There was no reason to question the how or why about Koldo seeking them here. Of course, she knew. In fact, it was likely the entire castle knew. A queen and a king could not merely escape together unnoticed, even if those who loved them let them. Perhaps solitude was a myth in their new stations.
Luca and Amarande pulled apart, straightening their clothes and protective gear for a moment until Koldo looked up from her glove. The general already had donned her finest garnet-and-gold regalia—and did not comment as to their current royal entanglement. “It’s time, Ama. The gates will open soon, and we must get you properly prepared.”
Amarande gestured to her sweat-stained clothing. “Perhaps I should be introduced as their queen in my training gear. That would be more truthful to my nature. Not in a gown and diamonds, but in the trappings of one who will fight for my people.”
Koldo gave a typical inclination of her head, her dark braid settling across her proud shoulders. “While the metaphor is much appreciated, I do believe the maids who have been hard at work on perfecting your coronation gown the past three days would be terribly upset if you left it hanging in your quarters.”
Indeed. There were some concessions a queen must make.
“Fair enough.”
Amarande gathered her blunt sword and stepped into line with Koldo. Luca caught her in stride and the three of them pointed themselves toward the towering red spires of the Itspi. From behind them came the soft steps of Beltza, who had a habit of escorting her wolf cub to the castle doors before returning to the Otxoa encampment set upon the grounds.
“However,” Amarande continued, catching eyes with the general, “I think the next time I represent my people, I’d like to wear a uniform like you.”
And like her father.
King Sendoa had many fine suits but the one the Warrior King wore the most often and most proudly matched Koldo’s own.
The general actually smiled—a rare and stunning sight.
“It would be most fitting, Ama.”
CHAPTER 2
HOURSlater, Amarande and Luca stood together in a changed world.
One where a woman could gain power without marriage, and an orphaned stableboy could raise a dead kingdom from the bowels of the earth.
Both tales seemed woven by starlight and dropped into a storybook, but they were as real as the citizens of Ardenia milling about the grounds of the Itspi. By the thousands, those Ardenians poured through the gates and into the arena, the tiger’s-head flags of the kingdom’s official sigil flying high above the topmost rows. They climbed up to their seats, the mountain winds whipping the hair from their faces as they settled in, hoping for a decent view of history.
For, in minutes, Amarande of Ardenia would no longer be a princess, but a queen.
The last time Luca had been in the arena at the Itspi, he’d watched Amarande state her case for consent in the marriage required to become queen and promise the assembled crowd she would not settle for a union beneath her or her people. She’d been scoffed at—of course—by the old guard of the Sand and Sky, and in a bid to prove the seriousness of her request, Amarande went so far as to steal a sword straight from the scabbard of Crown Prince Renard and hold the point against his skin.
Luca had left the arena that day with a bubble of laughter on his lips, because though it wasn’t funny, he believed Amarande would kill that boy if Renard were ever stupid enough to attempt to marry her.
It turned out he was right.
That wasn’t funny either, of course. Though it was exactly what had happened.
Much more had happened after that, too.
Little more than a fortnight later and Luca was in the arena once more. This time, standing at Amarande’s side, as requested, wearingfine clothes tailored to him from King Sendoa’s closets. Everything Luca wore was black, as was the custom for the Otxoa royal family, or so he had been told.
He stood at her right shoulder—Beltza sitting proudly at his feet—while Ferdinand and Koldo anchored Amarande’s left side. Councilor Joseba sulked in the back, extremely displeased with the break in both tradition and proportional balance, but given he was still healing from a near-fatal stab wound, he couldn’t stand for the length of the ceremony. And so Joseba sat aside, the only remaining member of the Royal Council, as Satordi and Garbine were freshly buried on the grounds, victims—along with a myriad of guards—of Geneva’s escape from the Itspi less than a week ago.
Currently, the crowd before them was stunned to silence, the only sound the flapping of the tiger flags in the mountain breeze. Not simply because Amarande was alive and standing before them in garnet lace and diamonds, but because their newest king, fifteen-year-old Ferdinand, had just told them the truth—he was a bastard, born of General Koldo and King Sendoa. Then, as that heavy admission blanketed the masses, Ferdinand ceded his crown to Amarande, placing it straight on her head with the kind of gentle touch almost unheard-of among the royal blood of the Sand and Sky.
Diamond-and-garnet circlet catching the late morning light in the summer air, Amarande stepped to the podium, grasped the sides with her swordswoman’s grip, and looked out upon her people.
Just as at King Sendoa’s funeral, visiting nobility and councils were seated in the front rows on the arena floor, though the individuals present were almost entirely different. The representatives from the other kingdoms were the survivors of the poisoned wedding reception that killed King Domingu and King Akil and made Queen Inés ruler of three of the five kingdoms in very short but dramatic order. They had arrived on ships with the now-deceased Inés and her soldiers—ships that still stood in Ardenia’s harbor. And all would be headed home after a coming meeting to discuss next steps.
In fact, the only person in the audience with a royal title was Dowager Queen Sumira, consort to the recently deceased Akil. She did not have the blood to be called outright ruler of Myrcell, but that would be something to discuss later.
Also upon the arena floor and close at hand were Luca’s advisorsand confidants from Torrence—Tala and his former resistance seconds. Pirates Ula and Urtzi, and former watcher Osana, were seated in the front row, friends of both Torrence and Ardenia, even if their official capacity had not yet been named.
Amarande took in the packed stands, her chin held with a confident tip. As always, and forever, Luca marveled at this love of his—so small but so strong in every way that mattered.
