Publisher's Synopsis
I was 13 years old when I learned I would be queen. 13 years old when I learned that my father's bastards were not my real brothers and that the better part of the country was threatening to revolt if my sole male cousin was placed on the throne. I can still remember the conversation with my stepmother perfectly. I naively told her I thought that the Duke visiting court from the north was handsome and that I wanted to marry him. She responded mockingly that Queens do not get to marry for love. I remember thinking she was so silly. I would not be queen, my father had sons older than me. All of my siblings have different mothers, so I did not yet understand why these boys would not be kings. This was not the first difficult lesson taught to me by a stepmother, nor was it the last. Over the years I had 4 stepmothers in addition to my father's various regular mistresses, and all of these women feel it is their right and their duty to share their sage advice with me since my mother died when I was a baby.At 2 years old, my sister's mother told me upon finding out about her pregnancy that my father would never love me the same again once she bore him a son. She died 3 days after Catherine's birth because the doctors could not stop the bleeding. At 5 years old, my father's mistress, Miss. Annie, told me that I was lucky to be high born because I was not pretty enough to marry without my father's influence and money. My father tired of her before I was 6. At 7 years old, the twins' mother told me that the only thing worse in the world than a bastard son was a legitimate daughter. She died in childbirth just after the doctor announced the sexes of my sisters. Then came the drop of wisdom from my stepmother at 13. Up until this point I thought I was safe from the crown. I was so very wrong about this, and my life changed forever.After this revelation, I was far too busy to listen to the many women in my father's life. It was at this point, after the death of yet another wife without a son in sight, that my father resigned himself to the idea of me succeeding him on the throne, and he began to teach me all I would need to know. The problem is, my father, King Theodore, taught me how to be a King, not a Queen. From age 13 I have been raised as a Prince would be: the best tutors in all subjects, taught to hunt and hold my alcohol, taught to rule. My father knew that a lady could not rule a nation, so he never treated me like one. He raised me not as his daughter, but as his son. Now, at 21 years old, this is causing me some serious confusion.
