise me when he sees me. Now, will you let me in?”

“I will deliver your request to his Majesty,” the courtier said.

Zandrue leaned over Quilla’s shoulder. “We’re all known to his Majesty. We can also confirm Quilla’s identity.”

Quilla waved her hand at Zandrue. “I can manage on my own, thank you.”

Zandrue backed off. “Sorry, just trying to help.”

The courtier had turned away and was mounting a waiting horse. He soon galloped off.

Quilla bit her lip and turned to Zandrue. “Sorry,” she spat—more harshly than she meant.

Zandrue raised her hands and backed off some more. “Think nothing of it.”

Quilla closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. She used to be so much calmer. When Garet had still been around. He’d always had a way of sucking her nervous energy into himself. She’d felt at such peace in his presence. When he wasn’t around, she reverted to impatience with everything. Now he was never around. Now he was… Gods, she could barely even think the word. Dead. That was the fucking word. Dead. Now he was dead, it was like she’d taken all his impatience into herself as well as her own. She wasn’t sure she liked herself like this.

Head hanging low, she walked back over to the small gazebo petitioners used while they waited. Rudiger huddled there, looking over the horses, which were tied up just outside the gazebo. Quilla began to pace, but there wasn’t much room, especially after Zandrue joined them, so she contented herself with giving one of the many bear carvings on one of the posts holding the gazebo up a solid kick. She wasn’t nearly strong enough to knock the gazebo over, but she could imagine she was. It wasn’t that she wanted to harm herself, Zandrue, and Rudiger by bringing the gazebo down on top of them. Just the idea of wanton destruction of royal property was comforting.

“They’ll let us in,” Rudiger said. “The Queen’s probably delaying things to annoy you.”

“It’s working.” She kicked another bear carving.

An eternity passed.

The wind picked up, blowing rain into the gazebo so there was no longer any way of keeping dry. Typical. The gods were deliberately making her life worse. It was the only explanation.

At last, the courtier returned on a different horse. He dismounted and approached the gate.

Quilla nudged Zandrue. “I actually wouldn’t mind support.” They approached the gate together.

The courtier was a tall, skinny Folith dressed in a soggy, heavy coat with the bear sigil of Arnor. At least he looked as affected by the weather as she was. Quilla had seen those coats dry and they looked a lot better than the one that now drooped and clung to his soaked body. She was also fairly certain she had seen him on previous occasions in the Royal Palace, though she wasn’t sure. He hadn’t even bothered to give her his name on this occasion.

He spoke as she and Zandrue reached the gate. “Their Majesties, the King and Queen have declared that you may not enter unless Prince Garet himself is here to verify your identity.”

Quilla grabbed the bars, ignoring how cold the metal was. “You know he’s not here! I’ve told you that! I have a message for the King about the Prince!”

Two guards moved to either side of the gate, hands on the hilts of their swords. Quilla removed her hands and stepped back. The guards let go of their swords and returned to their posts.

“They have also authorised me to carry any written messages Prince Garet may have sent with you,” the courtier said. “You may pass any such messages through the bars to me and I promise you, they will reach the King’s eyes.”

“There is no written message because...aargh!” She kicked the ground. Zandrue tried to grab her hand, but Quilla pushed aside and turned away from the gate.

“Look,” Zandrue said, “you said we could petition for an audience. Is that still possible?”

“It is,” the courtier replied.

“How long will that take?”

“It depends on the King’s schedule, but generally no more than a week or two.”

It was that bitch Queen. She was responsible. There was no doubt.

“Is there any way to expedite that?” Zandrue asked.

Quilla spun round and lunged at the gate. The guards be damned! “He’s dead, all right? He’s fucking dead! And if the King wants to know what happened to his son, then he’ll damn well see me because I’m not going to say another fucking word about it until he does! Got that?”

The courtier took a step back from the gate, shaking. Even the guards paused in their advance.

“D-dead?” the courtier stammered.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Zandrue nodded. “I’m afraid it’s true. You’d better go tell the King, and be quick about it.”

The courtier stumbled back to his horse, mounted, and took off.

Quilla screamed, fell to her knees, and pounded the ground. A hand—Zandrue’s—touched her back. Her first instinct was to push Zandrue away again, but she stopped herself. Instead, she stopped hitting the ground and put her arms around Zandrue, gripped her tightly, and wailed.

As best she could remember, there hadn’t been a day since leaving Getavin she hadn’t cried in Zandrue’s arms at some point. She’d held back the tears from Ninifin to Getavin, just long enough for Felitïa to be gone. She hadn’t been about to give Felitïa the satisfaction. But after that…

“This is all Felitïa’s fault.”

Felitïa had said to blame it on her, but Quilla doubted she’d meant it so literally, because as far as Quilla was concerned, Felitïa really was responsible. Not for Garet’s death—though she might as well have been—but for everything else. If she had come with them, they probably would have gotten in to see the King right away.

Or perhaps not. Felitïa had been banished, after all. But worst case scenario, she could have used her spells to get them in.

Quilla had trusted Felitïa. Trusted her completely. Considered her a friend. But then she’d not only refused to come to Garet, her own brother’s funeral, she’d also taken off with Quilla’s son. Quilla knew Corvinian hadn’t accepted her as his mother yet, but how was he supposed to get used to her if she couldn’t even see him? If he was on the other side of the fucking continent?

Zandrue had defended Felitïa’s actions, too. Every time Quilla remembered that, she did what she did now: pushed Zandrue away from her, wiped her tears—not an easy task in the driving rain—and turned away. She stormed back to the gazebo. “You might want to be ready to fight, Rudiger, because I’m about ready to start caving in a few faces, and when I do, the guards will come en masse.”

Rudiger glanced up at her and looked about to say something, but then laughed. Did he think this was a joke? “Borisin says he doubts it’ll be very effective, but he’s ready to help if you need him.”

Quilla looked at the big roan horse, who stared back at her for a moment. Then he shook his head, splashing water from his soaked mane all about, though it was barely noticeable amidst all the other rain. He snorted, and for a brief moment, Quilla felt like laughing. It had been an eternity since she’d last felt anything similar.

Then she remembered why she was here, and that she couldn’t tell the King his son was dead because of stupid politics and prejudices, and the feeling was gone.

Another eternity passed.

Quilla spent the entire time staring at puddles on the gazebo floor, and watching the rain hit them.

“Someone’s coming,” Zandrue said.

Quilla jumped to her feet and ran to the gate. Sure enough, a rider on horseback was approaching, though as the person got closer, it was clearly not the same courtier as before. The rider was inexperienced and had difficulty stopping the horse, and then needed help from the guards to dismount.

The rider was wearing drenched furs that clung to her tall, slender frame. Her normally curled blonde hair clung to the sides of her face and neck in thick, wet clumps, a pair of bright red ribbons threatening to slide out. Her wide, blue eyes were red and she sniffled as she approached.

“Hi Quilla,” Princess Sinitïa said. “Is it true?”

Stolen novel; please report.

Quilla nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Mother’s really angry at you. She was yelling and saying she wants you banished like Felitïa. She says it’s all yours and Felitïa’s fault. And Father…” Sinitïa scrunched her face and squinted her eyes. “Father started to cry. I’ve never seen him cry before.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “And I cried, too, but I cry all the time, so that’s not really a big deal. But I can’t stop crying!”

Tears were forming in Quilla’s eyes again, and she sniffled in time with Sinitïa.

“Is Meleng here?” Sinitïa asked.

Quilla shook her head. “He was banished, remember? He couldn’t come.”

Sinitïa sniffled again and wiped her nose. “I know. I just thought maybe… It was silly.”

“I have a message for you from him, though.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

“It’s packed, but I’ll get it to you as soon as I have a chance to get out of the rain and go through my things. If they ever let us in.”

“I’ll let you in!” Sinitïa stepped back from the gate and called out, “Open the gate!”

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” one of the guards answered. “We need authorisation.”

“I’m giving you authorisation. They’re my friends. Let them in.”

“I’m sorry, your Highness. We have very specific orders that you cannot override. The gate stays closed until we have the proper authorisation.”

“But that’s not fair! They’re my friends. Annai gets to bring her friends in. So does Cerus and Gabriella and Malef and Pastrin and Thilin and everyone.”

“Sorry, your Highness. There’s nothing we can do.”

Sinitïa scowled.

“There’s someone else coming,” Zandrue said. “I think it’s our friend from earlier.”

Sure enough, another rider was approaching the gate.

“He’s sure as hell not my friend,” Quilla said.

“You weren’t supposed to come up here, were you?” Zandrue said.

Sinitïa looked at the ground and shook her head.

The courtier dismounted. “Your Highness, you shouldn’t be here. The Queen is worried sick. You’ll have to come back with us.” He went over to one of the guards, taking out a sealed piece of parchment from inside his heavy coat. He handed it to the guard.

The guard looked at it, broke the seal, and read the contents before the rain made the ink unreadable. “Open the gate! King’s order! Open the gate!”

Two guards on the inside ran up to the gate, one with a key he slid into the lock. Sinitïa and the courtier backed up far enough for the guards to pull the gate open. Rudiger began gathering the reins of the horses as Quilla walked straight into the Palace grounds. She walked straight up to the courtier.

“You will follow me,” the courtier said. “Do not—”

Quilla slapped him with every ounce of strength she had. He reeled back several steps.

Sinitïa gasped.

The nearest guard put his hand on his sword and moved towards Quilla. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she hissed at him.

The guard didn’t stop moving. His hand gripped the sword hilt, and he started to unsheath it just as Zandrue stepped between him and Quilla, a hand on her own sword. “You heard her.”

The courtier came forwards again, hands raised, palms outwards. “It’s all right. Leave her be.”

The guard backed off.

The courtier turned back to his horse. “Please mount your horses and follow me.”

Rudiger led Tepin and Lucinda over. He handed Tepin’s reins to Quilla and Lucinda’s to Zandrue.

“That horse looks familiar,” Zandrue said, indicating the horse Sinitïa had ridden up on.

“It’s Livia,” Sinitïa said. “Felitïa’s horse. She won’t mind, will she?”

Zandrue smiled. “I’m sure she’ll be fine with it.”

Quilla mounted Tepin and rode straight out, past the courtier.

“Miss, please follow—”

Quilla ignored him. She knew the way and she wasn’t about to waste any more time on that ass.

She used to enjoy the Palace grounds and gardens, but now they were just reminders of a life now gone. For the entire mile to the Palace, she paid her surroundings no more attention than was necessary to keep Tepin on the path. She didn’t even look back to see if the others were still there, though she did catch sight of Rudiger and Borisin as she circled around the Great Bear Fountain. They weren’t far behind—probably holding back a bit to give her space. Wise move.

A crowd of servants was waiting in the courtyard when she arrived. Several of them rushed over to her, one offering his hand to help her dismount. Quilla ignored him. As soon as she was on the ground, the others took Tepin and led him away.

Quilla headed straight for the line of soldiers on the Palace steps. Behind her, Borisin made protesting whinnies as servants tried to take him, but she still didn’t look back. She walked straight past the soldiers to a pair of men at the top. The elderly, mostly bald man she recognised: Ardon, Patriarch of the Universal Church. She recognised the other man too, though she wasn’t sure of his name. A high-ranking member of the Kingsguard, he stood tall with brown hair and a trimmed moustache. If Quilla remembered correctly, he had helped bring Felitïa to Arnor City what seemed an aeon ago.

The Kingsguard snapped to attention as she approached. “My Lady, his Majesty the King awaits you. Please follow me.”

She let him lead. Although she knew her way around the Palace well, it was a big place and there was no telling where the King would be right now.

Ardon fell in beside her. “My condolences,” he whispered.

Quilla bit her lip to stop from saying something nasty, which was all she could think of to say to anyone right now, and Ardon didn’t deserve it. She’d save her bile for the Queen.

The King was waiting for her in the audience chamber. Typical. They were going to do an extremely personal thing in a place of formalities. The Queen’s hand was behind this, Quilla was sure.

The King slouched in the Bear Throne, his face and eyes red. Queen Annai sat beside him, the permanent scowl on her face deeper than ever. She had one hand on the King’s, while her other scratched and prodded at her neck and chin.

Several of the King’s children stood in the room in front of the thrones. Princes Malef, Pastrin, and Thilin stood side-by-side. Quilla had never really gotten to know those three—they spent most of their time hunting—though Thilin had always got on well with Garet, so she knew him a little better than the other two.

Standing apart from the three princes was Princess Annai. She was wearing a purple mourning veil at odds with the low-cut flowery gown she was wearing. The mismatch was likely because she hadn’t had time to change since learning the news and had simply thrown the veil on, though Quilla found it disgustingly disrespectful.

She wondered where Cerus was. He was good at de-escalating situations, and she suspected his skills would be needed soon.

Gabriella was missing too, though she was often away. A shame. Quilla liked her.

Armed and armoured guards were spaced along the perimeter of the hall, ready to rush to the King and Queen’s defence if necessary. Quilla paid them little mind. She strode across the hall and knelt at the foot of the steps to the thrones, near the feet of Prince Pastrin. She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. “Your Majesties, thank you for agreeing to see me.”

The Queen scowled down at her. “We have agreed to see you because of the nature of the news you claim to bring. This had better not be a trick.”

Quilla bit her bottom lip. “A trick? Why would I lie about something like this?”

“How should I know? Perhaps just a desperate ploy to get in here when Garet’s not with you. Did he discard you finally? Are you here trying to cling to something you can never have? No one here ever expected your marriage to happen. Garet was bound to bore of you eventually.”

Quilla could only stare at her.

“Assuming what you say is true, where is his body? The King would like to see it.”

“I—”

“Captain DeSeloön, what of the body?”

Quilla glared at the Queen, and held back an outburst.

The Kingsguard who had led her here stepped forwards. “They do not have a body with them.”

The Queen leaned forward and looked back down at Quilla. “No body?”

“There was no—”

“You have the gall not to bring the body back here for a proper burial in his family mausoleum? What did you do with it? Leave it on the road somewhere to rot?”

That was it. “Oh shut the fuck up, you stupid, pathetic woman.”

Princess Annai gasped.

“How dare you—” the Queen began.

Quilla jumped to her feet. “How dare I? How dare you? If you’d give me half a chance to explain what happened, you might get some answers. Instead, all you can be bothered with is your own personal grudge against me. You’re sad and pathetic, so shut up and let the grown-ups talk.”

“I will not tolerate—”

“Yes, you will. Banish me if you must when I’m done, but you are going to listen to every word I have to say first, or I will hound you for the rest of my days.”

The Queen sprang to her feet. “No. I will decide when you speak and when you do not. You have no authority here. Just because you managed to charm yourself into Garet’s bed does not give you access to his birthright. Captain DeSeloön, arrest this whore. I want her out of my sight.”

“Don’t you ever call me that again.”

“What, whore? Yes, Garet and Felitïa both said something similar and where did that get them? Dead or banished.”

Quilla moved towards the Queen, but Captain DeSeloön grabbed her arm. “My Lady, don’t make this harder on yourself.”

Malef, Pastrin, and Thilin stepped closer to each other to block the way to the Queen. Thilin gave Quilla a sad smile.

She pulled herself free of DeSeloön’s grasp, though she didn’t continue towards the Queen. Zandrue, Rudiger, and Sinitïa stood just inside the doors of the room now. She didn’t want to get them in trouble too, so for the moment, she let her anger stew.

“Perhaps I might intercede for a moment.” Patriarch Ardon stepped in front of Quilla.

The Queen rolled her eyes. “You always do.”

“There has been a terrible tragedy and we are all naturally distraught and on edge. Perhaps we should first take a moment to learn what has happened. That way, we may know where to direct our grief.” He looked to King Wavon. “Your Majesty, what is your verdict in this regard?”

The King shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he stood up and motioned the Princes and Patriarch Ardon aside. The Queen watched him, her upper lip trembling, as he descended the steps to Quilla. He spread his arms. “May I?”

Quilla bit her lip again. She hadn’t expected this. She almost shook her head no. How could she let him touch her after this charade of an audience. But he’d always been good to her in the past—provided she ignored how much he let the Queen get away with. So she nodded.

The King embraced her in a tight bear hug. Just as she thought she might lose all sensation in her upper arms, he let go and kissed her forehead. Then he returned to the Bear Throne, slumping back again as soon as he’d sat down.

“Your Majesty,” Quilla began, but the King held up his hand.

“You will have a chance to speak.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I know that, of all people here, you have lost the most, more even than I have, and at the moment, I find it hard to imagine loss greater than mine.” He leaned forward and took the Queen’s hand. “Annai, as Ardon said, we are all distraught with grief. Can we not find compassion and lenience at this time?”

The Queen looked at him, her lip still trembling. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped as tears began to flow down her face. She nodded once, then turned away, shifting in her seat and turning her head so that very little of her face was visible to the rest of the room.

Quilla resisted the urge to spit at the woman. Was she really going to play for sympathy?

“Captain DeSeloön,” the King said, “you may disregard the order to arrest Miss Steranovist.”

Captain DeSeloön bowed.

“Now then, Quilla, I would like…” The King paused as his voice cracked some more. He wiped a tear from his eye. “I would like to hear what happened to my son.”

Quilla bowed. Now that the moment had arrived, she wasn’t sure where to start. Her lips had gone dry and felt like they would crack with any movement. She tried to wet them, but couldn’t produce any saliva. Her whole mouth had gone dry. No matter. Best to get on with it.

So she told them what had happened in Ninifin.