Empress Constantina

ble floor. Emperor Henry III of Aragon stood at the great arched window, his broad shoulders framed against the dying light. Below, the terraced gardens of the p

he knew it was her without turning. The subtle frag

tralto that filled the high-ceilinged room. She came to stand beside him, her

or's hand surprisingly gentle as he cupped her cheek, then let his fingers trail up to pat her elaborately braided hair with familiar affecti

commanding shout. They both looked down to see their daughter, Constantina, a whirlwind of focused energy at fourteen, parrying and striking agai

. And our little spitfire is growing up to be a fierce Empress. Look at her, Henry. She moves like water a

s, beyond Aragon... it does not celebrate magnificent women. It fears them." He turned from the window, pacing toward the great hearth where a low fire crackled. "Sometimes I wonder if we trained her too hard, too well. We shaped a sword, El

na is not just a sword, Henry. She is the shield, the scale, and the heart. She reads treatises on law and agriculture with the same passion she brings to swordplay. She sits with the village elders and le

aching from his shoulders. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "You see her so clearly," he said. "You always have. You see the woman, where I sometimes still see the child I must protect fr

ad back and laughed, the sound carrying up to them, bright and unburdened. The sun caught the sweat on her brow and the brilliant smile on her face, and for a breathtaking moment, she was not just their daughter, but the very e

*****

Years

as Constantina, now twenty, guided her dappled grey mare, Tempest, along a familiar trail. Her body ached pleasantly from the morni

Constanti

shing through the underbrush. Constantina reined in Tempest

rom a thicket, his tunic snagged with burrs, his face flushed with

r," she laughed, her eyes crinkling. "What mischief h

ef, Your Highness! Important business! Papa says I'm a man now." He thrust a thumb against his stern

ached him and ruffled his unruly sandy hair, which promptly defied her and sprang back into place. "Two buckets? A m

rld sha

A woman's scream, high and piercing, was followed by a man's bellow of pure agony. Then more screams,

shied, whinnying in alarm. Con

ed, his eyes wide with p

ble. Aragona Village, nestled just beyond the palace's southern w

anded, her voice sharp with an authority that brooked no argument. Abandoning Tempest,

er, and beneath it all, the coppery, gut-churning tang of blood. The sounds resolved as they burst from the woods: the hungry crackle of flames, the crash of coll

Village

ruins belching oily smoke. The central square's beautiful oak was a charred claw reaching for

dies... Oh,

clutched in his hands. She saw Elara, the young mother who sold flowers, draped over her two small children in a final,

ter's hand went slack. Her vision tunneled, focusing on details-a scrap of blue fabric that matched her mothe

prayer. She dropped to her knees beside a pair of bodies near the smoldering shell of the meeting hall. With hands that shook violently

orld narrowed to the terrible search, her fingers brushing cold skin, stiffening limbs. Po

ttle princess f

lass-smooth, yet grating. It cut through the c

tallize. She knew that voice. She turned, rising slowly t

metal, etched with intricate, serpentine designs that seemed to move in the flickering firelight. Not a speck of blood or ash marred its surface. His handsome face, all sharp a

e step toward her. His boot came down in a puddle of something dark, but he

ef so profound it had nowhere to go but out as rage. Every lesson in composure, ever

ing behind her, his small fingers cl

e of presentation. "I have corrected a historical oversight, my dear. I have reclaimed what was always meant to be mine. Your father's stubbornness, his refusal to see the... new orde

ulsive step forward. "They were good people! They loved these sub

nd the forgotten." His gaze flicked over Porter with dismissive contempt before settling back on her. "Your father's sentimentality w

into a hard, sharp point of hatred. "You will not bu

any shout. His soldiers chuckled behind him, a low, ugly chorus. "To whom? The gods? They favor the st

though every instinct screamed to recoil. He was close enough now that she could

dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "It's what has always fascinate

you touch me," she spat, h

ng in the air for a moment before dropping. "Death is the easy way out, Constantina. I have something far more interesting in mind for you. Yo

slimy, joined the grief in her g

's hope becomes my puppet. Your defiance will become my proof of mercy." His eyes scanned her from head to toe, a calculating, invasi

ow. He didn't just want to kill her. He wanted to ow

her voice trembling not with fear, b

tubborn pride. You'll cling to life, hoping for a chance to strike back. And I will be there every time, to remind you of

r behind her and dropped into a fighting stance, her hands

t. "Still fighting? I admire the tenacity,

tisfying crack. He went down with a cry. The second lunged. She sidestepped, grabbed

, pinning her arms. She fought, kicking, twisting, biting down

ill playing on his lips. "Ah, the fire burn

nched himself at Raymond, small fists flying. Raymond didn't even look at him.

ina screamed agains

y lay, drawing a long, slender dagge

inally broke free, cutting through the grime on her face. "Please, don't! He's j

. The first beg." He held her gaze for a long, torturous moment. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he sheathed the dagger. "He lives. Consider it a wedding gift, my dear. A token o

o the black carriage. Bind her hands.

tantina didn't fight. She kept her eyes on Porter, who was struggling to sit up, his face a mess of

ill make this right. I will bu

parents. She took one last look over her shoulder at the smoldering village, at the smal

grim, Princess," he said conversationally, as if they were out for a st

ed inside, into the plush, suffocating darkness, Constantina Ara

lamming shut, sealing her in darkness. This i