Page 3 of Queen of War and Ruin

I open my mouth to ask what in the hells he’s talking about, think better of it, and close my mouth. The prince runs a hand through his hair and then, finally, looks me in the eye.

“My wife and I lost our second,” he says. “We were only a few months in, but still. I know how it feels to learn you’re going to have a child, and I know how much it hurts to lose that hope.”

My mouth falls open again. I don’t know what in the holy hells the prince of Dungal is babbling about. Still, one very important word jumps out at me. Something that my brother Petrys didn’t tell me when he whispered about the valley that holds the remains of the Kingdom of Dungal.

“Wife?” I ask.

Prince Zarek gives me a stupid, shit-eating grin. “Yeah,” he replies. “For almost a decade now. And three children. So, you know, that wasn’t your last chance. The two of you, you’ll have more⁠—”

I stop listening. The strategic implications burn through my mind.

The prince of Dungal is married? He has heirs? Does this mean Dungal has allies, that it has power beyond this one hidden valley?

“Who is she?” I blurt.

He blinks.

“What kingdom, I mean,” I continue. “I apologize, but Petrys didn’t mention any of this. And, hells, this changes everything. Who are you allied with? What kind of support will they⁠—”

Prince Zarek laughs. It’s loud and sudden, and I can’t help feeling that there’s some wonderful joke out there that no one bothered telling me about.

“Oh, my old friend,” the prince says, shaking his head. “You’ve been in the palace a long time, haven’t you?”

I have no reply for that, so I cross my arms over my chest and try to ignore the smell of the bacon on the tray.

“My wife,” he says, “is Zoe. Agnes’s daughter.”

“What?”

The word comes out of me in a rush, like an explosion. That’s impossible. I remember the nursemaid’s daughter Zoe. She was a few years older than the prince and me, and she liked to walk around the palace halls like she owned the place. Prince Zarek followed her like a puppy dog on a chain. At least, until she was sent away to live in the mountains.

When I asked my mother why Zoe had to leave, she said it wasn’t good for the prince to get too attached, which was the same reason she gave when she said I shouldn’t name the chickens she kept in the yard.

As a kid, it confused the hells out of me. I only understood it years later, as I tried to survive the palace of Vsenrog by pretending to be something I never was.

“You married her?” I stammer. “But, you’re a prince.”

He laughs again, softer this time. And then he meets my gaze with a sad little smile.

“No, I’m not,” he says. “You’ve heard the song, right? The Kingdom of Dungal is ash and dust.”

“But—” I begin, thinking of contracts and alliances, of a red ribbon tied around my wrists and a beautiful princess who did not cry during the wedding ceremony.

“Yes, I married her,” the prince says. “I had a choice, you know. I could cling to ash and dust, limp to our former allies, and beg for some sort of alliance. But that would have tipped Vsenrog off, wouldn’t it?”

With a dull sense of horror, I realize what he’s saying. King Malrik had no reason to think I was anyone but the rightful heir of Dungal. But if the real Zarek showed up in another kingdom, marrying another princess⁠—

I swallow hard. The prince shakes his head.

“Or, I could let go of Dungal,” he continues. “I could finally marry the woman I’d loved since I was a kid. I could live a life where no one would try to kill me, where I’d never have to order men to die for me. I could have a garden, and chickens, and sons that no foreign king would ever try to take from me.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall.

He always loved my mother’s chickens, Prince Zarek. He named them. When they inevitably ended up on the dinner table, he cried every time.

I always thought he was a bit of an idiot, honestly.

I open my eyes and smile at my prince. “You grew up,” I say.