The Privetts return the following evening. They bring with them their unwavering boisterous laughter and positivity. If they notice the aftermath of the horrible scene that took place yesterday, they say nothing. Perhaps they expected disaster to strike while they were away. Perhaps they’re simply oblivious to it all.

  Taron entertains us with stories of their journey, of the abundance of their growing crops, the promise of riches to come. He favors a shoulder injury, which he waves away. “It’s nothing at all. I went hunting and a snake spooked my mare. We backed my shoulder into an overhanging branch. I’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

  They speak of how their peasants celebrated their return and applauded their speeches. Are such things coerced or genuine? I want to believe Taron treats his peasants with kindness, like he treats Mr. Bens, but he is a Founder Lord, after all.

  I do as I’ve always done: carry on. Lilianna and I pretend nothing awful has happened. That my world has not rocked and fallen to pieces. That Lily’s hopes have not been dashed.

  The day after the Privetts’ return, we all dress in our expensive fancy gowns for High Court, where I’ll look at all the faces of those who continue to maintain the status quo with ruthless brutality. Those who’ve killed Abel’s friends. Those responsible for kidnapping and torturing a kind man who danced with me like I was welcome, like I was valued for more than just my gold.

  “You should know,” Clara says, sitting primly on the opposite side of the carriage from me. Taron rode ahead earlier in the morning to speak with the King before High Court and the Foundress stayed home since Taron will represent their House, so it’s just us in the carriage. “ I’ve accepted an offer from Venon.”

  “I’ll never—” I begin.

  “For Lilianna,” Clara interrupts.

  I seek Lilianna’s eyes, but Lily doesn’t so much as raise her head. The thought of Maurus touching her makes me sick.

  Clara’s lips curve into a vicious smile. “You see, Maurus gets what he wants: your father’s land. And I get what I want: all the financial security I ever desired. Really, it’s only you who doesn’t get what you want. Then again, I suppose if you were to marry the Prince… Well, I’m sure he could do something about your father’s precious land.” She holds my gaze and her eyes glisten with victory.

  There’s nothing for me to say. Nothing I can even begin to argue with. I might be able to physically stop Clara, but I have no authority over Lilianna’s betrothal or Father’s land. The flames within my breast lap and burn at my ribs. Maurus will have control over our kind and gentle servants. He’ll destroy the last shred of Father I have left.

  “You must be wondering what will happen to you? If you do nothing? If you can’t secure the Prince’s hand?” Clara picks a piece of lint from her skirt, as if we’re talking about simple, inconsequential things. “I suppose you’ll be at your stepsister’s husband’s mercy, won’t you? You’ll become his charge. A handmaiden, perhaps—if he’s feeling generous. You do have that service lineage in you, after all. Unless something more… promising comes along?” She shrugs and flicks the lint from her fingers, as if I’m as easy to be rid of.

  The Goldblood in the Airship’s orb.

  A sudden, horrible sickness consumes me. “Did Maurus buy my blood?”

  Clara’s smile only broadens. “I suspect a good supply is vitally important for his new airship business.”

  With the fire comes the urge to destroy. This woman who killed my father, who has bled and sold parts of me to Maurus Venon for money, who uses her power to manipulate and control just like the monarchy. What would happen if I were to attack? I have no weapon, but I have hands. How strong does one have to be to strangle someone? To squeeze their neck so tight that they can’t breathe? How long would such a thing take? Seconds? Minutes.

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  The fire burning within me believes I can do it.

  The clatter of hooves and wheels shifts from the sharp clip of cobblestones to the dull thud of wood. Too late for murder. We’ll be pulling up to the palace doors too soon. So instead, I drop my eyes to the floor and hold that rage at bay. Another day. Another time. I’ll make this woman pay.

  By the time the High Court members settle into their places on the long benches, I’ve grown numb. The auditorium holds an unusual quiet today, save for a few soft murmurings. If happy chatter exists, I don’t hear it.

  Lilianna will become Maurus’s wife.

  I’ll become his… ward. His source of blood.

  How is that any different from a wyvern draining me to a husk?

  I cast a glance at Lilianna, who keeps her head bowed and doesn’t meet my eyes. Will she run away with me, if I ask? Lily would like the dancing and the music of the Disciple’s camp, but it’s hard to imagine her tolerating sleeping in tents, lacking basic amenities, dirt and pine needles all over her dresses.

  Then again, I can’t imagine Lilianna happy as Maurus’s wife, either.

  The dais steams and the royal family’s thrones rise from the floor like last time—though to less awe, now that we’ve all seen it before.

  The King’s face is flushed red with beads of sweat. The Queen’s lips pinch tightly together. Only Emory smirks like he’s won some victory.

  I spot the High Guard this time, standing at the rear of the dais, brows furrowed in an ever-present frown. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t seem like he could possibly be the same person who’d advised me to leave town only a few days ago.

  “Welcome, my court,” the King says and glances at the Prince, who beams despite the King’s glower. “We have several announcements to make. Two nights ago, on the advice of my son and with the assistance of Lord and Heir Vale,”—he nods towards the Vales—“we were able to thwart an attempted attack on one of Lord Vale’s carriages. As such, we captured several members of this traitorous faction.”

  Applause erupts. Several even jeer.

  The King glares at the interruption, and the room falls silent. “As a result, it has come to my attention that some of you might foster sympathy for these criminals. Please recall that any such behavior related to rebels, except their arrest or execution, is treason,”—he scans the room with narrowed eyes—“and will be punished by the same means demonstrated later today. I will not repeat myself on this matter. These so-called rebels are criminals who have murdered both nobles and their own class they claim to protect. We will extinguish these murderers.”

  I stiffen. The crowd glances around, seeking guilty expressions. I am careful to be sure mine pinches only with the mild confusion I ought to have.

  Clara shifts in her seat, recrossing her legs—gloating. How easy she could destroy me, here and now. One sentence and my life will end in a flash.

  I hate it. Hate Clara. Hate these people who sit around and allow any of this. Hate the High Court. Hate the King. If only I had the power to stop them. To change this world, to make some part of this just or right.

  “While I am not one to take up your time unnecessarily, there will be an additional announcement, one I shall make to the kingdom as a whole in the palace square. You may proceed there after we conclude today’s meeting.” The King takes a deep breath and holds out his hand. A servant rushes to deliver a golden goblet. The King takes a long swallow and nods at his wife.

  The Queen stands and her scarlet dress pools at her feet in glistening curtains, like the flow of blood from a gash. Her face breaks into a radiant smile. The switch from disapproval to delight raises the hairs up the back of my neck. She is the perfection of control. “While the crimes against our kingdom are heinous and deplorable, I bear wondrous news. My son has decided his bride-to-be.”

  Gasps and murmurs cascade through the crowd. I nearly sag into the bench in relief. He’s finally decided on Nicoletta, then. The rebels want someone behind the throne and Nicoletta will serve that purpose flawlessly. The battle is over. Finally.

  Yet, with that revelation comes a tiny pang of regret that the throne’s power is now closed off to me forever. Prince Emory grins with arrogance and his gaze sweeps the crowd until his eyes find mine. There’s meaning in that gaze, though I can’t decipher quite what. More gloating? I can’t put it past him.

  I drop my gaze. Any shred of regret I might’ve had vanishes. Not that man. Not when I know how my skin crawls at his touch. Not when I know how a touch can feel—Abel’s touch. Let Emory have his smug satisfaction, let him have anyone but me.

  “The announcement will be made at the Harvest ball two nights from now. I hope you all will be in attendance and eager to welcome the newest member of the royal family into our hearts: Your Princess and future Queen.” The Queen lowers herself back into her throne, surveying the crowd as if their surprise and delight pleases her.

  The King slams his goblet on the arm of his throne. “This leads me to the next subject of importance. As you have no doubt heard by now, a Pachuate assassin attacked my son in one of our very own residences earlier this month. Such a bold act, which so clearly violates our treaty, cannot go unanswered! If the Pachuate do not respond with their tails between their legs, begging for our mercy in the coming months, I dare say we prepare for war.”