My mother did not greet me at the docks, when I arrived on Aveline’s shores. Instead, I was greeted by a retinue of her personal guard, and her trembling lady-in-waiting. 

“Princess Audrianna,” the woman said, curtsying deeply, her eyes low. “Welcome back, your highness. The queen sends her regards.” 

She held out a small jewelry box, intricately carved with roses and thorns - a favor. I opened it, revealing a thin silver circlet, dotted with ruby stones. 

“She requested that you wear it when you arrive at the castle,” the lady continued, her eyes flicking up for just a second before once again inspecting her shoes. “I’m sure it will look beautiful on you, your highness. You look so much like your father.” 

It dawned on me then that the lady-in-waiting was likely old enough to have met my father. She would have been with my mother from the moment she entered the country, perhaps met her at this same dock. I had seen King Alexander’s portrait - his pale skin and golden hair, like mine, shining in the sun. But this was the first time I had met someone who knew him. 

“Thank you,” I said softly, setting the circlet on my head. “Ride with me.” 

We set off in several carriages - the Duke and Duchess in one, the lady and I in another. Her name was Isabella. Guards on horseback rode beside us as I stared out the window, hoping for a glimpse of my country beyond their silhouettes. 

“How large is the castle?” I asked, craning my neck to see the distant mountains. 

“Quite large. There are four wings.” 

“And my rooms - they’ll be near my mother’s?” 

“Yes, your highness. Your rooms are near the other royal family rooms. I believe yours are beside your brother, James.” 

“Half-brother,” I corrected. 

Isabella gave a soft gasp, and I turned finally from the window to face her again. 

“Of course - I - I’m so sorry, Princess,” she stammered, lip quivering. 

That was the moment that it truly hit me: I was no longer in Raverre. I was no longer a child in training, and my red eyes and transformation scars were no longer commonplace. I had always been treated with respect in Raverre, if not deference - a foreign royal, a gifted ward. 

Here, in my homeland, I was something to fear. 

“No need to apologize,” I told Isabella, reaching up to touch the circlet on my head. “I look forward to meeting him.” 

******

I did not recognize my mother from her portrait. Only from her crown. 

She stood in the courtyard, surrounded by attendants. The sun was high, and glinted off the gold on her head as I stepped out of the carriage, pulling a sheer black veil down over my eyes. She was so much older than I had imagined - her dark hair streaked with silver, her face powdered to hide the wrinkles. Her posture, rigid and severe, held the weight of years of struggle, ruling alone. 

She smiled, and I ran to her. 

In her letters, she was always warm. She would write to me at least once a year, asking me about my studies, saying that she missed me dearly. As I got older she would update me on the state of things in Aveline and at court, assuring me that once I arrived, everything would be better. She always signed off: “From your loving mother, Queen Valentina.” 

When I embraced her, she stepped back. Her arms wrapped affectionately around me, but her body stepped back, maintaining her distance. The slightest shift, a shuffling of silk skirts. I could hear her heartbeat, slow and steady. 

“My darling girl,” she said, her voice soft, as she placed her hands on my shoulders and held me out to look at me. “Welcome home.” 

She turned to look at the small gathering behind her, members of court, and addressed them commandingly: “The Princess Audrianna has returned!” 

I scanned down the row of people, recognizing them by portraits and by the emblems they wore. There was my aunt Anastasia, one of my father’s many surviving sisters - the only one still unmarried, while all the rest had been dispersed to foreign princes. There was James, my half-brother, the late king’s bastard - too sickly to take the throne, but well enough to smile from his wheelchair while an attendant held a parasol over his head. And there was Prince Phillip, my cousin via one of my father’s overseas sisters, who was hoping to claim the throne despite not having a paternal link. Aveline, unlike Raverre, was deeply opposed to women on the throne, and inheritance here passed only through the father’s line. 

I would change that. With me by my mother’s side, lending her strength and protection, we would change that. 

*****

I was sent to settle into my rooms and meet the court again at dinner. Isabella, who was already at my side, guided me through the halls. 

“Your luggage is being brought up,” she told me, as we reached the door to my suite. “Do you need anything else?” 

I knew I needed to feed soon - my stomach was starting to ache, my energy low, and I could smell the blood in Isabella’s veins, coppery-sweet. But all I really wanted now was a moment alone. 

“No, thank you,” I told her, and she nodded her head as I stepped inside and closed the door. 

The room was blessedly dark. Thick black curtains hung over the windows and the gentle glow of gas lamps on the walls illuminated a lush red rug, dark wood wardrobes, and a four-poster bed covered in furs. Doorways off of the bedroom led to a privy chamber, a sitting room for taking meetings, and a large dressing room, complete with a bath, a mirror, and nearly a dozen trunks full of new clothes. I ran my hand across velvet dresses and cloaks, each one embroidered carefully with my mother’s emblem: the rose and thorns. 

Voices came from the other side of the wall - servants, speaking at normal volume, unused to the fact of my elevated sense. I could hear the sound of another bath being filled, and remembered that the chambers beside mine belonged to James. 

“It’s not safe,” said one servant’s voice. “I don’t want to be around when the carnage starts.” 

“You won’t be,” said the other. The second voice sounded older, more wise. “Nothing is going to happen. Not here, anyway.” 

“If she isn’t here to kill her brother, then what’s she here for?” 

“To protect the Queen Regent.” Their footsteps moved lightly across the floor, going about their duties. “Valentina can’t rule on James’ behalf if he’s gone. She wouldn’t have him killed.” 

“She can’t rule on his behalf if he gets better, either. She’ll start with him first and then take out the rest of the competitors.” 

The older voice shushed him, lowering their tone. 

“Don’t say such things,” they warned. “The nasferata are a tradition, where the queen comes from.”  

“A monstrous tradition,” the younger one replied. “And I won’t be around to see it.” 

*****

I sat at my mother’s right hand at dinner, the guest of honor. My half-brother, James, sat on her left. My sense of smell, heightened by my unattended hunger, revolted as the courses came out, despising the aroma of roasted vegetables and charred meat. I needed something fresher. 

“We’ll have a public feast in two weeks, after you’ve settled in,” my mother said, smiling at me as she ate. “To celebrate your return, of course. Guests have already begun arriving from across the country, eager to meet you.” 

“It’s a great expense,” said a voice from the other end of the table - some unhappy-looking noble, a member of my mother’s Council, whose name I hadn’t caught. He gave me a disapproving scowl. 

“And a great opportunity to show the people our strength,” my mother replied, directing her charm at him as if she had no idea of his mood. “I’ll spare no expense for my daughter, the late king’s heir.” 

Across the table, James glanced up at me over his bowl of soup, then quickly looked down again as our eyes met. He was my elder by only a few months, and in another life, could have been my twin: golden hair, a sharp nose, and skin nearly as pale as a nasferata, from his lack of sun. The only thing he lacked was my red eyes and my scars, carefully covered now by a high-collared dress I’d found in my chambers. 

“I’ve arranged for all manner of entertainment,” my mother went on, nonplussed. “Circus performers, singers, and the like. There will be a tournament, of course. And a demonstration of your skills and training, for those unfamiliar with Raverian customs.” 

“Mine?” I asked, surprised. 

“Yes of course, dear,” she replied, resting a soft hand on my knee. “I’ve corresponded with your trainer for years, he always spoke so highly of you. I’m sure the crowds will be thrilled to see.” 

The thought of Phoenix writing letters to my mother as I grew up sent a pang of homesickness through me, which I immediately chastised myself for. There was no need to be homesick. I was home. 

“I’m not sure that’s wise, when the people already believe you’ve brought home some lurking beast,” said Anastasia, my aunt, with no small manner of disdain. My mother’s eyes turned on her, all charm abruptly dropped. 

“Your Princess is an extension of your Queen,” she said. “You will apologize.” 

I could hear Anastasia’s heartbeat jump, suddenly racing. She set her spoon down softly on the table, all eyes turning in her direction. 

“I’m sorry, Princess,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Please forgive me.” 

I opened my mouth, to reply, but felt my mother’s hand on my knee again - this time gripping hard, a signal. She turned to me. 

“Darling, it was rude of us to invite you to a meal you cannot eat,” she said, smiling softly again. “You must be hungry.” She looked beyond me, meeting eyes with a servant filling goblets. “Pierre, would you show the Princess the way to the dungeons?” 

“Yes, your majesty,” he said quickly, setting his pitcher down and turning to me. “Right this way, your highness.”