“I say we start with the fingers, Your Highness. One for every year you’ve been away from your kingdom.” Bastian never planned to join a coup to overthrow the king of Atethra, especially one so time-intensive. But who was he to refuse the coin of desperation? Though it wasn’t the money that swayed Bastian’s decision to join your cause. Rather, it was the blaze of determination behind tear-streaked eyes—a surprising strength where one would expect nothing but weakness.

It was common knowledge the king was a cruel man. His children commodities, and his queen, rest her kind soul, had been nothing more than a disposable tool. Of all the princes and princesses to be born and raised within the palace walls, few survived. Even fewer had the courage to leave and of the ones who’d managed to flee, none were bold enough to return—until you.

Revenge was a beautiful thing. Bastian, having bore witness to the way it fueled your every action for the past ten years, was more than happy to give his life over to you and your cause.

Rain pelted against the tents pitched in the small encampment, a week’s journey from Atethra. If he believed in such things, Bastian might have seen it as an omen of poor luck. But the fates had already been too cruel to you.

When you didn’t respond to his quip, Bastian pocketed the knife he’d been twirling between his fingers. The comfort of his cot and furs forgotten to pull you from the storm of your thoughts. “Lost in your head again, Highness? Worry not, you’ve a solid army at your disposal, and you have me. Always.” For Bastian, it hadn’t been about the coin for a long time. “When it’s all over, Atethra will have no choice but to recognize you as the rightful heir. Take pride in that.”