Vesna was talking about her family, likely that they were making the move from their small village in Jovea to Cel Ceredi this week. Adrian had appointed Tanaka to find them a small space to rent after I had asked to relocate them. I had many reasons for the request—I did not like seeing Vesna so sad and preferred that she was able to return home to her sisters nightly, and perhaps I felt just the slightest bit of guilt given that I was the reason they were fatherless, but I had not thought beyond the knife in my hand when the man had come to my court, offering his daughter to my husband as a concubine in exchange for immortality.

So I’d taken Vesna and offered him the opposite.

While I knew how Vesna was handling the situation, I was not so certain about her mother or her two younger sisters. I had taken a husband and a father, and despite his abusive nature, emotions always complicated truths.

Would they see me as their liberator or a murderer?

And did it even matter? I was their queen.

I pushed those thoughts aside and entered my chambers. Violeta and Vesna stopped speaking and stood immediately. I could not help the suspicion that clawed at my stomach with their sudden silence.

“My queen,” they said in unison, dipping into curtsies.

“I have much to attend to today,” I said, crossing to my armoire to choose a dress. I had no intention of languidly preparing for the day. I felt as though that luxury was gone, suitable only for a queen who did not intend to rule.

“Of course,” Violeta said. “Will you not eat first, my queen?”

“No,” I said. Even at the mention of food, my stomach twisted. Everything I had consumed since my father’s death tasted burnt, but I offered no explanation.

I had no doubt that the two were attempting to abide by orders Adrian had given, but little could be done when I refused.

I chose a dress—light blue with gold threading. The neckline was scooped, the skirt, though tulle, was sleek, and the sleeves were long, which would keep me warm enough within the castle walls as the storm moved in.

Once I was changed, I smoothed my hair in the mirror. Normally, Violeta would attempt some sort of braid or twist, but I only needed it tame enough to wear my mother’s pearl tiara. It seemed fitting, on the heels of my father’s betrayal, to honor her memory instead. Though it did not feel sufficient, I had little else. My attachment to her and her people was an ache I felt deep in my bones. It was part of my soul that had fractured at birth and would never heal.