"That his third daughter, Felicity Valorian, would be named heir to the throne of Vraven and crowned its queen."
The hall detonated.
Half the peerage came up shouting. The other half turned as one to stare at the eastern gallery, at the princes, and the words flew over the floor like crossbow bolts.
"The third princess..."
"...passed over both princes? The king had gone senile..."
"...sold the succession, the succession itself, to Ravenshade..."
At the foot of the dais, Princess Felicity Valorian stood absolutely still, and her face had gone white as her armor.
And the deal was exactly what the duke said it was.
Three years ago, a dying king had traded his youngest daughter's future to the most dangerous house in his realm, buying the strength he needed to rule.
Tharion had chosen her himself: the youngest, the sweetest, the one who would come to her throne knowing nothing, owing everything, reaching for the first steady hand offered.
