“Do you not like your poached quail eggs, Your Highness?”

Meredith usually loved breakfast, quail eggs on toast her particular favorite. But this morning, she hadn’t touched them. It was the third week without her husband, Prince Rupert, who was out of the country with his father, the king, negotiating a trade deal with a neighboring country. She missed him.

The Head Cook, being informed of the untouched plate by the wait staff, was concerned and walked to the dining room to diplomatically inquire as to the problem.

Meredith was raking her fork over the hash browns, lost in thought.

“I’m sorry, Cook,” she answered. “They are lovely as always. I’ve just got things on my mind.”

“I see,” the Cook responded, relieved. “I cannot imagine what milady has on her mind, but starvation will probably not help.”

Nodding, Princess Meredith poked a fork in the eggs and watched the yolks pool onto the sourdough toast. She began to eat.

As she swiped at the last bit of yolk with the bread, a clattering of men and raised voices was heard from the great room. Prince Rupert had returned!

Meredith picked up her skirts so she wouldn’t trip, and hurried to greet her husband.

But alas, something was terribly wrong.

Rupert was on his horse, but barely holding on. He reached out an arm to an attendant, and she could see — was that blood on his chest armor?

His squire knelt beside his Prince. Rupert whispered something to him and them put an object into his squire’s hand.

Meredith sprinted to her husband’s side, but she was stopped. “You mustn’t go further,” the Squire said.

“What has happened? Rupert my husband, are you alright?”

The Squire knelt in front of his Queen, his eyes wide with horror.

“Prince Rupert … my Master … future king … he’s…dead!”

Swallowing, the young man extended a trembling hand.

“But he left this behind and told me to give it to you.”

The Squire opened a clenched fist to reveal a large, iron key.