Chapter 5

Agnes gathered her empty copper basin and the blood-soaked rags. She moved like a ghost, slipping out of the delivery room and pulling the heavy stone door shut behind her without making a sound.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Alistair walked heavily to the washbasin. He scrubbed the dried blood from his hands, the freezing water biting into his frayed nerves.

He turned around. Pandora was leaning back against the headboard. Her eyes were hollow, staring blankly at the wooden cradle where Elinore lay swaddled in the oversized boy's gown.

Alistair crossed the room and carefully pulled his wife into his arms. Pandora's body shook against his chest like a leaf caught in a winter storm.

"We did it, Pandora. She's safe. At least for now," Alistair whispered, pressing his lips to the crown of her sweat-dampened hair.

Right then, the iron handle of the door gave a faint, metallic squeak.

Alistair's muscles instantly locked. His hand flew to the hilt of the dagger at his waist.

The door pushed open just a crack. A small head peeked inside. It was their six-year-old daughter, Princess Josefina.

Josefina was barefoot, wearing only a thin white nightgown. She had clearly sneaked past the sleeping matrons guarding her quarters.

Alistair let out a long breath and dropped his hand from the blade. He motioned for her to come in.

Josefina tiptoed across the cold floor. The rims of her eyes were red and swollen. The rumors from the Great Hall had already reached her. She knew Orestus was planning to sell her.

But when her eyes landed on the wooden cradle, the sheer terror in her face was briefly replaced by a spark of innocent curiosity. She stood on her tiptoes, leaning over the edge of the crib.

She reached out a slender finger and gently poked Elinore's sleeping cheek. The baby smacked her lips and blew a tiny bubble of spit.

"Mother, is it a sister?" Josefina turned her head, her eyes wide with desperate hope. In a world where women were hunted, a sister was a miracle.

Pandora's heart seized. Fresh tears instantly flooded her eyes. She sucked in a breath, forcing her trembling lips into a broken, agonizing smile.

"No, Josefina," Pandora said. She reached out and grabbed her eldest daughter's freezing hand. "It is a brother. You have a baby brother."

Josefina blinked. A flash of disappointment crossed her features, but it melted away into a fierce, protective warmth. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Elinore's forehead.

"That's okay," the six-year-old girl whispered. Her voice was young, but her vow was absolute iron. "I will protect him, Mother. I will protect my brother with my life."

Hearing those words, Pandora couldn't hold it in anymore. She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a gut-wrenching sob. Tears cascaded down her face. She looked up at Alistair, who gave her a slow, devastated nod of approval. Pandora reached out and pulled her eldest daughter close, pressing her forehead against Josefina's.

"Listen to me, my brave girl," Pandora whispered, her voice trembling. "This is not your brother. She is your little sister. But the King and the world outside will take her away if they know. We must pretend she is a boy to keep her alive. You must never tell anyone. Can you keep this secret?"

Josefina's wide eyes darted from the baby to her mother. The innocence in her gaze hardened into a fierce, premature understanding. She nodded solemnly. "I promise, Mother. I will protect my sister."

Her eldest daughter was about to be shipped off to a living hell, yet here she was, swearing to die for a sister whose very existence was a death sentence. The weight of that sacrifice was unbearable.

Alistair wrapped his large arms around both of his daughters and his weeping wife. The four of them huddled together in the flickering candlelight, a fragile, doomed island in a sea of monsters.

Hours passed. Josefina fell asleep slumped against the side of the bed, her fingers still gripping the edge of Elinore's cradle.

Outside, the violent storm finally broke. The thick, black clouds tore open, allowing a single, cold beam of moonlight to pierce through the high, narrow window. The light fell directly onto the cradle.

Alistair walked to the window. He looked up at the pale, crescent moon. He pressed his palms together and closed his eyes.

He prayed to the Goddess of Fate. He begged for a miracle. He pleaded for the gods to shield his daughters from the meat grinder of this world.

The moonlight remained freezing and indifferent. The gods gave no answer. The only sound was the clanking of armor from the guards changing shifts on the outer wall-a brutal reminder of reality.

Alistair opened his eyes. The desperation was gone, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve. If the gods wouldn't answer, he would fight the tyrant with his own bare hands.

He walked back to the cradle and stared down at Elinore's peaceful, sleeping face, burning the image into his memory.

The view pulled back. Out of the stone window, over the dark, sprawling corridors of the palace, and past the heavily fortified walls.

The entire city of Navia was dead silent under the night sky. A murder of crows shrieked from the highest tower.

The image blurred. Time began to accelerate. The sun rose and set in rapid flashes. Seasons bled into one another. The cruel gears of fate began to turn, grinding away the years without mercy.