A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

“Can I see what Silmar is doing?”

“If I believed that you’d make it to the stables, then certainly, you could. But you and I both know that you will not make it to see Silmar. You will get distracted and venture someplace you do not belong.” In any one of the countless dark nooks and secret passages in the castle that my impish five-year-old son has a knack for discovering, causing the staff hours of grief while we hunt for him.

“But I won’t this time. I promise.”

“Fetch me some pears while you are making promises you can’t keep.” I soften the scolding with a wink.

Mika drags himself up off the stone floor and ambles over to the bushel, his arms swinging aimlessly around him in an embellished sign of his frustration. But he’s quickly distracted by the large, ripe fruit. “May I have one, Ma?”

“You may.” I feel the wistful smile touch my lips. A request that I could never have granted in our former life, living under the cruel thumb of Lord Danthrin, our stomachs perpetually empty. When we arrived in Cirilea for the fair, Mika and Lilou were skin and bone, their clothing threadbare and hanging off them. I wasn’t much better, all my body’s energy going to the unborn child in my swollen belly, my cheeks sunken, my complexion pale. But a little more than a month here, and my children’s ribs no longer show in the bath, their cheeks hold a healthy glow, and I’m treated to more smiles in one day than I’d see in a month in Freywich.

There is no one waiting to burn Mika’s hand should he dare pick a rotten piece of fruit off the ground to quiet his grumbling belly.

And it’s all because a Ybarisan princess had compassion for us.

A princess who was meant to be queen, who has since been painted an enemy to the crown and to Islor.

My smile evaporates. It cannot be. What they say of her … of her conspiracies and murderous plots … The woman whose blue eyes peered into mine from across the table of pastries, who saw our terrible predicament and asked—asked! That’s unheard of for nobility—if I’d like to leave it, who saved us from a wretched life at the hands of Lord and Lady Danthrin, does not have murder in her heart. On that, I would stake my life.

But uttering such things within Cirilea are tantamount to treason, so I show my smile, and give silent thanks to the traitor who saved my family.

The door to the kitchen swings open with a force that only one household staff member dares use: a petite and fierce lady’s maid who once scared me with her abrasive nature and blunt personality. That was until I noticed how she flinched at the marks and bruises on my body, scowled at the lingering burn on Mika’s skin, and slipped delectable grapes from her pocket into Lilou’s palm.

“Do you ever not have food in your hand, child?” Corrin scoffs.

“You told me to eat more!” Mika fires back with indignation before flashing a wide, gap-toothed grin and then biting into his pear. He doesn’t fear her either.

“Cheeky.” She shakes her head, but there’s no venom in her tone as she passes him. Her demeanor softens as she spots the sleeping baby, and a smile curves her lips. It was Corrin who screamed at me from within the walls of our family quarters to keep pushing, who held my daughter before I did, who has ensured my family and I have everything we could need since we stepped foot within these castle gates, without me ever asking. I used to think it was at the princess’s bidding, but she is gone and we are still cared for, sheltered.

Corrin’s gaze shifts to me, and the smile fades.

I hold flour-covered hands in the air. “I know … I said I’d rest another day, but I prefer to remain useful.” Useful servants are the ones keepers don’t let go of. And with a royal wedding around the corner, there are plenty of cakes to make.

“That is not it.” She sighs. “You have been summoned.”

“Summoned. It sounds so formal. By whom?”

Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. “By the king.”

My jaw drops. “But … me?” I’m a baker. What need does the king have of me?

“We are not privy to an explanation, only a demand that you must come now. A guard waits outside.”

“Now?” I look down at my soiled apron. “Should I not change?” Or at least clean up? The only other dress I have was an old one from Dagny that is too large on my post-delivery body.

“There isn’t time for that. He is already in the throne room and waiting.”

My bladder threatens to loosen with that added news. Given my recent delivery, there’s a strong possibility of that happening. “Fine. I need someone to mind the children—”

“All of you have been summoned. Even the baby. I assume Lilou is with the laundress?” Corrin has shifted into her emotionless version.

I nod dumbly. My pulse races in my ears as I shuck my apron and hang it on the wall, the simple act suddenly a struggle. What reason could Islor’s king have for demanding not only my immediate presence, but that of my children? In the throne room? Surely, not a good one. Especially not if he takes offense to how we joined his household, by Princess Romeria’s will.

Oh, good fates. It clicks. “Is there an assembly today?”

Corrin pulls her shoulders back to feign a strong front, but her forehead is furrowed. “Yes, there is. Many of the lords and ladies are gathered.”

Will they be there?

Will he be there?

What if …

My breathing labors under my panic, a wave of dizziness hitting me. It makes sense now. I knew this new life was too good to be true.

Corrin reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. She understands my fears. She saw the evidence of my time in Freywich. “You all wear the king’s mark now, and while he is not his brother, have faith that he will make the right decision.”

I swallow my terror and nod. “Come, Mika.”

“Where are we going?” he chirps between mouthfuls, oblivious to the cloud of danger that whirls around us.

“To meet the new king.”



I absorb as much calm as I can from the tiny sleeping bundle within my arms as my gaze wanders the hallway lined by gold pillars and sentries. I’ve seen much of the castle due to Mika’s naughty antics, but I’ve never been in this part before.

Then again, I’ve never had need to visit the throne room until today.

Mika is ahead, mimicking the guard’s march, but his short legs are unable to match the pace and it leaves him scrambling every few steps to catch up. If not for the dire situation, I would laugh at my comical son.

“I do not know how he keeps such high spirits for a boy who has seen much,” Corrin says alongside me, Lilou’s hand gripped within hers.

“Children are resilient.” Far more so than I. The screams Mika let out while they made me stand and watch Lord Danthrin punish him still haunt me. It caused such damage and unending pain, I wasn’t sure Mika would have use of his hand afterward. The village priestess with no true caster affinities whatsoever recommended they cut it off to offer him relief. But Lady Danthrin insisted we leave it to remind Mika—and others—of his folly.