The Queen's Secret Read online

  Also by Melissa de la Cruz

  The Queen’s Assassin

  The Alex & Eliza Trilogy

  Book One: Alex & Eliza

  Book Two: Love & War

  Book Three: All for One

  Heart of Dread Series (with Michael Johnston)

  Book One: Frozen

  Book Two: Stolen

  Book Three: Golden

  Witches of East End Series

  Blue Bloods Series

  Beach Lane Series

  The Ashley Project Series

  The Descendants Series

  The Ring and the Crown

  Surviving High School (with Lele Pons)

  Something in Between

  Someone to Love

  29 Dates

  Because I Was a Girl: True Stories for Girls of All Ages

  (edited by Melissa de la Cruz)

  Pride and Prejudice and Mistletoe

  Jo & Laurie (with Margaret Stohl)

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  Copyright © 2021 by Melissa de la Cruz

  Map illustration copyright © 2020 by Misty Beee

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us online at penguinrandomhouse.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  Ebook ISBN 9780525515951

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  COVER DESIGN BY KRISTIE RADWILOWICZ

  pid_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0

  For Mike and Mattie, always

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Melissa de la Cruz

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map of the World of Avantine

  The Story So Far . . .

  The Ducal Palace

  Prologue

  I: King & Queen

  Chapter One: Caledon

  Chapter Two: Lilac

  Chapter Three: Lilac

  Chapter Four: Caledon

  Chapter Five: Lilac

  Chapter Six: Lilac

  Chapter Seven: Caledon

  Chapter Eight: Lilac

  Chapter Nine: Caledon

  Chapter Ten: Lilac

  Chapter Eleven: Caledon

  Chapter Twelve: Lilac

  Chapter Thirteen: Caledon

  Chapter Fourteen: Lilac

  Chapter Fifteen: Caledon

  Chapter Sixteen: Lilac

  Chapter Seventeen: Lilac

  Chapter Eighteen: Caledon

  Chapter Nineteen: Lilac

  Chapter Twenty: Lilac

  Chapter Twenty-One: Lilac

  The Royal Palace

  II: The White Against the Gray

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Caledon

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Lilac

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Caledon

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Lilac

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Caledon

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Lilac

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lilac

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Caledon

  Chapter Thirty: Lilac

  Chapter Thirty-One: Caledon

  Chapter Thirty-Two: Caledon

  To His Grace Grand Duke Goranic from the Ambassador to Montrice

  III: The Assassins

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Caledon

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Caledon

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Caledon

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Lilac

  Chapter Thirty-Seven: Lilac

  Chapter Thirty-Eight: Lilac

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Caledon

  Chapter Forty: Lilac

  Chapter Forty-One: Caledon

  Chapter Forty-Two: Lilac

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Story So Far . . .

  A demon stalks the four kingdoms of Avantine—Renovia, Argonia, Montrice, and Stavin. He is the tyrant King Phras, a monster of legend and a stain on Avantine’s history.

  Mortal death many centuries ago did not free Avantine of the tyrant. The ashes in his urn mean nothing. When his human form was first cremated, the fire of Deia failed to purify his spirit. Phras’s violent sect of followers, the Aphrasian monks, made sure of that. Their incantations and enchantments around his funeral pyre ensured that the king lived on.

  For hundreds of years the shapeshifter Phras has possessed many bodies, many faces, and consumed countless lives and souls. If a possessed body dies but is not in the fire of Deia before sunrise, Phras’s spirit lives on.

  With the disguised king hidden in their midst, the Aphrasians grew in strength and audacity, having taken possession of the Deian Scrolls, the repository of Avantine’s magical knowledge. Centuries passed and the brave King Esban of Renovia stood against the Aphrasians, dismantled their monasteries, and demanded the return of the scrolls and the sharing of their knowledge with all his people. The Aphrasians responded with a bloody rebellion, launched from their stronghold, Baer Abbey. The Chief Assassin, Cordyn Holt, led the strike against the Aphrasians. Alas, King Esban was killed on the battlefield.

  Cordyn Holt swore a blood oath to the newly widowed Queen Lilianna to restore the sacred scrolls of Deia to the kingdom. He pledged his own life, and those of his heirs, to the service of the queen, to defend the crown, and to return the mystical texts. Yet now, a whole generation later, the scrolls remain in Aphrasian hands.

  When the Tyrant King ruled, he ruined or murdered many of his subjects. One he even cursed to a life of perpetual service to him: a stable boy named Jander, who spoke so rarely that he was thought mute. He escaped from slavery but remains doomed to immortality until the king himself is killed.

  Cordyn Holt had one son, Caledon, who took his father’s place as Chief Assassin. Queen Lilianna had one daughter, Lilac, who assumed the guise of a girl named Shadow of the Honey Glade and longed to be an assassin of the Hearthstone Guild. Together Cal and Shadow journeyed to Montrice to uncover a plot against Renovia, and with Jander’s help, they unmasked the Duke of Girt as the shapeshifting, soul-stealing King Phras.

  Regrettably, they were unable to burn the king’s spirit, and so the demon lives on to plague the kingdom. And only when the king is truly dead can Jander be free of his curse and rest in peace.

  Complicating matters, Cal and Shadow fell in love, and when Cal was found guilty of the duke’s death, he was sentenced to death himself. Shadow revealed her true identity as Princess Lilac to save his life, and married the King of Montrice to unite the two kingdoms, forsaking their love forever.

  But Queen Lilac has a secret . . .

  The Ducal Palace

  - Duchy of Stavin -

  Your Majesties,

  Felicitations to you, King Hansen and Queen Lilac, and to the Kingdoms of Renovia and Montrice. I salute you in the name of our great goddess Deia, who once united the four kingdoms of Avantine, and pray that one day we may know her blessed peace once more.

  Your blessed wedding last month, at the time of our annual harvest celebrations, promised a golden autumn and a new era of abundance, harmony, and fruitfulness.

  But now, the abundance of autumn has passed. We have learned of new and terrible activities along the southern border of Stavin. It appears that the Aphrasian order is on the rise again. Their monks have been sighted crossing from Montrice into Stavin. Lately there have been a number of border skirmishes and incursions into Stavinish territories, including horrific raids on Stavinish villages and farms. We believe the Aphrasians are responsible for these. Stavin will not stand by while our citizens are in peril. If dark magic is at work, it requires action without delay.

  I am also in the possession of some unfortunate intelligence from Argonia. It is said that Renovia not only harbors the Aphrasian order, but may be deploying the Aphrasian attackers on a campaign designed to invade and annex Stavin. It has been suggested to me that this is why Your Majesties, and your combined kingdoms, have made so little progress in uprooting the Aphrasian order. The presence of a Dellafiore queen on the throne of both Renovia and Montrice spurs these speculations. There is fear within the High Council and among my generals that a renewed Dellafiore dynasty may have territorial ambitions that extend to Stavin and Argonia.

  This is why I write now, to urge you both to take public action. If members of the Aphrasian order retain a hidden stronghold in the swamps and forests of Renovia, they have a base from which these incursions and attacks may take place. Their ongoing presence can only fuel these unhappy rumors that Renovia—and, by implication, Montrice—not only tolerates, but encourages their violence and terror.

  Personally I do not suggest for one moment that Your Majesties do not desire the obliteration of this relentless scourge. Still, it is vital that you turn your attention at once to its immediate eradication.

  If you are unwilling or unable to suppress the Aphrasian order and cannot secure the ancient scrolls and keep them away from evildoers, then the Duchy of Stavin must take action. Our military forces will be forced to enter Montrice to protect our own lands and people. We will not be annexed by another kingdom, and we will not permit ourselves to be attacked by terrorist forces based in another kingdom, however unwelcome and covert a presence they may be there.

  This is an unprecedented act in peacetime, but let me be clear—Stavin, too, is a sovereign nation, and I am its ruler. With every week that passes, more and more of my subjects believe that Your Majesties are unwilling to take action, and the burden of suspicion falls on Renovia and Your Most Serene Majesty, the queen Lilac Dellafiore.

  I await your reply with much interest and, as always, the deepest respect.

  Goranic R.

  Grand Duke of Stavin

  Prologue

  In the far north of the Kingdom of Montrice, winter arrives early once more. The mellow days of autumn are over, the fruits of the harvest hastily packed into granaries and cellars, and cured meat dangles from oak rafters. The fields are empty apart from golden bales of hay ready to be transported to stables and stacked high in barns. This far north, they are accustomed to snow.

  So when a blizzard swirls in before the trees have shed their last leaves, no one gives it much thought at first. For three days the wind howls and snow falls in frigid ropes. In the village of Stur, snow piles so high that tunnels must be dug to allow doors to open, and every family wakes to darkness, their houses packed in snowdrifts. At last, when the blizzard passes, they climb out to find snow heaped on rooftops, clogging chimneys, and encrusting wells.

  The village elders say that Stur has never seen so much snow, not in living memory. It makes them uneasy about the winter that lies ahead. But the snow has transformed the muddy streets and plowed fields into a sparkling white wonderland. After the children of Stur finish their morning’s work, they gather to play on snowy banks, creating makeshift sleds by lashing branches together. The village rings with the happy shouts of children tumbling down hillsides and jumping into drifts.

  The pond is covered by thick white ice; its surface is the face of the moon. A dog skids across the ice, barking with surprise, and some of the children decide to try skating, something they’ve heard about but never experienced. They hurry to strip bark from the birch trees around the pond and strap it to their boots with ribbons of leather. The bravest go out first, soaring across the ice, laughing when they lose their balance and sprawl across its hard, slippery sheen. Soon the village children play on the frozen pond.

  A crash of thunder sounds, splintering the calm of the afternoon. A dark cloud moves across the wintry blue sky so the snow no longer glints in the sun. Some of the children look up, hoping for more snow.

  But no more snow falls. Not one crystal snowflake. Thunder crashes again, so loud the nearby houses shake. Lightning cracks open the sky, and ink-black fingers shoot across the pond’s surface, staining the ice with veins of ebony. The same black ripples from the hillsides to the banks surrounding the pond, and outward to the snowbound streets of the village.

  Along these ominous fault lines, ice begins to crack. Snow melts as suddenly as it fell. Torrents of freezing water pour down the hills, and Stur’s main street is transformed into an icy river, sweeping people and animals into its freezing surge. With a thunderous crack, the frozen pond splinters and the children sink into the frigid water, screaming and thrashing. As the hills above churn with cold water, the pond becomes a drain, drawing everything—and everyone—into its icy whirlpool.

  When the dark cloud passes, all evidence of snow has disappeared. All that remains are soggy fields, bare hillsides, and streets thick with sludge. The village pond is still, its bright moon face gone. The villagers who survived the deluge rush to its banks, and there, through a thin layer of frost, delicate as a spider’s web, lie the frozen bodies of the children, their faces distorted with terror.

  By the time the messenger rides out to the capital of Mont, he is reminded to report that of all the day’s strange and horrifying events, there is one detail that is so curious that it must not be overlooked.

  The layer of frost across the pond was not gray, or even dirty white, the usual color. It was the color of fresh spring lilacs.

  —I—

  King & Queen

  Chapter One

  Caledon

  He can’t take his eyes off her. The royal procession—newlywed king and queen on horseback, trailed by courtiers on their own steeds, marching guards, and a tootling band squeezed into a decorated wagon—is out for another jaunt into the countryside surrounding the capital of Mont.

  Cal has positioned his assassins throughout the procession, to stay alert to any threats from within as well as among the gaggles of farmers and villagers thronging the road. He’s sent Jander to ride at the front, along with the scouts and the royal crier. Cal will never get used to the lilting sound of the Montrice accent. Better the flat tones of Renovia, where everything—people and geography both—lacks pretension. There’s an ostentation to Montrice, and its court, that he doesn’t like. Even this procession is ostentatious—thirty courtiers and twice as many guards.

  The distant mountains are capped with snow above the tree line, but here in the lowlands it’s still autumn. Since their marriage several months ago, King Hansen and Queen Lilac have ridden out like this at least twice a week, to visit hamlets and villages, and to preside over harvest celebrations.

  Queen Lilac. His friend Shadow’s true identity, revealed to the world. It has taken some getting used to, even if he has accepted it, accepted her, for who she is. He watches her up ahead, a slim and graceful figure on her horse, cloak thrown over her shoulder because the day is so fine. Hansen, her husband, leans toward her and says somethin g; Lilac laughs. She lifts her face to the light, but Cal’s behind her and can’t read her expression. A spark of jealousy shoots through him, painful and sharp. The king is handsome in the bland, expected way of titled monarchs, but handsome nonetheless, sitting regally on his majestic steed, waving to the crowd.

  The Kingdoms of Montrice and Renovia are united: Look at the happy young king and queen—so beautiful, so well dressed—delighted to be meeting grubby country folk in their muddy villages. It’s all designed to dispel rumors that the marriage is one of mere political expedience.

  Lilac might be Hansen’s queen in public, but at night, in private, thanks to the secret room and passageway adjacent to her own, she is still his Shadow. Just this morning they were entwined in each other’s arms. But now she rides next to the king while Cal remains on the fringes, watching for danger.

  The fact that Cal shares the queen’s bed, while the king sleeps with his own rotating array of favorites, is nobody’s business but their respective royal Majesties. Hansen and Lilac are cordial, distant. If the king is unnerved about his wife’s curiously close friendship with the royal assassin, he has made no indication of it.

  “Long live the king!” people shout from their perches on hedgerows, or from stations along stone walls and tumbling wooden fences. A few cheer for the queen as well, the local maidens and lasses the loudest in their admiration. Lilac is young, energetic, and vibrant—an equal to their handsome king—and her blood hails from the old and storied line of Avantine’s ancient rulers. Not only that: Everyone knows that she’s brought Renovian bounty to the Montrician coffers.

  There aren’t as many people out today, Cal observes, reining in his horse and falling farther back. It’s later in autumn now, and most of the harvest festivals and rituals are over. Lilac will miss the outings, Cal suspects, though she always complains afterward about being forced to ride alongside Hansen and pretend his conversation is sparkling. She finds him exceedingly dull, and Hansen has been chafing about having to visit villages rather than riding to hound out in the forest. Every cold day reminds the king that hunting season is underway, and he wants to get back to his usual pursuits.