The infant's cries bounced off the narrow stone walls, loud and full of life. Agnes moved the warm, wet cloth over the baby's delicate skin in quick, gentle strokes.

Alistair's Adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat. He took a half-step forward, leaning over Agnes's shoulder, desperate to see.

On the bed, Pandora slumped against the blood-stained pillows. Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles were pure white. Her eyes were wide, manic, staring at the stone ceiling as she whispered frantic, breathless prayers to any god who would listen.

Agnes moved the cloth down to the baby's lower half.

Suddenly, the healer's hands stopped. Her entire body froze. It was as if she had been turned to stone.

The wet cloth slipped from her trembling fingers. It hit the edge of the copper basin with a sharp smack, splashing pink, blood-tinged water onto the freezing floor.

Agnes's shoulders started to shake. A violent shudder ripped through her spine. She sucked in a sharp, ragged breath. All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin a sickly, translucent gray.

Alistair saw her freeze. An invisible fist punched straight through his chest and squeezed his lungs. His breath caught.

"What is it?" Alistair demanded. His voice was a low, terrifying growl. "Agnes! Speak!"

Agnes turned her head slowly. Her eyes were wide with a terror so profound it looked like madness. Her lips trembled, parting, but no sound came out.

Alistair shoved her aside. He stepped up to the foot of the bed and grabbed the edge of the rough wool blanket wrapped around the crying infant. He ripped it back.

The flickering torchlight hit the baby's lower half.

It was flat. There were no male organs.

It was a girl. The ultimate curse of the Wither era.

Alistair's pupils shrank to pinpricks. It felt like a sledgehammer slammed directly into his sternum. His legs gave out completely. His knees slammed into the hard stone floor with a sickening thud.

He buried his face in his hands. His broad shoulders heaved. A raw, animalistic gasp tore from his throat. It was the sound of a man drowning in absolute despair.

Pandora heard the gasp. Her maternal instincts caught the shift in the room's oxygen. Her brain short-circuited. The last thread of her sanity snapped.

"No... no! It's impossible!" Pandora shrieked.

The sound was agonizing. She didn't care about the tearing pain between her legs. She thrashed wildly, trying to drag her exhausted body toward the foot of the bed.

Alistair's head snapped up. Survival instinct kicked in. He lunged forward, grabbing the wool blanket and wrapping it tightly around the baby. He spun around and caught his wife just as she nearly tumbled off the mattress.

He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to his chest.

Pandora fought him. She beat her fists against his chest. Tears flooded from her eyes, soaking right through Alistair's linen shirt.

"It's a girl... God, why are you punishing us? !" Pandora screamed, her voice cracking into a hysterical sob. "Orestus will sell her! They'll treat her like livestock! My baby!"

Alistair clamped his large hand over her mouth. He shot a terrified look at the heavy oak door. If the guards heard this, they were dead. All of them.

Agnes backed away from the bed. She retreated until her spine hit the cold stone wall. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. "We are going to hang," she mumbled, her eyes vacant. "The King is going to kill us all."

The baby girl felt the panic in the room. Her cries grew sharper, piercing the air. Every wail felt like a serrated blade sawing against Alistair's heart.

He had to stop this. He grabbed Pandora by the shoulders and shook her. Hard.

"Quiet! Pandora! Look at me!" Alistair hissed. His eyes were wild, feral. "We cannot break down right now!"

Pandora's screams choked off into violent, gasping sobs. Her chest heaved. She reached out with trembling arms.

Alistair gently placed the doomed baby girl into her mother's embrace.

Pandora looked down at the tiny, red face. The sheer force of a mother's love slammed into her, overriding the panic. She pulled the baby tight against her bare chest, trying to shield her from the cold room and the colder world outside.

The baby felt the warmth of her mother's skin. The sharp cries slowly faded into soft, contented smacks of her lips. She had no idea she had just been born into a slaughterhouse.

Alistair stood up. He walked to the oak door and pressed his ear against the thick wood. He held his breath, listening for the clank of armor or the shout of guards.

Nothing. Just the storm.

He turned back to the room. He looked down at Agnes sitting on the floor. He drew the dagger from his belt. The steel caught the candlelight. His eyes were dead and full of warning.

Agnes slapped both hands over her mouth. She shook her head frantically, silently promising she wouldn't make a sound.

Alistair sheathed the blade. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at his wife. "I have to go to the Great Hall. I need to see what Orestus is doing. I need to know if he suspects anything. Wait here."

Alistair pulled his blood-stained cloak tightly around his shoulders. He gave Pandora one last, agonizing look as she rocked the baby. He grabbed the iron handle, pulled the heavy oak door open, and slipped out.

He pulled the door shut behind him until it clicked. He melted into the thick shadows of the corridor, moving like a stalking panther.

His military boots made almost no sound on the stone. He navigated the labyrinth of the palace, slipping past two arched doorways heavily guarded by sentries. He timed his movements with the crashes of thunder outside.

The narrow hallway opened up. Blinding light spilled from the Great Hall ahead. The deafening roar of drunken laughter and clinking gold goblets assaulted his ears.

Alistair pressed his back against a massive, intricately carved stone pillar just outside the entrance. He held his breath and peeked around the edge.

In the center of the hall sat King Orestus. The tyrant's face was flushed red with wine. He held a jeweled goblet in one hand, and with the other, he roughly gripped the waist of a trembling, terrified slave girl sitting on his lap.

Orestus slammed his goblet on the table. "Drink, my lords!" he bellowed. "Tonight, we secure the borders! I have finalized a highly profitable military alliance with the Kingdom of Cavar!"

Alistair's hearing homed in on the King's words. His chest tightened. A drop of cold sweat slid down his temple.

Orestus puffed out his chest, grinning like a predator. "And to seal this alliance, I have offered them a prize. My dear brother Alistair's six-year-old daughter, Princess Josefina. She ships out tomorrow to be raised in the pens as a future breeding mare for the Cavar savages!"

The hall erupted. A chorus of vulgar, booming laughter bounced off the walls. Several nobles leaned in, making disgusting, graphic comments about Josefina's developing body.

Alistair's eyes flooded with red. The blood roared in his ears so loudly it drowned out the thunder. Pure, unadulterated rage obliterated his sanity. His fingers curled around the edge of the stone pillar.

He squeezed so hard his fingernails scraped uselessly against the solid rock. The sharp edges of the stone bit deep into his flesh, drawing blood, but he didn't feel the pain. He forced himself to swallow the metallic taste of blood and humiliation in his mouth. If he charged in there now, he would be cut down in seconds. His wife would be killed. His daughters would be taken.

Alistair spun around. He was a cornered beast. He sprinted back toward the West Tower, his lungs burning, his bloody hands clenched into fists.

He reached the secret delivery room and shoved the door open. He slammed it shut behind him and threw the heavy iron deadbolt into place.

Pandora looked up from the bed. She saw the blood dripping from his fingers. She saw the absolute devastation on his pale face.

"What happened?" Pandora's voice shook violently. She pulled the baby tighter against her chest. "Did Orestus find out?"

Alistair slid down the back of the door until he hit the floor. He buried his hands in his hair. His voice was a broken, raspy whisper as he told her what Orestus had done. He told her about the trade. About Josefina.

Pandora let out a sound that wasn't human. It was a high, keening wail of pure agony. Her eyes rolled back for a second, her body swaying as if she might pass out.

She stared at the tiny baby girl in her arms. In her mind's eye, she saw Josefina and this newborn baby locked in iron cages, treated like cattle, violated and broken.

The absolute despair hit a breaking point. Something inside Pandora snapped.

The terror in her eyes vanished. It was replaced by a dead, chilling emptiness. A terrifying calm washed over her face.

She slowly lowered the baby onto the mattress. Her movements were unnervingly gentle, as if she were in a trance.

Alistair looked up. The sudden silence scared him more than her screams. He pushed himself off the floor, reaching a hand out to her.

Pandora turned away from the bed. She lunged toward the metal tray resting on a side table. She grabbed the heavy, iron scissors Agnes had used to cut the umbilical cord.

Alistair's heart leaped into his throat. He thought she was going to end it all. He threw himself across the room, reaching for the blades. "Pandora! Don't do this!"

Pandora twisted away from him with shocking speed. She turned back, her eyes blazing with the feral, murderous intensity of a mother wolf protecting her den. She glared at Alistair.

"I will never let my daughters become their toys! Never!" she snarled, her teeth bared. Every word tasted like blood.

She spun back to the bed. The iron scissors caught the candlelight, flashing a cold, deadly silver.

Alistair watched in frozen horror.

Pandora brought the scissors down. Snip.

With a swift, desperate snip, she cut off a soft, dark lock of hair from the top of the baby girl's head.

She clenched the hair in her fist. She turned to her husband. Her voice left no room for argument. It was an absolute decree.

"From this day forward, she is not a princess," Pandora declared. "She is a boy. She is our Prince."

Pandora's words hit the stone walls like a physical blow. Alistair stared at his wife, his mind racing to catch up with her madness.

He looked at the tiny baby on the bed. Then he remembered the greedy, filthy laughter in Orestus's hall. Logic and tradition burned away in the face of survival. He gave a sharp, hard nod.

"We need a name," Alistair said, his voice dropping an octave as he fully committed to the treason. "Something neutral. Something that won't draw questions in Navia."

Pandora leaned down and pressed her lips to the baby's forehead. Her eyes were soft, but her jaw was set in stone. "Elinore. Starting today, he is Prince Elinore."

In the corner of the room, Agnes let out a terrified whimper. Her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the floor.

"You're insane! Both of you are insane!" Agnes yanked at her own hair, her eyes wide with panic. "Lying to the King is high treason! When he finds out, he'll tie us to the stakes and burn us alive!"

Agnes scrambled to her feet. She lunged blindly for the heavy oak door, desperate to escape the room and the death sentence it held.

Alistair's eyes went dead. He moved like a striking viper. He grabbed the back of Agnes's collar, yanking her backward, and slammed her hard against the wood.

He drew his dagger. The dried blood on the hilt scraped against his palm. He pressed the freezing steel edge directly against Agnes's pulsing carotid artery.

"You aren't going anywhere, Agnes," Alistair whispered. His voice was colder than the winter wind. "If you take one step out of this room, I will open your throat right now."

Agnes felt the sharp sting of the blade against her skin. Her body went completely limp against the door. Tears and snot streamed down her face as she shook her head, silently begging for her life.

Pandora picked up baby Elinore. She walked slowly toward the door. She didn't yell. She didn't threaten.

Instead, the Queen of Navia dropped to her knees on the filthy stone floor right in front of the healer.

Alistair's eyes widened. He reached out to pull his wife up, but Pandora shot him a look so fierce it stopped him in his tracks.

Tears spilled over Pandora's cheeks. She reached out and grabbed Agnes's trembling hand, squeezing it tight. "Agnes, you have a daughter. You know exactly what happens when they take them away. Please. Save my child."

Agnes stared down at the Queen kneeling in the blood and water. She looked at the dagger still hovering near her neck. Her psychological defenses shattered. She broke down into ugly, racking sobs and nodded her head frantically.

Alistair sheathed his dagger. He moved quickly to a hidden compartment behind a loose stone in the wall. He pulled out a rolled piece of ancient parchment and a short, silver needle.

He unrolled the parchment on the wooden table. His voice took on a dark, ritualistic cadence as he recited the oldest, most unforgiving Blood Oath in Navian history.

Agnes held out her index finger, her hand shaking violently. Alistair didn't hesitate. He drove the silver needle deep into her fingertip. A bright bead of blood welled up and dropped onto the parchment.

Alistair and Pandora quickly pricked their own fingers. Three drops of blood pooled together on the ancient paper. The parchment absorbed the blood instantly, the red stain twisting and forming a dark, jagged rune.

"The oath is sealed. Betrayal means the King's torturers will peel the skin from your bones while you watch your own daughter suffer the exact same fate," Alistair said. He rolled the parchment up and tossed it directly into the roaring fireplace. The flames devoured it, turning the evidence to ash.

The oppressive tension in the room shifted. The pact was made. Agnes wiped her wet face with the back of her sleeve. She accepted her fate and stepped back into her role.

She walked over to her medical supplies. She pulled out a roll of tough, unyielding linen bandages usually used for setting broken bones.

She walked back to the bed. She looked down at the sleeping Elinore. Her hands hovered over the baby, trembling. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

Pandora took a deep, ragged breath. She snatched the linen roll from Agnes's hands. A flash of profound agony crossed her eyes, but her hands were steady.

She grabbed a thick, oversized infant's undergarment meant for a boy. Her hands shook as she folded extra layers of soft linen across the chest, creating a padded bulk that would obscure any delicate features as the child grew. She tied the strings tightly, sealing the disguise.

It was only a symbolic binding for now, but the slight restriction made Elinore squirm in her sleep. The baby let out a tiny, uncomfortable grunt.

Pandora's heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles. She swallowed her tears. She grabbed a loose, oversized male infant's gown and wrapped Elinore up, hiding the bandages completely.

Alistair stepped forward. He held a heavy gold chain. Dangling from it was a massive, flawless blue sapphire-the traditional amulet worn exclusively by male heirs of the Navian royal bloodline.

He placed the heavy chain around Elinore's tiny neck.

He stared down at the bundled child. "From this moment on, there is no little princess in this world," Alistair said, his voice heavy with finality. "There is only Prince Elinore of Navia."

The three adults stood in silence. They had just buried a deadly secret deep in the foundation of the kingdom, locking the first, cruel shackle onto Elinore's life.