I shake my head as I gather my thoughts. “You didn’t misjudge, Your Grace, but I don’t believe I have misjudged my sister, either. Whenever she is found, I know she will have a reason for her absence.”

At this, the king smiles. “You are very sure of her.”

“I haven’t always been,” I reply honestly. “But her heart is true.”

“I trust your judgment, Lady Shirene. You are my voice, after all.”

He knocks twice on the door before entering. The prince’s room has changed a little day by day. First, a bed was brought in for Prena, then another for the queen herself, who refused to be even a room’s distance from the prince. Both are there when we enter.

“How is he?” the king asks, walking directly over to his son. When Prena hesitates to answer, I know it’s not good. As the healer and king talk, the queen stands and comes over to me. Like the king, she is dressed in midnight blue: a color to catch the mood of our past days.

“Did you get a good night’s rest, Sentinel?” she asks.

“I did, Your Grace,” I reply. “Though I am sorry to have not been around when you asked for me.”

“I am glad you got some sleep” is her reply. “Skies know we need it. Follow me, please.”

The queen leads me back into her chambers and toward a large chest at her bedside. Reverently, she kneels and lifts the lid with a quiet determination. Inside, a lightly tarnished set of silver armor sits nestled on heavy blankets. The queen picks up the helm, its color distinctly different from the rest. Light reflects off the rainbow patina of the metal.

“This set was gifted to me when I became queen. Skies knows how old it is, but it fits better over a gown during military ceremonies. Just for show, of course, but this helm is my own from when I was a warrior,” she says. “What is your custom piece?”

“My shield,” I reply. “My father was a warrior, and that was the piece made for him as well.”

Queen Laianna stands, still holding the helm firmly in her grasp. “I know I cannot,” she says, voice trembling with a rage I know I can’t fully understand. The rage of a mother’s heart. “But if I could, I would fight.”

My own heart clenches. “I know you would, Your Grace.”

She straightens as she looks to the windows. “You remind me of myself,” she says. “I was scared to accept the king’s hand, but I accepted, anyway. I’ve seen you grow in these past days.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” I say with a nod. “It is my duty. Loyalty above all.”

“Above all,” she echoes. “Sentinel, I would ask something of you.”

“Anything, Your Grace.”