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“You’re aware of King Konram’s original heir,” she goes on. “Prince Dunstam.”
It’s not a question, but her pause makes me feel I should answer anyway. “Yes. He supposedly died of a sudden illness just before his twelfth birthday.”
My hands clench at my sides. “Did Lothar have something to do with that after all? I suggested to King Konram that the scourge sorcerers might?—”
Petra raises her hand to stop me. “In this particular crime, the traitors to the Crown had no involvement. Because there was no crime. There wasn’t even a death.”
She pauses, and the corner of her lips quirks upward with a hint of wryness. “A little more than seven years ago, I stopped being Prince Dunstam and became Princess Petra.”
I stare at her for a moment before her full meaning sinks in.
She does look rather a lot like Queen Ishild for a distant niece, doesn’t she? And something about her way of speaking has always reminded me of King Konram.
I try to recall Prince Dunstam’s face from the scattered times I saw him as a child. He was a year younger than me, an occasional presence in parades and celebrations—and on the palace balcony during the riven executions.
I’m not surprised I didn’t see it, even if it makes sense now that she’s told me.
“That’s the gift you asked your godlen for. To change your sex.” My gaze drops to the two missing fingers on her right hand—little and ring—then rises again. “And more than that. Your hair color—your face…”
Petra’s mouth curves into an actual smile, though it still looks more sad than anything else. “Exactly. Certain parts of my body never felt quite right when I was growing up. I was meant to be a woman, and Ardone transformed my outer self to match what’s inside. I… might have been a little vain as well. I asked her to take inspiration from my mother more than my father. The features I originally inherited from him weren’t very comely.”
The revelation helps so many pieces fit together that a laugh tumbles out of me. That’s why she’s been so close with King Konram and Queen Ishild—they’re her parents. That’s why she was so invested in the rumors the conspirators were spreading to discredit the royal family.
But—
“Why did you pretend to be someone else altogether?” I have to ask. “You could have announced the change after your dedication ceremony, and everyone would have adjusted with a little time.”
Asking for a dedication gift that’s a one-time but permanent change rather than an ongoing talent isn’t common, but it’s not seen as strange either. And when it does happen, it’s often for the same reason Petra gave.
I heard of kids who’d made a similar switch during my days of listening in on gossip on the streets of Florian. Most of the time the talk involved a lot of tongue clucking and people saying it was too bad they’d had to wait so long when it’d been so obvious they’d want the change since they were much smaller.
Petra looks down at her hands. “That was my father’s idea. He’s always been so concerned about our safety.”
She glances back at her siblings and then meets my eyes again. “I discussed my intent with my parents before the dedication ceremony. Father suggested that we could concoct a story about me dying, and I could mingle with noble society under a different identity once my appearance was changed. I could learn more about the people I’d be ruling over without them censoring themselves in front of me, and I should be safe from assassination attempts or our enemies trying to use me to hurt him. Then, once I’d finished my education and he was ready to have me start officially training in as his heir, we’d reveal the truth in a big celebration.”
“I didn’t like it,” Princess Klaudia mumbles, and swipes at her eyes. They’re ruddy from a lot of recently shed tears, understandably. “It meant we could hardly see you and talk with you at all.”
Petra grimaces and steps back to slip her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “I know. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there more, Klaudia. There were times when I wondered if all the subterfuge was really worth it, but once I’d committed…”
She sighs and lifts her head toward the rest of us. “It’s over now regardless. My parents are gone, so it’s up to me to see that Silana doesn’t fall to the scourge sorcerers.”
Stavros said all but the exact words, but my body stiffens anyway. “Your parents?—”
“Are dead.” Her voice flattens with the words—with the emotion I have to think she’s suppressing.
Her gaze homes in on my bandage. “I have to thank you for fighting against our enemies as hard as you did. We all might have died back in Florian, and we certainly would have in Regica if not for you. But Lothar took us by such surprise as it was—as soon as he saw what you did, he leapt at my father?—”
She falters, and Prince Jacos shivers beneath his cloak. He peers at me with his mouth set at an anxious slant—and a little flinch when I raise my hand.
I freeze, my heart lurching painfully at the reminder of everything my presence must remind him of. Everything my vicious magic made possible.
I’m not going to force Petra to go on. I can imagine the scene well enough from hearing Lothar’s plotting, from the flashes of memory of blood and pained gasps.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop them completely,” I say hoarsely.
Klaudia turns her head away as if she can’t bear to look at me.
Petra glances at her sister and then back at me. “It isn’t your fault. That awful man…” She cuts herself off with a hiss of breath. “I tried to tell our father that you weren’t a threat, you know. Even back at the college, I could tell you were honestly on our side. But he always leaned a little too far toward caution.”
