Amara lay awake in bed, curled on her side, with her arms wrapped around a long pillow that rested beneath her belly. At eight months pregnant with twins, finding a comfortable position was nearly impossible. Her body ached, and her mind refused to settle. The sheets tangled around her legs, but she made no effort to move. Instead, she stared at the nursery doors, which were cracked open. It was too dark to see into the room, but she watched as a faint sliver of light crept across the floor, growing longer with each minute that passed.

  With a weary sigh, Amara reached up to wipe the exhaustion from her eyes. Sleep hadn’t come—not just that night, but every night. On the rare occasion that she managed to fall asleep, it never lasted. More often than not, she found herself lying awake, staring at nothing as her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. It had been this way since she gave Rhett the King’s Ring. And that was twenty six—no—twenty seven days ago.

  That was the last time she had seen or spoken with him.

  Every morning that passed without a word from Rhett chipped away at Amara. She ached for him. Not hearing his voice or feeling his touch tore at her heart and soul. Not a day passed without her thinking about him. Was he safe? Had he been injured in a battle? Was he even still alive?

  Though she was queen, any information regarding the war was kept from her—a decision Stella had made. No reports, no messengers, no whispers of victories or losses were allowed to reach Amara’s ears. But instead of protecting her, having no news only added to her fears. Amara’s imagination came up with endless horrors, and more than once, those thoughts caused her to have panic attacks.

  However, despite the Countess’s strict rule, Amara had heard whispers. Stella’s husband, Kieran, had a boat ready and prepared to set sail at a moment’s notice. If Rhett and his army fell, Amara would be taken to Vespera to be protected by Kenna and Mathias. A trunk remained packed in her wardrobe, filled with enough clothing for the journey. The guards were always on edge, especially when riders approached the castle.

  But Rhett’s fate on the battlefield wasn’t the only thing that worried Amara. If he survived and won this war, she feared he wouldn’t return for her. She had been the one who placed the burden of ruling a kingdom on his shoulders and effectively sealed his fate with the King’s Ring. And for that, he might never forgive her.

  On her worst days, Amara convinced herself that Rhett would leave her in Onlon forever. He would have no use for the wife who had placed him on the throne. She could almost see the coldness in his eyes or hear the bitterness of his voice.

  But then there were the good days—the rare moments when she had hope. Amara pictured Rhett returning for her, wrapping his arms around her tightly and whispering that he still loved her. In those moments, she imagined that he forgave her, saying that he understood why she had given him the ring.

  However, more often than not, Amara’s thoughts twisted into something far worse. She imagined Rhett returning not to reunite with her but to take their children away. In her mind, he would refuse to see her, offer no explanation, and ride back to Casshire with the twins in his arms—leaving her behind in Onlon. Would he strip her of her titles, too? The worry of being thrown aside was always lingering in her mind. And it wouldn’t just be her left without a home—her family would also suffer the consequences.

  Before their wedding, at Rhett’s insistence, Amara’s father sold the small farm in Odlare. He had uprooted his younger children and moved them to Onlon, believing it was the beginning of a better life. At the moment, they lived in the castle, until a manor was built for them to reside in. But if Rhett chose to take everything from her, all thoughts of a home would be tossed aside. They would have no choice but to leave Onlon…

  And yet, despite all of Amara’s fears, Stella and Molly Rose refused to entertain them. Every time the queen voiced her doubts, the Countess would be there, waving them away as if it were nonsense. On more than one occasion, Stella swore that if Rhett dared to take the twins from Amara, she would stand in his way without hesitation.

  Kieran, too, had offered his support for the poor queen. He had assured Amara that their home would always be open to her and her family if the worst happened. But, according to him and Stella, that scenario was nothing more than a distant fear—a nightmare that Amara created. Aside from the queen, no one believed that Rhett would abandon her so easily.

  And it wasn’t as if Amara wanted to believe it, either. She wanted to trust in the man she married—the man who had once loved her unconditionally. But how could she? Her whole world had been torn apart by war and the ring. She simply couldn’t see how they could ever move forward from this.

  Tears burned in her eyes, threatening to fall. She blinked them away, unwilling to break down. Instead, she shifted slowly, though her body protested. The pillow beneath her belly offered little relief, and the ache in her back only grew. Amara ran a hand over her stomach, tracing the line of a foot pressing through the skin.

  The sliver of light had grown, illuminating more of the nursery. Amara watched it for a moment longer before pushing herself upright. The shift in position made her wince, pulling at her already sore muscles. Her hands instinctively cradled her belly, giving her some relief. She could feel the twins’ weight settle, and as she adjusted herself, the pressure against her spine eased up.

  This was one of those moments when she missed Rhett the most. He would have noticed her discomfort without her needing to say a word. His hands would press against her lower back, using Silas’s warmth to soothe the tension. And then he’d massage the knots away. Amara could almost hear his voice—low and rough from sleeping—murmuring reassurances as he tended to her.

  But now, there was only emptiness.

  Amara sat in silence for a moment, lingering in her thoughts until there was a knock at her door. A second later, Molly Rose and Skye entered with bright smiles. No matter what was happening outside the castle walls, everyone tried to keep their spirits up when around the young queen. At first, their cheerfulness had annoyed Amara. But in time, she accepted that their smiles were just a way they tried to comfort her.

  Still… that didn’t mean she always welcomed it.

  With a heavy sigh, Amara turned toward them, though she didn’t greet them. Molly Rose’s smile faltered the moment her gaze fell on the queen. Even without a word, it was clear she saw the exhaustion in her friend’s face—the dark circles under her slightly red eyes. Molly Rose’s hands moved to rest over her own small baby bump as she scowled in frustration.

  “I knew I should have called for a tonic to help you sleep,” she huffed. “You look as if you’re going to collapse at any moment.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Amara replied, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need to take anything to help me sleep.”

  “I’ll talk to the midwife,” Molly Rose continued, as if she hadn’t heard the queen. “Maybe she can recommend a tea—”

  “I said I’m fine,” Amara interrupted with a frown.

  “Your Majesty, if I may?” Skye interjected softly as she stepped forward. In her hands, she carried a wide bowl with cool water and a towel draped over her arm. “I know you don’t think you need help, but I do agree with Molly Rose. You should consider drinking something to relax. You’re due to give birth soon, and with twins, it will be a lot for your body to endure. You’ll need all the strength you can muster.”

  Skye’s expression softened as she lowered her voice.

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  “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the babies.”

  Amara pouted, thinking how unfair it was that her head maid always knew exactly what to say to sway her. But as much as she wanted to argue, she couldn’t deny that Skye was right. The babies were all that mattered now. With a resigned sigh, Amara finally nodded.

  “Fine,” she mumbled, reaching for the towel.

  “Good,” Molly Rose huffed, though she did appear satisfied.

  Amara dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it out before running it over her face. The coolness was refreshing against her warm skin, which helped wash away some of the exhaustion.

  Once she wiped her hands and neck, Molly Rose and Skye helped her off the bed. Amara’s body protested, and even the simplest actions were difficult due to the babies. Her hands supported her belly as she steadied herself on her feet.

  Skye went to the wardrobe, retrieving a dark pink gown laid out the previous day. It was made of soft, breathable material. Though it was too simple for a queen, it was comfortable, and at eight months pregnant, comfort was far more important.

  “I got a message from the midwife not long ago,” Molly Rose began as they fastened the ties at the back of the dress. “Apparently, she is helping with a delivery, so she won’t be able to come look at you until later this afternoon.”

  “That’s alright,” Amara nodded. “It just means I have a lot of free time today.”

  “Well…” Molly Rose murmured as she tried to offer an apologetic smile. “Stella may have arranged for you to have lunch with some ladies who are staying in Onlon—Lady Eleanor and Lady Vivianne. Their husbands sent them to the city, assuming it was the safest place since that is where Rhett sent you.”

  Amara frowned but didn’t say anything. She understood that Stella was just trying to help ensure that all was well within the royal court. Even though there was a war going on, Amara was still queen, and she needed to act as if nothing was going on between her and Rhett.

  “I suppose having company would make for a good distraction,” Amara replied with a small smile.

  “I’m glad you think so because, after lunch, some of the merchants’ wives will be coming by for afternoon tea,” Molly Rose continued. “Nothing too formal. They simply wish to pass the time, and I imagine they’ll spend most of it asking about the babies.”

  That much was inevitable. Everyone seemed fascinated by her pregnancy, as if the idea of a queen carrying twin dragons was a miracle. Amara didn’t mind, though—questions about the babies were easier to answer and always lightened her mood.

  “Well,” Amara said as she adjusted her dress. “Since I have the morning free, I think I’ll go down to the greenhouse.”

  “Are you sure?” Skye inquired with a raised brow. “It snowed not even two days ago.”

  “I could use the fresh air,” Amara nodded. “Plus, I haven’t checked on the saplings in a while. It’ll give me something to do.”

  Molly Rose opened her mouth to argue against it but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she gave a reluctant nod.

  “Fine. Just don’t overexert yourself.”

  “I won’t,” Amara promised with a small smile.

  After managing a few bites of breakfast—though not nearly as much as Molly Rose would have preferred—Amara went outside, pulling her cloak tightly around her. The air outside was cold, nipping at any exposed skin. Thankfully, the walk to the greenhouse wasn’t far, though each step sent an ache through her already sore body.

  Despite the pain, Amara willingly made this journey often, mainly because she was left alone. No guards. No maids. No worried friends hovering nearby. Just her, the silence, and the saplings.

  When she reached the greenhouse, she quickly stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. Amara unfastened her cloak and draped it over the back of a chair, exhaling softly as she rubbed her hands together to chase away the cold. Her gaze drifted toward the far end of the greenhouse, where a wooden table sat against a glass wall. Atop it, in two clay pots, were the unity trees.

  Amara approached then, frowning at the pitiful sight of the saplings. They were struggling—just as they had been since she returned to Onlon. The leaves of the Bur Oak had started to curl around the edges, becoming brittle to the touch. Rhett’s tree wasn’t faring any better. The little needles were thinning, and the scent of the pine had nearly faded away.

  Amara reached out, pressing her fingers into the soil in each pot. It was too dry. With a quiet sigh, she turned and grabbed a watering can from the nearby shelf. She carefully poured a small amount into each pot, watching the dry dirt darken.

  Her fingers touched the leaves of the oak, then the needles of the pine.

  “What’s wrong with you?” She murmured aloud, though she didn’t need to ask. Amara knew the answer.

  The unity trees were a symbol—a living manifestation of her marriage with Rhett. And since there seemed to be no hope of reconciliation, the saplings had no reason to grow.

  “I know,” she admitted softly, resting her hands on her belly. “Things haven’t been easy. I just… I just hope that what I did wasn’t for nothing.”

  Amara swallowed back the emotions that were creeping up her throat. For several minutes, she simply stood there. Finally, with a shaky exhale, she stepped away from the saplings. Gathering her cloak, she wrapped it over her shoulders before fastening it securely. As she stepped out into the cold, Amara glanced back at the saplings one last time before closing the door behind her.

  As the afternoon sun began to dip below the horizon, it cast long shadows over the city of Onlon. Myles walked along the cobblestone streets, tearing off a chunk of bread from the loaf in his hand. He chewed it with a frown, grumbling about it being nothing compared to the food that nobles feasted on. Still, it was fresh, and it would do. His arms were filled with more food—a wedge of cheese, a bundle of apples, and a bottle of ale tucked under one arm.

  For the past two weeks, he and Willie had been lying low in Onlon, waiting. Waiting for the signal to attack Amara. They had followed her trail from Casshire, tracking her every move like wolves. However, Onlon presented a problem—one they hadn’t anticipated.

  Three days into their stay, Willie had spotted Amara’s father, Westin, along with the two younger boys, Finley and Riley, at the market. Willie had gone down to the farmhouse in Odlare several times, so it wouldn’t take much for them to recognize him and be on high alert.

  Thankfully, after Willie ducked into an alley, it seemed as if the queen’s family hadn’t seen him—at least, they didn’t think so. But since then, Willie had refused to leave the cramped little inn where they were staying. So, it had fallen on Myles to handle the errands—fetching meals and gathering supplies.

  And then, of course, there was the pub.

  Myles continued chewing on the bread as he neared the familiar corner. Just ahead, the wooden sign swayed in the breeze, with a golden crown and mugs painted across it. This otherwise inconspicuous sign was their point of contact with Kohen. And every day, Myles passed by it, looking for the signal.

  But today, something was different. A small crowd had gathered in front of the pub, talking loudly while gesturing toward something. Myles frowned, stopping his chewing as he stepped closer. Splashes of red stained the road, dripping down the pub’s walls and pooling beneath the sign.

  In the middle of it all was a young man, sitting on the ground as if he had been knocked down. His clothes were smeared with the same red paint, and his face was pale as he glanced between the angry crowd. Myles furrowed his brows as he realized what had happened.

  That was him… the man who was supposed to give the signal.

  Without hesitation, Myles pushed through the crowd.

  “There you are, Liam!” Myles shouted, hastily coming up with a name and story. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! What in Eena’s name are you doing down there?”

  The young man blinked, startled by Myles’s approach. He seemed confused for a moment, but when he noticed the man’s expression, he lowered his head quickly and kept his mouth shut.

  Before Myles could haul him up, a man blocked his path.

  “He’s not going anywhere!” The older man hissed. “This idiot spilled paint all over my sign and walls!”

  “Look, I’m sure it was a mistake,” Myles said, forcing a sheepish smile. “He’s my cousin. Stupid as they come, I’ll admit, but harmless.”

  “Harmless?” The man spat, gesturing toward the mess. “He threw paint everywhere! The bastard did it on purpose!”

  The crowd nodded in agreement, and Myles fought the urge to roll his eyes.

  “And I’m sure he’s very sorry for it. Aren’t you, Liam?”

  The man nodded quickly, though the pub owner narrowed his eyes.

  “Sorry doesn’t clean my walls. I’ll be getting the city guard to deal with him!”

  Myles stiffened as he started to panic. That couldn’t happen… not now…

  “Wait, wait. No need for that.” Myles quickly dug into his coat pocket, grabbing onto a small pouch of coins. “What if I… compensate you? Two gold kings. More than enough to cover the mess.”

  He held up the coins, offering them with a hopeful grin. But the older man scoffed and crossed his arms.

  “Two? For the trouble he’s caused?”

  Myles cursed under his breath.

  “Fine. Three.”

  However, the older man didn’t budge.

  “Four,” Myles said through gritted teeth. But the pub owner shook his head.

  “Five. That’s all I have,” Myles scowled, shaking the coins in his palm.

  The pub owner considered the amount as he narrowed his eyes. Then, with a grunt, he snatched the coins from Myles’s hand.

  “Get him out of my sight. If I ever see his face again, I’ll beat it bloody.”

  “Fair,” Myles replied, nodding quickly.

  He bent down, grabbing the young man by the arm and hauling him to his feet. To anyone watching, it would seem like a concerned relative scolding a foolish child. But as soon as they cleared the crowd, Myles’s expression shifted.

  “Kohen sent you?” He questioned in a low voice.

  The young man nodded quickly.

  “Y-yes. I was to mark the pub and then leave. But they caught me before I could paint the sign red.”

  “You’re lucky I was there,” Myles grunted. “Come on. You’re going to tell me everything. Start with what’s happened in Jux.”