Estefania couldn't sleep after the dinner. Her room was far too comfy and lavish. It almost made her miss her cell at the monastery. She didn't need cushy furniture or bright colors decorating every surface. 

Solomon had told her that this was the life a princess was expected to live. She'd read about such extravagance, but she'd gone without for so long that she just supposed that she'd never live like this. She had some memories of being small and running through the massive Saharite castle, but the place had been built from sandstone and favored natural beauty. 

Her bed was far too soft, and someone had thrown dozens of embroidered pillows onto it for decoration. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to throw them to the floor or sleep atop them unceremoniously. The former made them obsolete, and the latter was wildly uncomfortable. 

After the clock that chimed every quarter of an hour marked midnight, she decided she couldn't sleep. She put on one of her embroidered Saharite robes and walked into the hallway. She didn't have a destination in mind, but she needed space and possibly night air. 

The first thing Estefania discovered was Cyran nights were colder than even the desert ones. The moment she stepped out of her room, she regretted it. The stone corridors seemed to make the castle even colder. She shivered and took a torch from a bracket so she could see and warm her hands. 

Estefania followed the torches back downstairs. There were a few servants about cleaning up, but they didn't dare approach her. After all, she was a foreign princess. Her sister might live here but Estefania herself was a stranger to Cyra. 

Dinner was a disaster. Fletcher had hardly spoken to her. The king made dozens of lewd jokes, and Estefania wondered if he perhaps lusted after his own son's betrothed. The princess knew the king looked young, but he was at least in his mid-forties. It made her skin crawl to be looked at in such a way by an older man, a feeling that lingered long after the meal was over. 

The queen hadn't been much better. She'd spent the entire dinner comparing their looks. While her son Lorenzo had tried his best to run interference, it certainly hadn't made her feel welcome. If the Cyran king and queen were going to treat her like this, why had they betrothed her to their son?

Fletcher wasn't much better. The prince was like ice. She wasn't sure he looked her in the eye the entire meal. Avangelique had chattered to him and tried to get him to talk to her, but he hadn't so much as looked up from his plate until the dessert course came. Then he tried each pastry at the table with a fork and knife, taking a single bite and wrinkling his nose each time before moving on to the next.  

Her sister claimed he'd been doing that for a week ever since Fletcher had come back from a party in Nene. She didn't know what it was about since she wasn't allowed to travel outside of Cyra, but she guessed it had something to do with his good mood when he'd come back that had quickly soured the more baked goods he attempted to consume. 

The ballroom beside the great dining room led out into a set of gardens. Estefania wasn't used to seeing anything quite as green as the Cyran garden. It was full of tall little trees that were sweet-smelling and reminded her of mint. They had curious little brown cones that adorned the trees and marked the edges of the path fallen between clusters of bright purple flowers. 

A fountain was frozen up the path beside a bench where a woman sat. She was middle-aged and wore black furs and a crimson cloak. Her graying blonde hair hung around her face like a bedded lover, and her eyes met Estefania's in the dark as the princess walked up the path. 

"Good evening," the woman's voice was gentle. "You must be the new princess."

"My name is Estefania de Sahar," she said. 

The woman pulled a red rose off a bush and tucked it into her hair. "My son mentioned you. He came back tonight with the Rangers."

Estefania nodded. It didn't make a lot of sense for a woman to sit outside in the cold, but the woman seemed warm enough in her furs. She spotted a thin gold chain around the woman's neck that ended in a ruby, so she guessed the woman wasn't a servant. 

"I only saw my son for a few minutes tonight," the woman said. "He claims he gets too emotional when he sees me. I mean, that's what mothers are for, but he'd prefer to shut himself off from everyone. He thinks it's safer."

Most of the Cyrans she'd met so far were cold. She didn't blame the woman's son. This court caused people to be guarded. She was grateful it hadn't rubbed off on her sister. Avangelique had the opposite problem. She was too talkative and trusting. 

"What brings you out here?" Estefania asked. 

The woman gave a pithy laugh. "My lover was bored and I like the cold night air. It makes me feel real even after all this time and reminds me of magic."

"Magic?" Estefania frowned. 

The woman threw her hair back. "When I was young, the fairy empress tried her tricks on me. She said I'd make a good member of her order, and I said I'd rather marry rich and live family with my children. Look at me now. I'm nothing more now than a wealthy bedwarming widow whose son would rather traipse all over the country than come home to our estate. I guess I stay here so I can at least be close to him."

Estefania felt a swell of pity for the woman. "So you wish you'd taken her up on her offer?"

"Gods no," the woman said. "The fairies all died, and I do love my son. Though if I'd granted wishes, perhaps my family might have been spared tragedy. Do you know what it's like to lose a child, princess? Terrible business. It ruins worse than anything else."

Her father had willingly given her to the care of the Brothers. Prince Hadrian hadn't fought his mother's orders to send his children into exile. She'd never gotten the impression that her father, when she visited, even missed her much. 

"I'm sorry," Estefania whispered. 

There were steps behind her on the garden path. Estefania turned to see Nathaniel strowing up the path dressed in a guard's uniform. He looked from Estefania to the woman, and his brow furrowed. 

"Mother," he said. "I've told you that sitting out in the cold is bad for your constitution."

Estefania's eyes widened. This woman was Nathaniel's mother? He was the son that she was discussing. Nathaniel stepped forward and helped the woman up. 

"Than," the woman whined. "I was enjoying the night."

Nathaniel shook his head. "No, you do this every time Father throws you from his room. Go inside and back up to our family's suite. You shouldn't let the king keep pulling your strings like this. It won't bring back Caitryn."

His sister. His mother had lost a daughter. Nathaniel hadn't talked much about Caitryn, but if it was painful for him, there was no doubt that it was equally painful for his mother.

Nathaniel whistled, and two servants ran up the path to heed his summons. The marquis instructed them to take his mother back up to her room. Then, once they were headed towards the castle, he turned to her. 

"I apologize," he said. "For my mother's behavior. The Dowager Duchess de Ryne is never quite herself at this hour."

She took a step towards him and shivered. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

"You're cold," he said and took his cloak off to wrap around her shoulders. "We should get you inside too, princess."

She leaned into the warmth of the fabric. "I'm fine, and I liked your mother."

"She's a beautiful soul," he said. "Even if she does chase her pain in strange ways. It's been a long time since I've seen her happy. That's why I keep looking for my sister. Maybe if I find her, there's a chance I could bring my mother back to the woman she used to be."

It was admirable. Nathaniel cared about his family. It showed that he would do anything to save the people he cared about. 

"I've barely been given a chance to know my own family," Estefania said. "But I would do anything to keep Avangelique and Bastien safe."

Nathaniel bit his lip. "I know you would, Nia. You will probably be the most selfless queen Sahar will ever have. Those Brothers really made you strong."

Her face heated slightly, and he set his hand on top of hers. The heat traveled from her face all the way to her toes. She smiled and looked into his deep green eyes. 

There was something intoxicating about being this close to him. She resisted the urge to sink into his arms and warm up even more. He smiled at her again, and her heart skipped a beat. 

She blinked hard and tried to remember why she was here in Cyra. Her betrothal was to Nathaniel's brother. She was promised to Fletcher. She couldn't afford to be distracted by his half-brother. Especially since her grandmother had made this match for a reason. 

Nathaniel leaned in close. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a red envelope. He handed it to her and pressed it tightly to her hand. 

"This came from the Diwan's son, Lord Zaxten de Bine, straight from the Saharite capital," he said. "He delivered it to me tonight after the party. I haven't opened it, but I know it's from your grandmother."

Estefania nodded. She remembered chasing Zaxten up and down the halls of the Saharite palace when she was small. The Bine family were old allies of the throne, and Zaxten was a year older than her. She'd wondered more than once before her betrothal with Fletcher if her grandmother might want to ally her with the Bine family. 

If Zaxten had traveled this far north with a message from her grandmother, it must have been something she didn't want the Cyrans to know. Also, if Zaxten had trusted Nathaniel to get her the message, that showed maybe she was right to trust the marquis. 

"Thank you," she glanced at the letter, noting that the ornate wax seal was still in place. "I should retire and see what my grandmother has to say."

She allowed him to lead her back into the castle. They made their way up the massive grand staircase, and she went right at the top towards her guest suite, where he headed in the opposite direction. She was sad to see him go, but the letter was burning a hole in her pocket. 

Estefania finally broke the wax seal when she was alone in her room. The paper was heavy, and the ink strokes across the page were bold but shaky. 

Estefania, the highest daughter of Sahar,

I write to you from my deathbed, for I fear that I shall not rise again. I tell you with the utmost confidence that the doctors do not think I will survive the month. I must ask you and your affianced to come to Sahar and to come as soon as the Cyran balls of celebrations are completed. 

I know sending you to Cyra first was selfish, but we need this alliance, Desert Rose. Cyra has the ability to feed our people, but their king has refused all other pathways. I hope that you will understand our breaking of tradition was only to ensure our people's survival. 

Keep your head high. You are my heir and my vision when I am fading. Estefania, you are not forgotten, and your people await your return in desperation. It is my hope that you will rise to the occasion and be a greater queen than even I.

With love,

Queen Blythe de Sahar 

Estefania stared at the paper with shock. Her grandmother was dying. The realization took the breath out of her lungs. In a very short time, she could be queen.