“You’re going to lose your husband in a few short months, Amara. Any time you have with him is precious, and any memories you have from your past should only be happy ones.”

“And what’s that got to do with my rash?”

“That fact that it has anything to do with your rash is exactly why you should leave it alone. And I’ve told David the same.”

“What does he know about it?”

“He knows it’s not a rash, my dear. He wasn’t born yesterday.”

“But he doesn’t know what kind of Mark it is, does he?”

“No. Which is why he’s been looking for that book.” He nodded to the table.

“The Journal of the Auress?”

“Yes, and you must keep it from him at all costs, Amara.” He used a tone of ‘grave warning’, but it only made me laugh. He might have known the full weight of what he said but, to me, I couldn't piece anything together based on that statement, and it just wasn’t going to be enough to quash my curiosity—not for this version of me, anyway.

“I don’t understand.”

“The truth he will find in that journal will be too much for him to bear.”

“What if we want the truth, even if it has something to do with destroying happy memories?”

“Then, I guess you have a lot of reading to do, my dear.” He nodded to my books then turned on his heel. “Because you’ll not be hearing it from me.”

I huffed, dropping my hands to my hips as Arthur walked away. “How rude.”

“He means well,” Eve said, suddenly beside me. “He just doesn’t want to be the one that hurts you.”

“Hurts me?” I looked sideways at her then back at the empty library. “How would he hurt me?”

“When you figure out the puzzle, you’ll understand why.”

“Puzzle. What puzzle?” I frowned. “And, hey, why did you push me out the window the other day?”

She smiled, her young face looking innocent. “To free your soul.”

“Free my. . .? How would that free my soul? Eve?” I called, circling on the spot a few times, but the ghost was gone.

I always loved the manor kitchen, with its warm, country feel, wood counter tops crowning rustic-looking cupboards, and a giant old dining table that centred the space—its washed, fading green colour stylishly unmatched by the white chairs pushed in under it. The whole room had that ‘grandmother’s kitchen’ kind of feel, with a collection of herbs and spices grown fresh in the garden then hung inside over the windows or the stove, and a pot rack suspended from thick black chains over an island counter. But my favourite thing about this place was that, in the morning, the soft scent of fresh bread, toasted slowly over an open flame, would accompany the rich aroma of Italian Roast, drawing me gently awake the closer I got.

I wandered in and sat down, swinging my legs under the table as the carbon copy of Mike placed a mug and a pitcher of cream in front of me. “Hey, Falcon.”

“Morning, My Queen. Sleep well?”

“Knowing I had Quaid outside my door all night?” I grinned. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry.” He sat down. “I sleep better when I have a guard on you. I just. . .”

“Just?”

“You know I don’t usually order it every night. But, last night, I had a hunch.”

“A hunch?” My brow arched, the scepticism hidden behind my coffee mug as I took a sip. It was no creamy, sugary delight, like David’s coffee, but it was nice to have someone make it for me. “What kind of hunch?”

He exhaled loudly, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. “Whenever I get those . . . feelings, you usually end up in some kind of trouble.”

“But I didn’t last night.” I flashed a cheesy grin, cocking my head like an innocent puppy.

“No. But we did pick up a suspicious scent around the border of the manor this morning. Whoever it was, they may have been on their way to see you.”

“Ooh, creepy.” I dusted myself off jokingly. “Anyway, I wasn’t in my room for most of last night. I was reading in the library.”

“I know.” He sipped his coffee. “What were you looking for? Anything I can help with?”

“Hopefully. That’s why I asked you here this morning.”

“Okay, so what is it?”

“I need to show you something,” I said, feeling a little awkward.

He sat back, folding his arms as if waiting for me to tell him I’d gotten myself into some kind of mess. “Need to show me what, exactly?”

“It’s nothing bad. I mean, I hope.” I stood and lifted my shirt, scooping my jeans down an inch to show where the black rash snuck down below my pubic line.

“The Mark of Betrayal,” he said, clearing his throat after.

“You know what it is?” I twisted at the waist a little to look all the way around at the back of my hip.

“I happen to have extensively studied anything to do with you, your body, your past, and your bloodline, Ara. Of course I know what it is.”

“You’ve studied me?” I lowered my top and pulled my jeans up again.

“Your Majesty, I am Head of the Queen’s Guard. That role comes with certain expectations.” He walked over to the sink and dumped his cup in there. “I should be the number-one most educated man in this manor when it comes to you.”

“So, how do you know what kind of Mark it is?”

“Because it wraps your torso from your heart to your hip—it’s the only Mark of its kind. And the question is, Ara—” He propped one foot on the seat of the chair, resting his arm over his knee. “What have you done?”

“I don’t know.” I leaned my butt on the tabletop. “I was hoping maybe if I could figure out what kinds of things would give me this Mark, then maybe I could—”

“Ara, what ever it is you’ve done, to be Marked with that symbol, it has to have been something pretty spectacular.” He dropped his foot to the floor, standing tall again. “That’s one of the Four Detriments.”

“The what now?”

“There are four things a queen can do that ultimately betray her crown, her people or herself. You don’t need to figure out so much what it is you did, but perhaps whom you did it to. And there should be a symbol somewhere in that mess of a rash all over you that reveals it.”

“Well, which one.” I lifted my top and poked at the black line.

“I don’t know.” He put my top down for me. “And stop doing that. If anyone walks past, they’ll think we’re being inappropriate.”

“Oh. Sorry, Falcon. That wasn’t my intention.”

“I know. Just. . .” His eyes drifted away from me. “Just be more careful.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.” He pulled the chair out and sat down, offering me my seat again. “How long have you had the Mark, Ara?”

“It started as a red rash after I fell off the lighthouse, and it’s just been changing since then.”

“The lighthouse?”

“Yes.”

“Did you jump?” he asked, and silence befell the room.

“I—” My mouth opened, but I was so shocked by the question I struggled to form an answer. “No way. I’d never do something like that.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you were so depressed about David being away that you—”

“No! Falcon, that’s ludicrous.” I jumped up and walked over to the sink. “It would take a lot more than that to make me want to die.”

“Bingo.” He appeared beside me. “Then, what did you do before you ended up on the lighthouse that night?”

My immediate reaction was to protest. But I stopped. What if something really bad had happened, and I did actually jump? I mean, David was there that night. What if he and I had an argument—what if he told me the truth about going to his death, and that’s why I jumped, knowing I didn’t want to live without him? It would make sense. It would explain why he was so hell-bent on keeping the truth from me. Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe, just like my gut had been trying to tell me, it had something to do with Jason. “I can’t think of anything that would be bad enough to make me want to die, can you?”

“Damned if I know, Ara.” He shrugged, stepping away. “Unfortunately, there are no books I can study that get inside your head.”

“But someone can.” A suggestive grin teased my lips. “Someone can get in my head and go back to that night—see what happened.”

He settled back on his heels. “Jason.”

“Yes. Maybe I could ask him to, I dunno, hypnotise me and take me back on a past-month regression?”

“Bad idea, Ara.”

“Why?”

“Because, A: he’s not allowed near you, especially when the king is absent. And, B: until we know exactly what happened and whether or not you did, in fact, jump, every person in this manor is guilty until proven innocent. Including David,” he added.

“Why David? He’d never hurt me.”

“I don’t know that. And neither do you, really. He’s pretty vial, Ara, especially when it comes to the law. For all we know, he pushed you off the lighthouse.”

“Why would he push me?”

“Who knows? All I know is that he was out there that night, and it’s a pretty convenient story that he just happened to return here to “talk” with you.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But nothing. It’s my job to protect you, Your Majesty, even if that means from the king.”

“That’s exactly why I should go to Jason, and—”

“And how do you know it wasn’t him?” He let that hang for a second. “He was the last one to see you that night, Ara. Not to mention, your memory is gone. How do we know he didn’t erase it?”

I rubbed my head. “So we tell no one?”

“Look, let me take a good look at the book of Marks, and another good look at your body—in private.” He looked around as if someone might have heard him say that. “And if we can’t come up with an answer, then we’ll discuss further investigation, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Right. And just until we’ve figured this out, I want guards on you at night.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. If that eases your mind.”

“It will.” He nodded once.

“And, thank you, Falcon—for helping me out with this.” I motioned to my Mark.

“It’s always my pleasure, Majesty, and I know I don’t need to say it, but . . . you can trust this information will go no further than me.”