It was pure coincidence that the young princes had come to stay in the poor and unremarkable Quillucsia territory. “Ezekiel!” Five years ago. It was the season when summer briar roses bloomed in wild profusion throughout the capital. The latest fashion among the nobility was to adorn the window grilles of their mansions with the white briar that bloomed first, a harbinger of summer. The imperial palace was no exception. He remembered the day Etienne had called to him, seated amidst a lush thicket of roses. Had Ezekiel known that single summons would alter the course of his destiny, he would never have answered. But he was only eighteen then, a prince still touched by the naivete of youth.