That noon.

The storm rattled the glass panes of my chamber like the kingdom itself was breaking. Thunder boomed low and hungry, the kind that rumbled in your ribs and warned you that something was about to snap. My head still throbbed from fainting earlier, the Queen’s voice—her poisonous promise—echoing in my skull like an iron brand: Stay silent, girl, or Gregor will hang.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to howl my truth in the council hall. Instead, I sat curled in my chamber, the ...