CHAPTER 1

Tonight I would go to my doom. The night's official coronation festivities stretched out before me like a black shroud. Tonight, the heavy crown I despised would no longer rest on velvet inside a glass case surrounded by armed guards. It would rest upon my head.

Beneath my window, the sea raged and tossed. I thought about throwing myself into it, but I've never been much of a swimmer. Not even the fate that awaited me could be worse than drowning.

"Perion, the Grand Ball can not begin without you."

I turned from the window to see my godmother Magogah. Her witch's hairdo had been tamed for this evening and her gown embroidered with celestial signs. My heart turned in my chest at the sight. She'd taken such care to celebrate my joy; how could I tell her I dreaded becoming queen?

"How can I celebrate? Tonight, I dance. Tomorrow, I die."

Magogah snorted and rolled her eyes. "Bite your tongue, girl. You're so melodramatic. You'll not die tomorrow. You'll merely announce who you'll wed."

"'Tis perhaps the same thing," I grumbled. "Or worse."

"Don't you want to get married, dearie?" Magogah pushed me gently until I turned to allow her to tug at the bodice of my violet gown. "Your ladies-in-waiting should be here to help you dress. Help you with your hair. Some pretty young things who know the latest styles, not old me."

"Oh, my ladies." I had sent them away hours ago. I bent to peer in the mirror. "They'd want to powder and paint me a dozen times over. I have no need for that."

Magogah leaned close to press her cheek to mine. In the mirror, her eyes twinkled. "Nay, you do not. You will shine on your own this night, Perion."

I had meant I had no use for such fripperies, but Magogah's compliment warmed me anyway and gave me a much-needed sense of confidence. I hugged her, even though she protested. "Thank you, Magogah."

"Get on with you." Her plump cheeks pinked. "Hugging an old witch. 'Tis not fit behavior for a queen."

I smoothed the front of my dress and watched my reflection. The young woman who stared back at me certainly looked like a queen, at least by her dress and demeanor. "Perhaps I am not meant to be queen."

"And what else would you be?" Magogah demanded. "You've been raised for naught else. Since your basmitzveh you've ruled this country–"

"With the help of my father's advisors," I cut in. "Never on my own. Sir Roderick and the others have their fingers so deep within Canticle's pie, I fear they'll never concede to remove them. They've tasted power for eight years now. They'll not wish to give it up so easily." Magogah fussed for a moment with my hair. "Once you've wed, you'll need worry yourself no longer. Your king will take care of such things for you. Your mother had hair this color, you know."

"Did she?" I touched one of the auburn curls brushing my shoulder. "People say I look like her."

"You do, dearie. Very much." Magogah sighed, lost in her own thoughts for a moment. Then she brightened and gave me a conspiratorial look. "Can't you give me even the tiniest hint of who you've chosen?"

"No!" The moment the word left my mouth I regretted its harshness.

Magogah had been my only family since my parents' death at sea when I was five years old. Though our ties came from a convoluted history of marriages and not blood, she was closer to me than anyone else. And I had offended her.

"You've not chosen, have you?"

Her quiet words brought a lump to my throat. I could not meet her eyes, so I sat at my dressing table to fight with my hair. Silently, Magogah took the brush and hairpins from me, and helped me pin up the curls until I looked more like a queen and less like a rag doll.

Copyright © 2005 by Megan Hart