Trynne walked down the quiet corridor of her mother’s castle. It was the home of her childhood, and it caused her pain every time she returned. She loved the sculptured pillars with the symbol of the triple faces on them, the strong smell of eucalyptus, and the tall windows that let in light through gauzy curtains. But every room held ghosts from her past, invoked memories of her missing father. She knew the cadence of his tread, and her ears constantly strained to hear a sound that wasn’t going to happen.

The rich history of Brythonica had played a large role in her childhood stories. It was an ancient place, one whose history went further back than Occitania or Ceredigion, and when Sinia was young, it had been a self-ruling duchy of Occitania. But the Occitanian king had tried to force Sinia to marry him, which had caused her to seek an alliance with Ceredigion. It had been a dangerous and delicate maneuver, but her mother had managed to pit the two kings against each other while retaining Brythonica’s sovereignty.

The reason her mother had fought so hard to retain her position was because a Montfort needed to rule the duchy to maintain its boundaries against the Deep Fathoms. The line had almost been broken when Sinia’s parents couldn’t bring a living child into the world. Their grief had been shattering, especially since they’d known what it meant: their duchy would be swallowed up by the sea when the duke died. The grieving parents despaired, not knowing what they could do to save the kingdom. They were willing to do anything to appease the Fountain, to spare the population from drowning.

The answer was waiting for them one day on the shore of what was now Sinia’s favorite beach. A newborn baby girl. An Ondine—a gift from the Fountain.

Most people were superstitious about water sprites. They could not be immersed in water, for their very skin repelled it, and the water rite had been developed in ancient times to prove whether a foundling had been naturally born.

Sinia’s true identity was a closely guarded secret. Beyond her family, only the palace staff knew the truth of her sacred origins. As a water sprite, she had not possessed a soul until she kissed a human—Owen. Their marriage had changed her and made her human.

And now her grief for him was diminishing her.

“My lady!” chuffed the court steward, Thierry, when he rounded the corner ahead and nearly stumbled into her. He had served the Montforts for a long time, as had his father and grandfather before him. Thierry’s hair was spiked forward in the Occitanian fashion, as usual, but it was well nigh all silver now. “I had not known you were coming today! Your mother will be grateful to see you. Let me alert her that you’ve arrived from Averanche.”