Chapter 1

The message comes at night.

Thornhill Manor sits in a valley surrounded by mountains, so they can hear the echo of every horseman for miles around.

Tonight, it sounds like a vengeful storm that is headed their way.

Their guests, several old families of the south, fall silent for minutes, their voices dying down as the thundering grows louder and louder.

Finally, the thundering comes to an abrupt halt, and within minutes, they hear footsteps.

The doors bang open, and the herald barely announces, "messengers from the royal court!" before liveried individuals bearing the Kabra coat of arms enters past him, the one in the front making his way through the sea of guests who part for him.

He stops short in front of her and Lord Rosenbloom, and deliberately turns to her first and bows deeply, before doing so to him.

If Lord Rosenbloom notices it, he does not say anything (he has, Amy rationalizes, perhaps grown used to it), and instead beckons the messenger forward to take the letter from him. His fingers brush against the blood red of the seal, then they trace over the name of the addressee, the addressor. Her Lord Husband has always been anything if not a deliberate man.

Finally, when it seems as though the entire hall is about to burst with impatience, he gently opens the letter and scans the words on the page.

The hall watches with bated breath, and suddenly, Amy knows what's coming before he announces it:

"The king is dead."

The sharp gasps that occur throughout the room tell Lord Rosenbloom that perhaps he should have been less blatant in his wording. So he hastily adds in greater detail:

"His Grace passed three nights ago of an unknown illness- may God rest his soul." He inclines his head as if in prayer, but Amy knows he- and most likely the entire room- is doing anything but that. Nonetheless, they follow in bowing their heads for a moment of silence.

Lord Rosenbloom finally raises his head and continues on, more quieter now, "and of course, long live the new king."

This is echoed less than heartily, and Amy wonders if the messengers, who are still lingering in the hall, will report this back to their master.

Eventually, the chatter starts up again, but Amy remains silent, turning to observe her husband.

The slight hunch in his posture, his downturned lips, and the furrowing of his brows indicate that there is something more- something he is not about to share just yet with their friends and family.

And sure enough, as they both stand to retire to their chambers, he leans slightly forward, his lips nearly brushing against her ear, and murmurs, "We have been summoned."


Their coupling that night is far more thorough that it has been in a long time.

Amy wonders if it is the excitement of the dead king (who was despised by most of the south) that spurs Lord Rosenbloom on, or his desire see Amy with child as soon as possible, now that the need for an heir is possibly more important than ever.

Amy accepts his attentions, dutifully as always, but watches in mild surprise as her husband makes no effort to leave her chambers after the deed is done, as he usually does.

Instead, he rolls off of her, and they lay next to one another, sprawled on their backs, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling.

"The Kabra prince," Lord Rosenbloom speaks suddenly, "he was betrothed to you once, wasn't he?"

He's now the king-to-be, Amy thinks, briefly bemused.

"Several years ago, before-" Amy breaks off, but there is no need for her to go any further.

Everyone in the Madrigal Kingdom remembers the fire and the destruction of the old castle, the story of Queen Hope running back in after her beloved husband, refusing to remain in this world without him. The story has been repeated so many times, it is as though it's been burnt into their collective consciousness. They know full well the death of hundreds in the flames, and the blood-stained Madrigal throne Vikram Kabra had seized soon afterwards.

And they will never forget the whispers about a lone carriage that escaped from the castle with the Dowager Queen Grace and her grandchildren, the prince and princess of the realm who had shortly been stripped of their lands and titles, and along with that, released from betrothal pacts that had been made in their names.

"What do you remember of him?" Lord Rosenbloom asks now.

Prideful, silver-tongued, so sure of himself, even as a little boy, despite being a mere lord while I was the heir to the throne.

"Not much. I was but a little girl when I last met him."

Amy can sense Lord Rosenbloom's disappointment, but he continues.

"He has called near every noble in the land to Castle Kabra."

"For the funeral, I suppose," Amy says, not even believing her own words. Where Ian Kabra was concerned, even as a boy of seven, there was always more than met the eye. There was always an ulterior motive.

But Lord Rosenbloom merely shifts so that his back is towards Amy and says, "We leave for court in a week."

"Into the viper's nest," Amy murmurs, her eyelids slowly beginning to grow heavy. Her husband does not respond.

She imagines her grandmother would have laughed.


Hello! So I will be posting chapters of this late-medieval/early renaissance (but set in a made-up world) fic hopefully every week.

So interesting fact for this week- before Henry VIII, kings used to generally be referred to as "Your Grace", so that is what I'll be going with, rather than referring to Vikram, and now Ian, as "Your Majesty".