Page 4 of The War Queen's Daughter

Mother doesn’t have time to speak, the flap parting, and Aunt joining us. The queen scowls at her sister, but the general just bows her head briefly.

“I take it you’ve told Remalla what you have planned.” The younger of the sisters faces off with her monarch like no one else can.

Mother’s scowl turns to a sigh as she tosses her hands and paces the narrow width of the small tent. My aunt glances at me, her expression unreadable, but her presence is a shield, a silent endorsement of my defiance. She stands slightly ahead of me if to one side, a subtle yet firm barrier between me and my mother’s immediate wrath.

“Jhanette,” Vivenne says, her voice calm, cutting through the tension like the well-honed blade she is. “Remalla has the right to the truth of this matter. This decision, though a queen’s command, touches upon our deepest traditions. A warrior queen chooses her mate. It is the Heald way. Sending your heir to aforeign court, a foreign prince… it is not a small thing to be done.”

Mother’s gaze snaps to her sister, a flicker of irritation in her eyes. “Are you challenging my command, Vivenne? My right as queen of Heald?”

“Never your right, sister,” Aunt replies, her voice even, though I can hear the steel beneath the velvet, her defiance the reason my still lives. “Only the wisdom of this particular application. Our daughters are warriors, Jhanette, not broodmares to be bartered for land like some common kingdom’s princess.”

Vivenne understands, of course. Shealwaysunderstands. My mother might rule with an iron fist, but Vivenne’s quiet strength often provides the necessary counterbalance. The question is, can she sway Mother’s choice?

Can I?

The queen chuffs, a sharp, unladylike sound. “Broodmares? Do you think so little of your niece? Of my plan? This is for Heald’s glory, not her womb. Fine! If you two wish to be prudish in the midst of victory, so be it.” She waves a hand dismissively at the both of us. “I will explain myself to the pair of you with your pleading eyes.” She tosses her hands before crossing her muscular arms over her chest. “Allow me to unfold the good and grace I intend for our people.”

Her sarcasm is not lost on me. Nor my aunt, who mimics Mother’s firm stance and crossed arms to face off with her sister. I wait in the heavy silence between the strongest women I’ve ever known. I’ve stood beside them in battle, but never against either of them, not seriously. I don’t know if I’d keep ground or be crushed beneath them.

I don’t want to find out.

“Mother.” I can’t bear it. “I have spent my life training, fighting, bleeding for Heald. My value is on the battlefield,leading our warriors, not in a gilded cage in Winderose, married to a prince I do not know, for reasons I do not comprehend beyond your ambition.” The last word slips out, sharp and uncontrolled. I immediately regret it.

My mother’s eyes flash, but before she can retort, Aunt steps in again. “Remalla’s heart is true, Jhanette. She speaks of honor, of the traditions we hold dear. Our matriarchy was built on strength, and until this foul Overkingdom came to be, also on choice.” It still is, from what I know of our history. What is my aunt talking about? “To deny her that, when so much has already been given, is to give up the honor of the very fabric of Heald.”

My mother resumes her pacing, her bare feet silent on the carpet beneath her. The blood on her armor, draped over the lid of the chest, gleams in the single lantern, a stark reminder of her strength and courage in battle, if lack of compassion. “Traditions, sister, are for those who are content with what they have. I amnotcontent. And nor should you be.” She jabs a finger at each of us. “We are a small kingdom, Vivenne. Constantly pushing, constantly fighting, constantlyprovingourselves against the larger, richer realms of Protoris. Overking Gyster tolerates my… enthusiasm for expansion, but he will not always. Unlike his father, he has no understanding of the ebb and flow of the kingdoms he rules, the rising tides and fading strengths of the kings and queens he… commands.” She tsks softly under her breath, agitated and frustrated, feet now thudding as she marches back and forth, pounding one fist into her open palm for emphasis. “He could squash us like a beetle if he truly wished to. We need a different kind of power. A quieter power.” She pauses a moment, hesitant. It’s barely a breath, a break, but it’s there and I know then she’s holding something back as she stops and faces us to speak again. “A foothold in the very heart of the serpent will give us that power.”

I don’t doubt her ambition or strategy. But her timing? I’ve never been allowed to campaign outside of Heald. I’ve spent every single battle season here in our homeland, stretching our borders. When the Overking does call for our forces to aid him, it’s always my aunt who leads, and I’m left behind.

Why is she suddenly sending me away?

I inhale, settle myself, because this isn’t about her casting me out, and I’m being ridiculous, acting like a child when I’ve never been allowed to before. Logically, of course, it makes sense. “You could have brought this to me,” I say, though I cringe inside because haven’t I just been whining to myself that she doesn’t trust me? Maybe she can’t. “You are my queen. But I am your daughter.”

She shakes her head, but not in denial. “Imagine, Remalla. A queen of Heald, as Overqueen of the realm. Think of the glory that would bring our people, the undisputed position that would grant us.” She’s not angry anymore, but eager. I know my mother’s moods, and this one is the most frightening of all. Contriving and convincing, she will win me over. Because she’s right. “No more petty skirmishes, no more scrabbling for land. Our banners flying over all thirteen kingdoms!” She extends a hand, as if grasping at the very air, painting a vision I find both intoxicating and terrifying.

“Your ambitions are not in question,” Aunt says with enough cynicism that Mother’s spell over me breaks for a moment. “Tell me, what do we know of the Overprince? You suggest power in Remalla’s hands at his side. What if he’s ruthless and refuses to share his throne and command?”

Mother snorts, visibly amused. “According to our ambassador, he is pampered, protected. He is not a warrior. And I have no doubt he will not stand against Remalla even for a moment.” She turns her gaze to me again, closing the distance, both hands on my shoulders. I know better than to believe theexpression on her face is love, though it’s the only way she knows to express it, and I have to accept it’s what she has to give. “I have my own history in Winderose and plans long in place in case of betrayal.” What does that mean? “We’ve been lied to and set aside long enough. Overprince Altar, they say, is soft. Arrogant, yes, but easily controlled. He is more concerned with his books than with battle. You, Remalla, are my daughter. You are a battle-tested soldier of impeccable strategy and honor. You are intelligent and beautiful.” She slips her fingers down my cheek. “You will wrap him around your finger. You will rule him. You will be set up to rule yourself, through him if necessary. What greater glory could there be for a queen of Heald than to control the Overking’s own heir? To guide the destiny of Protoris from within?”

The words hang in the air, seductive and dangerous. My mind, trained for battlefield strategy, begins to turn them over. My mother’s ambition is a force of nature, a raging river that sweeps all before it. But her logic, twisted as it is, has a perverse appeal. To be the power behind the throne? To secure Heald’s future not with more bloodshed, but with influence? The idea, initially repulsive, begins to bloom into something that tastes like a dark, gleaming treasure that could cost me my soul.

“No more fighting for every sliver of land, Remalla,” Mother continues, sensing my hesitation, pressing her advantage. “No more living on the edge of the blade. Imagine Heald’s influence spanning the entire Overkingdom, all without lifting another sword. Our place, restored to the way it used to be.” Before the realm was formed. I know the history I’ve been taught. That despite our army's support of the man who created Protoris, Heald’s borders were reduced, our people left to fend for themselves while the other kingdoms prospered from our spilled blood. “Your children, born of the Overking’s line, yet Heald-blooded in their heart and spirit. They would be heirs to power unimaginable to our ancestors.”

My aunt makes a sound. Just a whisper, barely a grunt. But it’s like a protest that has my mother scowling. Whatever their disagreement, I’m not privy to it, so I choose to focus on what I can.

I close my eyes for a moment, the scent of the battlefield and the orgy fading slightly, replaced by the dizzying prospect of possibility. My mother knows my weaknesses. She knows my desire for Heald’s security, for the strength of our people. I am a good soldier, and I do as I am told. And a soldier, at heart, wants to secure victory. This, she argues, is the ultimate victory.

But I am also a princess, and someday a queen who will be forced to make her own decisions about the fate of our people. Given the choice, would I do any differently than my mother is asking of me now?

When I nod, it’s because understanding has settled, even if acceptance is still behind it. “And you truly believe this is possible?” I want to believe her because I know there’s no changing her mind. Maybe with something less tangible, unattainable. But Mother is committed, I can see it in her face, and even Aunt seems swayed, so my support won’t hold me much longer.

Mother’s smile returns, sharp and triumphant. “You are my heir, Remalla. You are more warrior than any man in that court, Overprince or otherwise. You are the blood of Heald. Of course, you can. You will be the true power, the true hand guiding the realm. This is not merely a marriage. It is a conquest of a different kind.” She steps away, head back, voice deep and commanding. “This is not for me, child. This is forus. For the future of Heald. Do you deny your homeland such an opportunity for power and glory?”

The last question is a hook, sinking deep into my gut. My duty. My honor. My dedication to Heald. She might as well be blaring a trumpet and shouting for me to charge. My mother has played her final card, and it is a powerful one. I cannot deny Heald. I cannot deny my duty.

I swallow, the bitter taste in my mouth still present, but my heart now lifts with a sense of purpose. “I will go,” I say, the words feeling heavy, monumental, as they leave my lips. “I will marry the Overprince.”

A genuine, albeit brief, flash of pride lights Mother’s eyes before it is masked by her usual queenly demeanor. “Good. You make the right choice, Remalla.” No choice at all, but I nod. “Now, you may go. Prepare yourself. You leave for Winderose within the week.”

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