I command my court with a voice that leaves no room for doubt, because any crack would reveal the lie of my birthright and bring my claim crashing down. The fear of exposure has shaped every decision until now.

Rosamund Seymour is the only one who dares to challenge that voice, turning every meeting into a contest of wills where we each fight to hold the upper hand until one yields. Her strength pulls at the part of me that wants to be seen without the mask.

The alliance we both need may cost me the control I have never handed to anyone. Rosamund knows it, and she asks for it anyway, in the archive with the maps still scattered between us. The lock turns behind her.