He stopped himself, remembering the question he’d failed to ask at the onset, his entire focus on the birth of the son he was supposed to be celebrating, the continuation of the great and mighty Vedran line. His teeth ground together hard enough to make his jaw ache. Now, he spoke the question through them. “Where is she? Where is the queen?”

The midwife peered around her wall of hands, eyes wide and fearful. “I tried to stop her, but she pushed me over, Your Majesty. I hit my head.”

“Where in the names of the Five Gods did she go?”

“I know not, but she took Edward with her, Your Majesty.”

Artemus froze where he stood. “Edward? Explain your fool mouth before I cut your tongue out.”

“Your other son, Your Majesty. The one who was born healthy and strong. She named him Edward. Magda and Beatty left with her, though I told them she needed to rest. They both did, mother and child. The labor was long and arduous.”

The king’s head was spinning now. She’d birthed two sons? Twins? That would certainly explain why her belly had grown as large as an overripe melon, forcing her into countless weeks of bedrest. “Who are Magda and Beatty?”

“The queen’s lady-in-waiting and wetnurse. They’ve been with her for years, Your Majesty.”

The note of reprimand in the midwife’s tone would normally have set his teeth on edge and drawn a stern rebuke from Artemus, but he was a practical man, and putting this woman in her place was the least of his priorities at present. “Do you expect me to learn the names of every peasant and sycophant in my realm, woman? Find her,” he said.

The midwife stood, curtseyed, and then scurried through the open doorway still clutching her head, which, he only just noticed, was bleeding from a small but rather deep gash. Artemus followed in her wake, unaware of the dead child that was still strung on one arm, as though an extension of his own body. “Guards! Locate the queen immediately!” he barked. “And my son. Find Edward!”

He stopped, surprised when his command went unheeded. Instead, his entourage of guards that lined the corridor stood so still they might’ve been statues, ornaments meant to adorn his palace halls. A strange woman stood between them, bathed in the pale light from the Nightdawn.

Well, “strange” was hardly sufficient a word to describe the figure blocking the way forward. She had the body and face of a woman, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of hair, she was crested with a complicated nest of vines twisting from her scalp. Rather than nails, her long, slender fingers ended in small, purplish leaves, thick and glossy-looking. Her toes, bare against the stonework, were the same. The long, white dress that ended just above her ankles and trailed behind her, shimmered as though inlaid with tiny crystals. And her face…