Drusilla was at a complete loss for words. Warrant in hand, the Sheriff of Catapolis had just informed her that she did not possess the necessary paperwork needed to live in the city. Dangling a set of wrist irons in front of her, he said ominously, “Next time I see you, I’ll be giving you this fine set of bracelets for you to wear for your presentation at Court.”

Just breathe, Drusilla told herself. Being the King’s sister should provide her with a certain amount of protection, but being a natural daughter of the King’s late father was not the carte blanche that she’d hoped it would be. As if he were reading her mind, the Sheriff quipped , “Just because your the King’s bastard sister, don’t expect to get anything like special treatment.”