A visit from a queen of the Royal Continent would be a real adventure. Wouldn’t it? This was the sort of thing that happened in a life like Katu’s. In fact, Katu knew the Queen of Monsea personally. He’d visited the Royal Continent not long ago; he’d told Lovisa about Gracelings. About the little queen who lived in a castle, spending her days in a soaring tower that rose above the city bridges. About Royal Continent magic.

From her parents’ overheard conversation, Lovisa hadn’t gotten the puzzle piece that made everything clear. She still didn’t understand about Benni’s plan, the banker’s box, or Quona Varana’s friendship with the Estillan envoy. But she would file those tidbits away, in case they became useful later. You never knew what detail might fit perfectly into a future puzzle.

It did occur to her to notice that her father, like her mother, had invited Lovisa home for dinner as well, even though he’d never intended to be there. That stung a little.

But Lovisa would forgive him anything to have the Queen of Monsea living in her house.

Chapter Five

Bitterblue had forgotten how seasick she got. Had it always been this bad? She was certain that as a child, her head had stopped spinning after just a few days. Now her sickness kept going away, then coming back; going away again, then always coming back.

When the first ten days of the journey to Winterkeep had passed like this, she’d suddenly become terrified that she might be pregnant, a fear that had not reduced her nausea. It would’ve been the baby of a young lord named Pella from central Monsea who was intelligent and funny and attractive and whose child she absolutely, positively did not want.

Once the scare had passed, she understood that she needn’t have worried. Bitterblue was always careful to take the medicines. Still, it had frightened her, and made her remember how angry Pella had been when she’d broken things off with him.

“You’re cold,” he’d said to her in a sudden, harsh voice, surprising her, because Bitterblue was quite sure nothing but warmth had passed between them. Pella had a warm, grinning mouth and the most beautiful shoulders and arms, the warmest hands. She knew that he’d known, for she’d made sure that he’d known, that their affair was temporary. He’d told her it was what he wanted too.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You know I’m not cold.”

He pushed to his feet, curled his lips with contempt. She’d never seen him do that before and it was stunning. They were alone in Bitterblue’s sitting room. It was late; the lamps threw their reflections against her windows. Bitterblue, confused, stood up too, and saw her mirror-self rising across the room.

“You pretend you’re giving your heart,” he said.