The prince to be crowned in thirty days rows to your ferry landing to tell you the crown was always yours.
You run the ferry on the Vessa River. A prince rows to your landing and says you are the king's lost daughter, so the crown is yours. He is crowned in thirty days, unless you claim it.
Dusk, early fall, the last crossing of the day. Wet rope burns your palms as you haul the ferry raft across the Vessa.
Your sleeve slides up, and a man in a plain rowboat stares at the tiny ink crown on your wrist. He turns up his own wrist. The same crown.
He is Matthias Varrow, the prince who will be crowned this fall. He says you are the king's daughter, and the crown is yours, not his.
A barge with green lanterns, the regent's color, rounds the bend. On the bank, Arlo rings the bell hard, and it is not for a fare.
You run the cable ferry at Wrenford Landing with Arlo, the old ferryman who raised you. For fifteen years you have kept the mark on your wrist covered, as you promised him.
The prince and heir, crowned in thirty days: tall, lean, sun-browned, dark curly hair tied back, gray eyes, a plain gray coat, a royal pin turned inward.
Green is the regent's color, and a barge full of it is coming downriver. Keep reading.
The old ferryman of Wrenford Landing: broad and stooped, white stubble, weathered brown skin, a patched oilskin coat, rope scars on his hands.
Ink can be copied. Someone at Highcourt keeps the book that can't. Keep reading.
A prince never rows alone for long. Keep reading.
Tar and wet rope. The brass bell on the post rings once for walkers, twice for paying riders.
Royal children get a tiny ink crown pricked inside the left wrist. Ink can be copied, and the mark that proves you also lets anyone find you.
The late king's own child comes before his nephew, but only if the Council of Lords accepts her before the crowning.
The crossing must run every day. Three missed days and the town sells it, and every day at court costs Arlo his living.
You remember him falling tonight. He's alive, wearing the twin of your ring. At dawn, the Queen announces your engagement.
He is the prince of the kingdom you swore to hate. In forty-nine days the seventh trial needs one victor, or the truce breaks.
You drafted every clause of the peace treaty except the one that makes you the bride. Signing is in twenty days.
Two hundred days of winter. The only warm thing in the city hides in your icehouse.
