Giles’s pale, freckled face shone with excitement as he jabbed one finger at his own skinny chest. Of course Giles would love to be a king! Then he could force everyone to listen to his songs whether they wanted to or not.

Rosalind shook her head fiercely, pointing at her own chest … and then, shrugging, she pointed to Cordelia.

It was true. None of them knew who had been born first.

It could be any of us.

“I told you years ago,” their mother snapped, “my family renounces all claim to the Raven Throne. Let it go to any fool who wants it—anyone but my children. Take it yourself, for all I care!”

The bear-leader let out a wordless growl. “If you think—!”

“You may have given up the throne on your children’s behalf,” cut in the wolf-leader, “but—forgive me, Madam—they inherit through their father, the late duke of Harcourt, not through you. His family will never allow you to deprive his heirs of their rightful position.”

“Rightful position?” Mother’s voice rose to a shriek of fury. “I’ve seen what happens to the pawns in this battle! The moment my children leave this forest, they’ll be targets for every rival to the throne. How many of your great kings have ever survived more than a year after their own coronations? And how many—”

“I’ll chop off your head myself before I allow you to steal my cousin’s legacy, witch!” the bear-leader bellowed back. “You’ll never stop his child from inheriting the throne!”

Arrows flew at his roar, a clap of thunder sounded from Mother’s outflung hands in return, and screaming harpies made of ivy launched themselves from the castle walls.

As the scene outside devolved into pointless fighting, Cordelia sighed and scooted backward, leaving her space at the windowsill to her siblings. Over the years, she’d had more than enough experience watching Mother fight off everything from giant, rabid bears to the most terrifying magical workings created by Connall in their joint practice-battle sessions.

It wasn’t as if human soldiers could offer her any challenge by comparison.

The others shouldered into Cordelia’s abandoned space immediately, their eager gazes fixed outside. Rosalind’s right arm jerked back and forth, making sword-fighting gestures as if she could implant herself in the battle by sheer force of will. Even Connall was fully focused on the conflict as he leaned above the other two.

So no one noticed when Cordelia shifted into a small brown mouse and skittered across the stone floor, away from them.