The door to the study creaks when I ease it open, echoing throughout the dark, quiet house. My mother has made only one request since my father went missing—we refrain from going into the space which was solely his. Not knowing how long he will be gone; she wants to ensure that he has a familiar place when he returns to us. It's a simple request, which I've abided by until tonight.

I walk around the cherry wood desk and place my crown with an envelope addressed to my mother on the top. It would be easier just to slip out of the house without a trace, but it would also leave my mother to wonder if I left my family and my duty to run away to Stigian. I can't do that to her.

My fingers glide along the arm of my father's high-back chair and I ease into it. The black leather has molded to his stalky frame, and I lean into the indentations and close my eyes. I imagine being a little girl, sitting on his lap while he worked. He would let me "help him" stamp the wax seals on his correspondence to the king or one of the many military camps scattered throughout Lucent. The job was simple, but I felt like I was doing something noteworthy when I was with him.

It couldn't have been easy to juggle children and his duties to the king, but he did. In the middle of the day, he would join us outside. We learned to wield weapons, how to make the most of nature, and at night, he would tell us the most spectacular stories. He never turned me or my siblings away when he was home, saying he served the crown but belonged to his family.

My chest tightens at the thought. He doesn't just belong to us; he belongs with us.

I carefully open the bottom drawer of the desk and reach to the very back until I find a small compartment with a key inside. I move to the cabinet across the room, my boots feeling like iron, thumping against the wooden floor. It takes my trembling hands several tries to slide the key into the lock, and I cringe as the door squeaks open. Lined inside are different weapons—axes, bows and arrows, spears, and swords. I remove a black sheath engraved with daisies, fasten it to my waist, and search for a particular sword. The pommel is a silver flower and the blade narrow and light. My father had the weapon crafted just for me after I showed discipline in wielding a sword. I take the beloved gift and secure it to my side.

After relocking the cabinet and placing the key into its hiding spot, I stand in the middle of the office. I soak in all the details which are a perfect representation of my father—the old map of one kingdom before it split in two, the medals representing the battles he fought in, and the gorgeous painting of my mother hanging over the hearth. I long to smell wood burning as it warms the room and miss the scent of the cinnamon sweets he kept on his desk lingering on his clothes. Our home is a shell of what it once was without him in it.

Brushing the backs of my hands over my eyes, I slip through the door and gather my satchel from the hallway floor.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

I stifle a yelp as my brother steps out of his room and crosses his arms over his naked chest. "Statera curse you, Rowan," I hiss, placing my hand over my heart.

He cocks a dark eyebrow and looks down at me like his height gives him some authority. He outgrew me two years ago and soon after took on the muscular frame like our father's. The obnoxious giant forgets he is not the highest-ranking person in our home, and Mother can put us both to shame with a simple glare.

"So, where are you off to before sunup...with a sword?" he asks.

I shift side to side and purse my lips. It was foolish of me to think I could sneak away with no one catching me. Like me, my siblings have become light sleepers, hoping every click and snap in the night is our father walking through the door. As time as passed, we've rationalized the sounds, blaming it on the settling house or the wind. Every new excuse has smothered our hope until it is nothing more than coals smoldering deep inside us. I'm happy to add kindle to the flame and renew the possibility of Father returning to us.

"Micah knows Papa was kidnapped, and his soldiers are looking for a way to bring him home. I'm going to find them and help," I say.

Rowan's blue eyes light up and his freckled cheeks ball with a smile. "I'm coming with you."

"No!" I grab his arm before he can rush into his room. "You have to stay and take care of Mama and the girls. You promised Papa you would always look after us when he was gone. And besides, you're only sixteen; they won't let you stay and fight."

"Does Micah know you're going?"

"No, and I think it's best I not share that conversation with you. So, please don't say anything for as long as you can. I need a head start."

Rowan pulls on his dark hair and puffs out his cheeks. He doesn't like to lie and withholding the truth doesn't sit well with him either. In so many ways, he would make a better sovereign than me. He's blessed with the same physical strength as our father, easily sees the right and wrong in all situations, and cares deeply for those in his keep. He wouldn't let them down, just as he will do his best not to disappoint me.

"Do you really think you can find him and bring him home, Elle?"

Rowan and I pause, and I force my lips upward before turning toward the small voice across the hall.

Ansley looks even younger than her seven years. The nightgown she undoubtedly stole from Salone's dresser pools around her small body, and her wavy hair is a golden-orange halo around her head.

I take a knee before her and meet her big brown eyes. "I promise to try my best."

"You'll be queen, and it's your job to help people. I believe you can do it," she says with a weak smile.

I pull my littlest sister into my arms and squeeze. We all miss Papa, but no one in this house needs him as much as Ansley. He should be teaching her to hunt and ride and telling her silly stories about his youth. She's missing out on so much precious time with him, and it is up to me to remedy that.

I push past the tight knot in my chest and say, "I hope you're right."

"I am," she whispers, brushing her small, soft fingers over my cheek.

With a last hug, I stand and find Salone next to Rowan. She holds out a long-hooded coat and says, "It will be cold, Your Grace."

I look down at my black tunic and the low cut of the neckline. Although pretty, it will do little to protect me while I ride tonight. I slide my arms inside the sleeves of the offered coat, and Salone pulls it over my shoulders. She could easily be resentful that Micah chose me to be the queen. Instead, she volunteered to stay by my side and assist me. Custom dresses, makeup, and hair have always sparked her creativity. She lights up like the afternoon sun when choosing my clothes or applying my blush.

Salone finishes buttoning me in and says, "Please bring him home, Elle."

Knowing my voice will fail me, I gather her in my arms and cling to her. Salone has spent hours on end quietly listening to the things worrying me. She has a way of saying what I need to hear at the exact moment I'm ready to hear it, and she knows how to calm me. Her gift as a Pianti differs from our mother's power; she isn't able to control plants and bend them to her will. The Statera gifted her with a subtle power.

She calls upon the scent of lavender to envelop us and says against my neck, "You're doing the right thing."

I pull away with a nod.

With one last look at my siblings, I straighten my satchel and slink out of the house.

I creep into the stables on the far side of the property and saddle my father's black stallion. The massive beast snorts as I mount him but gives little protest when I urge him toward Lucent's gates.

Oil burning lamps and storefronts line the main cobblestone street. During the day, shoppers crowd the sidewalks, and at night, the more adventurous set out for the pubs and street festivals. But at this hour, there is nothing but the chirping of crickets. I pull the reins and steer the horse into the alley between two buildings. With my eyes closed, I will the unsettled nerves stewing inside me to calm.

"Easy, Nortus," I whisper, brushing the horse's mane.

I've only been beyond the wall a handful of times and always with my father. He was careful to keep me within sight, and we never traveled after dark. I pride myself on facing this situation on my own, but I still need a little help. I've never been to the military camp which is my father's home away from home, and I need an unexpecting guide to lead the way.

The clapping of hooves echoes through the street, and I sit straight. The closer the galloping gets, the faster my heart races. I adjust the hood of my cloak and grip the reins. Nortus stomps backward, swinging his head from side to side. I chant for him to steady and focus straight ahead. The rider flashes past—a blur of black and brown. I take a deep breath, count to ten, and spur the stallion forward.

Looking up from under the brim of my hood, I catch the guard at the gate wishing Captain Stone safe travels. She forgoes the pleasantries with me as I speed past, keeping my head down. She most likely thinks I'm just another deserter abandoning our kingdom for Stigian.

Leif doesn't let up; he rides hard and fast. I grit my teeth against the burning in my thighs and aching ass. Mile by mile, my horse slows, and I struggle to keep sight of my best friend in the gentle light of the early morning. Nortus hasn't taken this journey in a long time, and I fear pushing him any harder might injure him. The old horse must withstand the half a day's ride to Basecamp.

We round a curve in the road and the branches of tall trees arch to block out the royal blue sky. A shiver runs down my spine as the leaves rustle despite the absence of wind. Aggressive animals are known for roaming these woods, as are people who don't want to live under the rule of the king or queen. The heels of my boots meet the horse's side, pressing him on, and I lower my body to his back. He pushes forward, and just as quickly, his front legs lift from the ground. I grip the saddle horn, but he bucks again, and I sail through the air. My back slams to the rocky dirt, leaving me gasping for breath.

Scurrying to my hands and knees, I stare at the ground to regain my bearings.

"Nortus." My throat burns from the absence of air, and I struggle to project my voice. "Nortus!"

My ears strain, hoping to hear horseshoes against rocks, but there is nothing but the early morning song of the birds...and shuffling feet.

I slowly lift my chin to find three very sharp swords pointed at me.