“Please stand up. I am not...” I begin, but Beatrice clamps her hand over mine, silencing me midsentence. I turn to face her, brows furrowed in confusion as she shakes her head urgently.

“They need it,” she rasps, desperation etched in the hollows of her cheeks.

“Need what?” 

“Hope.”

Understanding dawns as I glance around at the sea of haunted faces turned towards me with longing. “They think I’m Jane right now, don’t they? That’s why they called me their Queen.” ...