She had never cried like this, guttural, full-throated sobs with nothing sweet or soft about them, nothing that would engender pity. She was howling like a beast. She wanted to rip apart the room. Rip apart her skin. The empire was hers, Parijatdvipa was hers, a pearl in her hand. She was empress of Parijatdvipa. And it was not enough. It would never be enough. She’d wash her heart clean with grief. Wear it down to stone. And then tomorrow, and ever after— A true war awaited her. She intended to meet it.
