With Woad, Roman, Sarmatian, and Saxon blood coursing through her veins, a steadfast devotion to her God and her companions, and an unwavering faith placed upon Britain and its people, Benedicta Certus finds herself in the middle of a war between her people for a land she believes is destined to be ruled by one king and one king alone.

It seemed as if it was the root of his existence; as if it was nothing but raw instinct to protect that which made him whole. Perhaps it because it was such a deeply ingrained part of him, more so than it is beyond simple comprehension, that it was possible for it to be passed down. Destinies are indeed curious things.