The traitor's blood still steamed against the stone as dawn broke over Shadowmere's battlements. I

wiped my blade clean with deliberate strokes, each movement precise as the execution I'd just delivered.

Three heads now decorated the castle's outer wall, their lifeless eyes staring accusingly at the kingdom.

They'd tried to sell to our enemies.

"Your Highness," Captain Aldwin approached with measured steps, his weathered face betraying nothing.

Twenty years serving the crown had taught him when to speak and when to bear witness simply. "The

Prisoners have been dealt with according to your judgment."

I sheathed my sword, the familiar weight of steel against my hip a comfort that never failed me. "Good.

Let their families know they died quickly. I'm not without mercy."

A lie, perhaps. Mercy was a luxury I'd abandoned the day my mother's throat was slit in her

chambers. But clean deaths were a kindness I could afford, and kindness was a weapon as sharp as any

blade when wielded correctly.

The skull of my great-grandmother hung at my belt, its hollow sockets seeming to watch as I surveyed

the courtyard below. Already, servants were scrubbing blood from the execution stones, their movements

efficient and practiced. Death was commonplace in Shadowmere, as natural as breathing and twice as

necessary.

"Seraphina." The ancient voice whispered through the bone, so soft only I could hear it. "The dead speak

of change coming. Storm clouds gather beyond sight."

I pressed my fingers against the skull's smooth surface, feeling the familiar tingle of otherworldly

connection. My ability to commune with the spirits trapped within these relics had earned me many

names-most of them spoken in fear. Princess of the Skulls. The Bone Whisperer. Death's Daughter.

Let them whisper. Fear was another tool in my arsenal, and I wielded it with the same precision I brought

to everything else.

"The dead always speak of change," I murmured back, my lips barely moving. "It's the living who resist it."

The morning air carried the scent of smoke from the forges and bread from the kitchens, mixing with the

metallic tang that still lingered from the executions. Life continued, as it always did, flowing around death

like water around stones. The servants who'd witnessed three men lose their heads would return to their

duties, carrying whispered stories that would grow more elaborate with each telling.

By nightfall, I'd be painted as a demon who drank blood from goblets made of enemies' skulls. By the week's

end, mothers would frighten their children to sleep with tales of the ruthless princess who could speak to

The dead and commanded armies of ghosts.

None of it was entirely false.

I turned from the battlements and made my way through the corridors I'd known since childhood.

Tapestries depicting ancient battles lined the walls, their threads dulled by centuries of smoke and time.

My ancestors gazed down from painted portraits, their eyes following my passage with the weight of

expectation. Each had ruled with iron will and bloody hands. Each had done what was necessary to

preserve our kingdom.

As would I.

The throne room's massive doors stood open, revealing the seat of power that would one day be mine.

Father sat upon the carved obsidian chair, his silver hair catching the light from the high windows. At fifty-two, King Magnus Blackthorne still possessed the bearing of the warrior who'd claimed his crown through

conquest rather than birthright. His eyes, the same steel gray as my own, tracked my approach with

calculating intensity.

"The traitors?" he asked without preamble.

"Fed to the crows." I stopped before the throne's base, close enough to show respect, far enough to

maintain dignity. "Their families will receive compensation for their shame, but not enough to live

comfortably. Poverty breeds loyalty more effectively than wealth breeds treachery."

A smile ghosted across his lips. "Spoken like a true queen."

"I'm not queen yet." The words carried an edge I didn't bother to soften. "And won't be until you decide

to step aside or the Bone Oracle decides for you."

"Ah, but that brings me to why I summoned you." Father leaned forward, his hands gripping the throne's

armrests. "Circumstances have changed, daughter. The kingdom requires adjustments to our previous

plans."

Something cold settled in my stomach. Father's "adjustments" typically involved blood, betrayal, or both. I

kept my expression neutral, a skill learned through years of court politics and deadly games.

"What circumstances?"

"Lord Cassius Thornfield has proposed an alliance." The name hit me like a physical blow, though I

managed not to flinch. "His son, Prince Aldric, is of marriageable age. As are you."

The throne room seemed to tilt around me. Marriage. Alliance. The words echoed with the finality of a

death sentence, but I'd learned long ago that showing weakness invited attack. Even from family.

Especially from family.

"I see." My voice remained steady, though rage burned in my chest like swallowed fire. "And you've

decided this without consulting me."

"I've decided this because it's necessary." Father's tone brooked no argument. "The northern kingdoms

grow restless. Thornfield's military strength, combined with our unique advantages, would secure our

borders for generations."

"Our unique advantages." I touched the skull at my belt, feeling the cold bone warm under my fingers.

"You mean my necromancy."

"I mean your ability to command respect through fear." His eyes hardened. "Something a husband might

help you focus more effectively."

The insult struck deep, but I swallowed it with the bitter taste of a hundred other slights. Father had never

understood that my power came not from his guidance but from my own will to seize it. A husband

would only dilute that strength, divide my attention between duty and some man's ego.

But arguing now would gain me nothing. Better to appear compliant while I planned my next move.

"When is this wedding to take place?"

"Prince Aldric arrives within the fortnight. The ceremony will follow quickly after." Father's satisfaction was

evident in the way he settled back into his throne. "You'll find him. Suitable, I'm sure."

I curtsied, the motion sharp and perfunctory. "If there's nothing else, I have training to attend to."

"There is one more thing." His voice stopped me at the throne room's threshold. "Lord Cassius Thornfield

will be accompanying his son."

The name that had haunted my nightmares for ten years. The man whose face I'd memorized from

wanted posters and intelligence reports. The bastard who'd murdered my mother in cold blood and

walked away unpunished because politics demanded his continued breathing.

I turned back to face my father, and for a moment, I let him see the fury I kept carefully leashed.

"How interesting," I said softly. "I look forward to meeting him."

Father's answering smile was all teeth and no warmth. "I thought you might."

As I left the throne room, my great-grandmother's voice whispered urgently through her skull: "Blood

calls to blood, child. But beware-not all debts can be paid with a blade."

I pressed my hand to the bone relic, my mind already racing with possibilities. Marriage to the son of my

mother's killer. An alliance built on a foundation of murder and lies.

Perfect. I'd spent ten years preparing for revenge, and now it would be delivered directly to my doorstep,

wrapped in wedding silk and tied with political necessity.

Let Prince Aldric come. Let his bastard father follow.

They had no idea they were walking into the spider's web.

And I was very, very hungry.