Page 1 of To Steal the Sun

PROLOGUE

GWEN

It wasn’t hard for Gwen to appear lost and confused as she walked down the street toward the palace. Not only was the route new to her, but she had never walked any street alone in her life.

I’m not really alone, she told herself, calling up the memory of Charlotte’s farewell hug, the strength of Count Oswin’s handshake, and the look in Easton’s eyes as he told her to stay safe.

But the appearance of a squad of guards sent the memories fleeing. The men approached her with steely determination, and there was no one to face them at her side. She was alone.

Every instinct told her to run—to flee far and fast. To run until she reached the safety of Easton’s arms.

She forced herself to freeze instead, letting go of any hold on her fear and anxiety and giving the emotions free rein to flood through her. By the time the guards reached her, she was visibly trembling. A distant part of her was even impressed at her own performance. The other part was afraid it wasn’t a performance at all. But she had assured the others she could be their double agent in the palace, and she was determined not to fail before she even began.

When the guards reached her, she braced herself to be seized by rough hands. But no one touched her at all. Instead, the men formed a protective square around her, their focus on the surrounding streets, as if fearing she might come under attack.

Gwen frowned. What game was her mother playing now?

She licked her lips, her mouth almost too dry to talk. “There’s no one following me,” she managed to get out.

The oldest guard—the one who seemed to be in charge—turned to give her a sympathetic look. With a flash of recognition, she realized it was the older of the guards she had met at dusk in the gardens. It had only been weeks ago, although it felt like a lifetime.

He had seemed brusque and rough at the time, but she knew now he had been protecting her. And afterward, he had reported to someone other than her mother.

Another shock flashed through her. The guard who led the men intercepting her was one of Oswin’s men—a man who, like the count, had changed allegiances over the years, turning against her mother. Her eyes roamed across the other guards. Were they all loyal to Oswin? Was this what he had needed to organize when he had left during the night? Had he somehow maneuvered the situation to send friendly forces to escort her back?

She shook herself. Without confirmation, she couldn’t risk so much as a look or gesture that might betray her. She would drive herself mad if she started trying to second guess the loyalties of everyone who lived in the palace.

“I’m ready to go to my mother,” she said softly, her voice faltering over the final word.

The guard captain threw her another look but limited his response to a single nod. Even so, within seconds, the group was en route to the castle.

The structure loomed over the city in a way that felt threatening, although Gwen suspected the original builders had intended a different effect. Had they meant the mountain palace to be a protective presence? Perhaps some of them had even dreamed of making it beautiful, like the airy storybook palaces found in children’s tales. Gwen had read the Arcadian palace was built in that style.

Whatever the intentions of the original inhabitants, Gwen felt nothing benevolent in the presence of the castle now. Every step closer felt heavier than the last until she wasn’t sure if her own feet could carry her all the way inside.

But such thoughts were only a fancy in her mind, and within far too short a time, she was once again within the walls that had been the confines of her whole life. Each time they turned a corner, she looked for any sign of the captive servants. There was none.

She tried not to let her foreboding grow any greater. The count had said they were all still well. Her mother hadn’t discovered their involvement in Gwen’s liberation, and they had been continuing their duties as normal. She would have liked a glimpse of a friendly face, though.

The guards led her directly to the throne room, but when they opened the doors, the large space held only a single person. The queen sat on her throne in solitary state, as if presiding over an imaginary court.

A shiver ran through Gwen, but her legs carried her forward. She crossed the cavernous space without faltering, registering only faintly that the guards had remained outside.

When she finally reached the stairs that led up to the dais, she stopped and gazed upward, meeting her mother’s eyes. Gwen had been afraid that when she came face to face with her mother, she wouldn’t be able to conceal the secrets boiling inside her. She had been afraid that her face, her manner—maybe even her words—would spill the truth of her hatred and defiance.

What happened was even worse. Standing in the presence of her mother, a lifetime of habit took over. Her body ceased trembling, and her face became a pleasant mask as she stepped into the role of the dutiful Princess Gwendolyn. She had thought it outgrown, but it fit without a wrinkle, as if it were a second skin.

Shame filled Gwen, although it didn’t show on her face. This is how you survived, a voice said in the back of her mind. This is how you can still survive.

Gwen acknowledged the truth of the thought, but it was soon overwhelmed by another. When she was finished playing her role, how much of her true self would be left to retrieve? If she let herself be subsumed by her mother again, would she lose herself completely this time?

But those thoughts too were followed by another, more final one. There is no other way.

CHARLOTTE

One day earlier

“But have you seen Henry yourself?” Charlotte pressed, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “Have you spoken to him?”

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