The chamber shifted once more. The rattling of chains dissolved into silence, and the torchlight flickered out. When Amaya opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the ancient cell.
She was standing in the throne room of Asteria Palace. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, painting the marble floor in brilliant hues of gold and crimson. But instead of warmth, a chill pressed against her skin.
Her father, the crown prince Ibarra, sat high upon the throne. His crown gleamed, his robes immaculate—but his eyes were hard, cold, merciless. At his side stood her mother, Princess Consort Nelida, her beauty untarnished by time, though her lips curved with disdain.
