The curtains across the room had hazed in and out with a breeze that didn’t reach us. The stagnant air festered with the smell of slimy salves the servants had left behind.

“Someday this will be yours.” She’d taken her crown from the table next to her bed and placed it on my head. It slid down my forehead, covering one of my eyes. She smiled and pushed it back up, balancing it on my brow. “It might seem heavy now, but it will only be heavier then. Always remember what it means to wear this.”

I straightened the crown on my head. “Do I look like you?”

“Of course you do. You look like both your father and me.” She pulled me closer, stroking my hair. “You also have the strength of your father and my heart. Your father will expect you to become hard. He’ll want you to channel his strength, especially when you fight in the arena for the crown.”

I nodded. Even then, I understood what would be expected of me if my mother had another girl.

“I don’t want . . .” She trailed off as her face scrunched inward, and she clasped her belly. She inhaled sharply, but after a few moments released her breath. Her face relaxed. She took a moment to focus her breathing before she continued. “I don’t want you to forget that sometimes being the strongest isn’t about having the most physical strength. Control isn’t strength. True strength is about being kind. It’s forgiving wrongs with words and not with swords. It’s about caring for our people, standing for those who cannot. You are their voice. Never forget that.”

I nodded again.

She cupped my chin. Her green eyes were weary, and yet there was still a fierceness to them that wouldn’t let me look away.

“You will be a great leader.” Another spasm of pain racked through her body. “Promise me you’ll look after our people.”

“I promise,” I replied.

A small amount of tension left her face. “Now go.” She helped me slide off her lap and removed the crown from my head. My father didn’t like me wearing it—he said I hadn’t earned it yet.

“I love you more than all the sands in the desert,” she said, using the phrase she always did when she tucked me in at night.

I blew her a kiss, spinning my hand around as though the kiss were caught in a sandstorm so it would get to her faster.

I had padded barefoot out of the room, only looking back once at the door. I knew the pain still raced through her, but she smiled through it. With her strength combined with my father’s inside me, I’d thought I’d be unstoppable.

Yet here I was, ready to run away, ready to forsake my promise to my mother after fighting so many years against the Desert Boys to keep our people safe. Would she really rather I stay and fight only to later die at Rodric’s hands? If I had any hope of winning against Rodric, I’d stay. But I didn’t.