Our boots echoed loudly off the granite floors.

“The King has halted the wedding preparations,” Vance whispered as we walked.

“Does Rachel know I am here?” I asked.

“No,” Vance said. “She thinks you are still in Washington.”

He stopped in front of a heavy oak door at the end of the hall.

Two royal guards in formal uniforms stood at attention.

Vance nodded to them, and one of them unlocked the door.

The room inside was large but cold.

A single narrow window looked out over the misty gardens.

Near the fireplace, an older woman sat in a high-backed armchair.

She was looking at her hands.

“Mom?” I whispered.

The woman froze.

Slowly, she turned her head.

The years had been harsh, but her green eyes were unmistakable.

“Emily?” she gasped.

I ran to her and fell to my knees.

Her hands were freezing as I took them in mine.

“How is this possible?” I asked, tears blurring my vision. “Rachel told me you died in the fire.”

“Rachel kept me hidden,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “She told me you were dead, Emily.”