I sat with my werefriend, careful not to push her too hard emotionally. Struggled to keep my voice light, my questions on business. But I could feel the cracks in her veneer, the way the title-hastily bestowed, within minutes of her sitting on the throne, as though Oleksander didn't trust her not to run-chafed around the edges of her psyche.

Queen Sharlotta turned from the office window she stared out of to meet my eyes, redressed in fresh ...