Since the day her engagement was forcibly announced, a bitter truth had crystallized within Althea: no contract, no oath, no sweet promise was strong enough to protect her life if the Crown Prince someday decided to renege on their agreement.
Caspian might be able to postpone the death written for her, but he would never prevent it. And Althea, with all the mask of foolishness attached to her in the eyes of the world, was never naive enough to hang her life on the mercy of a man who looked at her as if she were a stain to be erased from his royal record.
She stood in front of her tall chamber window, gazing at the afternoon sky painted orange and purple, like blood mixed with gold. Below, the palace garden, perfectly manicured, stretched out like a living tapestry, yet to her, it was no more than a magnificent gilded cage.
