Chapter 1

Three years ago, she had still been the most unloved illegitimate daughter of the prime minister.

Verde Lakefield, her older sister, was her father’s darling daughter and was in a loving relationship with Aleron Tavron, the then sixth prince.

But Gregory Lakefield, her father, had thought that the fourth prince possessed the greater prospect of ascending the throne. Thus, he tore them apart and compelled Verde to marry the fourth prince instead.

To the astonishment of all, it was Aleron who was crowned king in the end.

In his fury, Aleron demoted Gregory.

In a desperate attempt to appease the king, he sent Snow into the palace to serve him and to endure whatever punishment he chose to inflict.

Snow still remembered the first time she met Aleron.

The young king, striking in appearance and clad entirely in black, had stood before her as she knelt upon the floor, his countenance as cold as stone. “You are one of the Lakefields?”

As everyone had anticipated, Aleron poured the whole of his bitterness upon her.

She was whipped, made to kneel for hours together, and forced to stand barefoot upon shattered pottery through the bitter cold of winter. There was scarcely a part of her that escaped without injury.

Then, one night, overcome by wine, he mistook her for Verde. He took her by force.

The error endured for three years.

Night after night, she was summoned to his bed until, at length, she found herself unable to bear it any longer.

She had resolved only to endure until her years of service had come to an end, but on the very day she was to leave, the King’s attendant prevented her.

“His Majesty has declared that you are not to leave the grounds,” Emmanuel Jefferson, the king’s attendant, practically screeched.

Only then did she understand the truth. So long as the king desired it, she would never leave this gilded prison.

Fortune, however, had offered her a single ray of hope. A year before, by the merest chance, she had rescued a grievously wounded man dressed all in black.

Only afterwards did she discover that he was Ciaran Noche, the most feared assassin in the kingdom.

“I owe you my life,” he had told her. “Ask one favor of me, and it shall be granted.”

She only had one wish, and that was her freedom.

As she returned to the bedside, she found herself met by a pair of cold, dark eyes.

Standing beside the bed, he regarded her in silence before asking, “Where have you been?”

“I was thirsty and wanted some water,” she replied, striving to keep her voice steady.

Aleron’s gaze turned even colder. “Get back to bed.”

She obeyed without protest, whereupon he caught her beneath the chin. “Fix this well in your memory. Without my permission, you are not to leave.”

“As you will.”

Apparently satisfied, he released her, only to draw her once more into his embrace.

As the scent of ambergris enveloped her, Snow closed her eyes and silently counted the days that remained until she might finally be free.

The next morning, Snow found her legs so weakened that they would scarcely support her weight.

Aleron scoffed at her plight. “Truly, you are useless. You cannot even stand after serving me but a few times? I’ll have the carriage take you back.”

“I wouldn’t dare—”

Before she could finish, he stooped without ceremony, gathered her into his arms, and carried her from the chamber.

“This is against the rules, Your Majesty!” she protested, clutching at his sleeve in alarm.

“Silence!”

The single word invited no argument. He placed her within the carriage himself.

When they reached the palace’s laundry house, Aleron suddenly lifted a hand, signaling the attendants to halt.

Snow followed the direction of his gaze.

A maid clad in blue was hanging freshly washed garments out to dry.

It was Ametsa Marsh. She bore a passing resemblance to Verde.

“Bring that maid to my chambers tonight,” Aleron said at last.

Emmanuel required no further explanation. He immediately dispatched someone to carry the King’s command, and the news left Ametsa in the highest spirits for the remainder of the day.

She reportedly washed the laundry with unusual diligence and bathed several times in anticipation of the evening.

Snow, meanwhile, paid it little mind. Aleron had been too rough yesterday, and even at this point, her thoughts remained clouded, her limbs felt as though they were fashioned of lead, and a fever smoldered beneath her skin.

When the hour appointed for her duties arrived and she had still not appeared, Emmanuel came to inquire after her.

“I’m feeling quite unwell, Mr. Jefferson. Please tell His Majesty that I need to rest,” she said feebly as she lay in bed.

Emmanuel pitied her and said, “Rest well. I shall convey your words to His Majesty.”

When he had departed, silence settled over the little chamber once more.

Yet the fever refused to break. Even after taking medicine, the burning only seemed to deepen.

It was well after nightfall, while her mind still wandered in a haze, that the door was thrown open. Ametsa rushed inside, tears glistening in her eyes, and struck Snow sharply across the face.

“You did this deliberately, did you not? I had at last found favor in His Majesty’s eyes, yet before I could share his bed, you suddenly took ill.

“He was so concerned for you that he dismissed me and came in search of you! His Majesty has taken no queen all these years and has had only you attend him by night. Do you mean to keep him entirely for yourself?”

Snow scarcely understood what was being said. The fever had robbed her of clear thought. How could Aleron possibly harbor any affection for her?

“I’m truly unwell…”

Ametsa refused to believe a word of it. Blinded by jealousy, she struck Snow again and again. “All you know is how to entice men, you shameless creature! Before this night is over, I shall tear that pretty face to pieces!”

Already exhausted by illness, Snow found herself unable to endure such senseless accusations.

“I am about to leave,” she blurted out at last. “Why would I seek to seduce him?”

“Leave?”

The single word, uttered in a voice cold enough to still the room, came from the doorway.

Aleron stood upon the threshold with a ruthlessness in his gaze that admitted no comfort. “Where are you going, Snow?”