Meanwhile, in the heart of the royal palace, the heavy doors to King Ralden's chamber burst open with a deafening crash.
"Enough!"
A woman strode in—regal, even with her stomach round and heavy as a watermelon. Her silken gown hung in disarray, torn from haste; her dark hair streamed loose over her shoulders. Yet her presence blazed with a fire that could shame the sun.
Queen Zanzara of Ra-Iya—Amaya's cousin.
Her eyes blazed as she fixed them on the king. "My King! She is the first princess of Lireya, my blood! How can you do that to her? Aren't you scared of retribution?"
Ralden's expression twisted, rage flashing across his features. "Zanzara," he growled, "this is no concern of yours. You forget your place."
But Zanzara did not waver. She rushed to Amaya's side, seizing her cousin's cold hand. "Wake up, Amaya. Open your eyes. He is not Marx. He is King Ralden. Wake up!" Her voice cut through the fog like a blade, fierce and desperate.
