Beatrice had no fond memories of her late husband.
Their marriage had lasted barely two months before he was killed in the same ambush that claimed her father.
If there was anything—anyone—that still reminded her of the man she once called her husband, it was her daughter.
Her Peri.
That bright, precious child was the reason Beatrice remained standing after losing the pillars of her life. Peri was her anchor, her motivation, the little voice that pushed her to carry herself as a queen should.
For her daughter, she dreamed of a peaceful world.
That was why Beatrice had even swallowed her disgust and stayed silent about the sacrifices made to feed the deity slumbering within the Samaran Temple. A necessary evil, she had told herself, for the stability of the realm.
She never imagined the day would come when that same deity—the one they had served for generations—would demand Peri.
Her innocent, undeserving Peri.
