A Crown of Wishes (The Star-Touched Queen #2)
Roshani Chokshi
For my siblings, Monica and Jayesh.
And for all siblings who refuse to be secondary characters in anyone’s tale.
You are legends in the making.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Second books are hard. I realize how trite that sounds. Writing is hard. Getting out of bed on Mondays is hard. But second books are a unique form of pain because they are ruthless in their demands. It’s like If You Give a Mouse a Cookie but throw in cesspits of despair, an ego ravaged by debut year and the sheer panic of not knowing “how to book.” But this book emerged tough and hungry, and it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of so many resplendent individuals.
To my critique partner, Lyra Selene: You read this in awful draft form and loved it first! Thanks for the feedback and crying Claire Danes gifs. I am so glad to call you a friend. To JJ: Let the record show that you claimed Vikram first. Thanks for letting me ramble over drinks and then ramble because of drinks. You are an Oracle. To Stephanie Garber: Thanks for being an imitable cheerleader and fellow Regency romance reader. Our hours-long phone chats bring me the best kind of joy. To Tristina Wright, Sona Charaipotra, Ayesha Patel, Annie Kirke, Amanda Foody: Thank you for beta reading with kind eyes and an open heart. To Sarah J. Maas: Thank you for lending your invaluable warrior queen insight on this draft, for Barrons (because swoon) and for taking the time to listen and advise with kindness and humor. To Jessie Sima: Thanks for the beautiful art and fangirling over PYNCH with me. To Kat Howard, Kavitha Nallathambhi and Sohum Chokshi: I am always indebted to your wisdom and friendship, and grateful for your insight. To the Ladies of Tall Tree Lane (Leah Bobet, Ryan Graudin, E. K. Johnston, Lindsay Smith and Emma Higginbotham): Thanks for the liquor and laughter and vanquishing of dock spiders. “It was a good death.” To Sabaa Tahir, Renee Ahdieh, Beth Revis and Jodi Meadows: Thank you for your kindness, generosity and brilliance throughout the year. I am so grateful.
I can’t thank the booktube and blogging community enough for shouting about The Star-Touched Queen and inspiring me every day. Special thanks to Rachel Simon, Brittany at Brittany’s Book Rambles, Alexandra at Lit Legionnaire, Summer at Butter My Books, Rachel at YA Perfectionist, Samantha at Thoughts on Tomes and Melissa Lee at Live Love Read YA. Shoutout to Viktoria (@seelieknight) and Andrea (@ashryvur) whose playlists got me through revisions and coaxed out the words.
To my St. Martin’s Press family: Thank you so much for your support, guidance and for giving a loving home to my stories. Eileen, you see the bones of a story when all I see is purple prose and nonsense. Thank you for believing in me, and for wearing a thousand hats: cheerleader, romance novel recommender, life guru. To the fabulous marketing and publicity team (Brittoni, Karen and DJ): Giving each of you a crown of wishes would still be inadequate thanks. To the library team (Talia and Annie): Thank you for all that you’ve done! Talia, I’m working on your vampire story.
A thousand and one thanks to my brilliant agent Thao Le. I am so humbled to have someone as hardworking and creative as you on my team. To my family at Sandra Dijkstra Literary Agency, especially Jessica Watterson and Jennifer Kim. Thanks for all your help and support. To Andrea Cavallaro: Thank you for taking The Star-Touched Queen overseas and giving it a home abroad.
To my friends, without whom I would be a codfish. Victoria G.: Thanks for switching shoes with me that fateful day in kindergarten. Niv S.: Thank you for the tea and fairy tales. Bismah R.: Thank you for Swedish Fish and quasi-French lessons. Chelsey B.: Thank you for agreeing that poisonous courtesans are always a yes.
To the Chokshi, Gandhi, Negrosa, de Leon clans: your support and love is my foundation. Forever indebted to Momo, Dodo, Cookie, Poggi and Panda Bear: Thanks for not batting an eyelash when I run through the house, leaving glasses everywhere, donning horns, consulting with the forces of evil and never quite explaining my writing projects. To Shraya, Pallavi Auntie and Sanjay Uncle: Thank you for letting me into your lives and your kitchen. Thanks for the support, love, rat gasps, and pizza. To Aman: Thank you for the laughter and pecan pie, for keeping promises and banishing nightmares, for reminding me how to human and always challenging me. Most importantly, thank you for coaxing out the magic in the world when I’ve forgotten how to see it.
And last, to my readers. I adore you to pieces. You inspire me every day and humble me beyond measure. Thank you for the fan art, playlists, letters, encouragement and love. Thank you for giving me the chance to tell these stories.
PROLOGUE
THE INVITATION
Vikram had spent enough time with bitterness that he knew how to twist and numb the feeling. Tonight, he didn’t draw on his years of experience. Instead he let the acidic, snapping teeth of it chew at his heart. As he walked to the network of wooden huts that formed the ashram, the echo of laughter hung in the air. He stood in the dark, an outsider to a joke everyone knew.
Since he was eight years old, he had spent part of every year at the ashram, learning alongside other nobility. Everyone else resented the part of the year where they returned to their kingdoms and endured having to put their lessons to use. Not Vikram. Every time he returned to Ujijain, he was reminded that his education was a formality. Not a foundation. He preferred that. No expectations meant learning without fear of being limited and growing opinions without fear of voicing them. His thoughts preferred the fertile ground of silence. Silence sharpened shrewdness, which only made him embrace the title his father’s empire had, albeit grudgingly, given him: Fox Prince.
But shrewd or not, the moment he entered the ashram, he wouldn’t be able to ignore the celebrations of another prince called home to rule. Soon, Ujijain would summon him home. And then what? The days would bleed together. The hope would shrivel. It would be harder to outwit the council. Harder to speak. He tightened his fists. That bitterness turned taunting. How many years had he spent believing that he was meant for more? Sometimes he thought his head was a snarl of myth and folktales, where magic coaxed ignored princes out of the shadows and gave them a crown and a legend to live in. He used to wait for the moment when magic would drape a new world over his eyes. But time turned his hopes dull and lightless. The Council of Ujijain had seen to that.
Near the entrance of the ashram, a sage sat beside the dying flames of a ceremonial fire. What was a sage doing here at this hour? Around his neck, the sage wore the pelt of a golden mongoose. Not a pelt. A real mongoose. The creature was napping.