Just a rat, she repeated to herself. After all, there were rats in the palace. Human and otherwise. Could be worse.

She had never felt more alive than when she lay dying in Han Alister's arms.

Admit nothing - that was his first rule. Appeal to logic - second rule. Delay the inevitable - third rule.

More and more, there were no revelations, but simply the uncovering of truths long known but dimly remembered. Everything had been written long ago. There was nothing truly new in the world, but only the slow, circular march of time that revealed the old things once again.

And they always slept better with blades beneath their beds.

You look like a boy who has eaten the fruit of the tree of knowledge and doesn't like the taste.

Raisa felt relieved, yet oddly disappointed. She was the blooded princess heir, yet in servants' clothes she was apparently unrecognizable. In the stories, rulers had a natural presence about them that identified them as such, even dressed in rags. What's the nature of royalty, she wondered. Is it like a gown you put on that disappears when you take it off? Does anyone look beyond the finery? Could anyone in the queendom take her place, given the right accessories? If so, it was contrary to everything she'd ever been taught about bloodlines.