THE NIGHT OF HALSTEN ATWOOD’S EIGHTEENTH NAME DAY PARTY HAS arrived.

        “There,” Amarra declares, guiding me over to the mirror. “What do you think?”

Staring back at me is a girl I’ve never seen before. I’m dressed in a strapless, plunging, close-fitting red satin dress that reaches just past my knees and exposes my shoulders, with a black silk shawl overtop. The front of my dark hair is pulled back and braided down the middle, while the rest of my hair lays loose, cascading down my back. A simple garland of flowers adorns the top of my head. For once, there’s a splash of color on my lips; and the combination of the red gown and my kohl around my eyes, set of the icy-blue of my eyes.

        “Wow,” I finally squeak out. “You don’t think it’s…a little much?”

        Amarra shakes her head briskly. “Not at all. But, there is something missing…” She eyes the locket resting on my breastbone with disdain. She rummages through my wardrobe before triumphantly lifting something shiny. “Here,” she says, strolling back across the room. “Try this.” She hands me a necklace centered with a fire opal. A gift from Raelyn years ago.

        I finger my locket and shake my head. “I’m not so sure.”

        Amarra rolls her eyes. “You can wear it over the locket, Samira.” She says it like I’m as dim-witted as one of the cook’s chickens. Amarra snatches the necklace from my hand and fastens it around my neck. “There, all finished.”

        Just then, someone raps on the door, and Amarra hurries over to open it. The familiar features of Private Serol of the King’s Guard come into view.

        “I’m here to escort you to the party, Your Highness.”

        “Good luck!” Amarra calls after me, as I let Serol lead me away.

        Private Serol escorts me to the Great Chamber, on the lower level of the castle, where Atwood’s party is being held. I greet my father and Ren in the antechamber, but Agrian is nowhere to be found. Ren’s usual smirk is gone, replaced by a blanket of sadness; while Father beams at me.

        “You look as wonderful as ever, Samira,” he says, pulling me into one of his rare embraces. “Shall we enter the Great Chamber?”

        Without waiting for a response, he motions for the guards to open the giant oak doors.

        “Where’s Agrian?” I whisper to Ren, as we follow the king through the doors.

        Ren shrugs. “Maybe he’s already in there,” he whispers back, before adding, “or maybe he’s sick.”

        The whole room turns toward us as we enter, everyone dropping to one knee. My father quickly gestures for them to rise, before striding over to Commander Atwood and shaking his hand.

        “You’re looking beautiful tonight, Your Highness,” a voice says behind me. I turn around to find the same red-haired, green-eyed boy who sat across from me at dinner on the night we got the news of Raelyn’s patrol. Now, he is wearing his dress blues, his uniform decorated with medals that he probably didn’t do anything to earn.

        “Congratulations on all this, Halsten,” I respond, waving a hand through the air, indicating the room and the name day.

        “Call me Hal.”

        The band in the corner of the chamber begin to play, and couples move to the cleared area of the room to dance.

        Hal extends a hand to me. “Care to dance, my lady?”

        Honestly, no. But it would be rude to refuse the commander’s son on his name day. I begrudgingly take his hand, and he guides me over to the dance floor.

        “Our fathers seem to have a lot to talk about,” he comments, nodding over to the king and the commander, who are deep in conversation.

        We circle the room in silence for a few minutes. Hal clearly has something on his mind, but can’t decide whether he wants to share it or not. Eventually, he does.

        He pulls me closer than entirely proper, leaning in to whisper in my ear, his breath warm on my cheek. “I think my father is proposing a marriage between us to the king.”

        I rear back, trying to put some space between me and Hal, but he keeps a firm grip on me, pinning me to him. “What?! Us? Why have I not heard anything about this?”

        Ren and some girl I don’t recognize circle by. Ren, noticing Hal’s hold on me, shoots me a look that I take to mean, Everything all right? Before I can answer, the girl—who he clearly doesn’t want to dance with—sweeps Ren away into the throng of dancers.

        Hal chuckles to himself. “Relax, Princess, it’s probably still in the early stages.”

        The song ends, and he finally releases me; but before I can step away from him, he grabs my hand and pulls me towards a table of refreshments.

        “Want anything?” he asks.

        I shake my head. “I’m good.”

        “Good, I wanted to ask you something.” He pulls me over to an alcove, almost completely concealed from the rest of the chamber. “If we did get married, would you learn to love me?”

        “I—I don’t know,” I stammer, suddenly realizing we’re alone in a mostly concealed room.

        Hal reaches out and runs a finger along my exposed collarbone. “Why don’t we find out?”

        Just then, Arviragus appears in the doorway, looming over Hal. He clears his throat. “Samira, I believe we have the next dance?” I take his arm and hurry away with him.

        I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

        “Just try to stay away from Halsten.”

        “Well, that might be hard, seeing as his father intends for us to marry,” I say, shivers running down my spine.

        “But you’re only seventeen! Can’t it wait until you’re older?”

        “Ollia was nineteen when she married Brethen,” I respond. Arviragus clenches his jaw, and I recall—too late—that Arviragus was in love with Ollia before she left. “I’m sorry, I forgot,” I whisper.

        He shakes his head dismissively. “Apparently lives change at nineteen. Ollia gets married, Agrian gets engaged, Raelyn’s taken prisoner…”

        “Is there any way I can see Raelyn again?”

        Arviragus frowns. “The only way would be to either give Brenmor the Western Hills, or to attempt a rescue mission—neither of which your father would allow.”

        I begin to get the outline of an idea. “I don’t feel good. I think I’m going to go back to my bedchamber.”

        “Are you sick?” he asks, reaching to feel my temperature.

        “I think so,” I lie, ducking away from his outstretched hand.

        He summons my bodyguards with a wave of his hand. “Take the princess back to her quarters, and tell Mistress Erron the lady isn’t feeling well.” The guards nod in acknowledgment, patiently waiting for me to move.

        “Oh, that won’t be necessary. I think I just need to lie down,” I reply hastily.

        “She may as well check on you all the same,” Arviragus persists, trying to read my face to no avail. I’ve spent my entire life at court, learning how to hide my true thoughts and feelings, learning to put on the mask and fake smile needed to survive at court.

After a moment’s hesitation, I sigh in defeat. “Very well.”

The guards usher me from the Great Chamber and into one of the waiting carriages outside. After a short ride, we arrive before the palace entry; twenty-foot-tall ebony doors painted with the dark blue and silver of Algwyn to welcome guests and turn away unwanted visitors. Carved into the stone above the doors is a giant and magnificent owl, the symbol of Algwyn’s founder and first queen, Queen Algwyria. The owl represented her cleverness, speed, and stealth, both at court and war. After Algwyria’s death, it became the symbol for the entire kingdom. According to legend, Algwyria fought her wars at night, with her fierce owl, Alessa, never far from her side. When Algwyria died, sacrificing herself for her loyal comrades in battle, it is said that Alessa perched here on the castle, and shed her magical tears for her beloved Algwyria, and never moved until she melded with the castle wall, creating the beautiful carving that watches over the palace and protects the first queen’s descendants.

The great doors are heaved open, and the guards accompany me inside. I turn to them. “Thank you, I can go the rest from here.”

They bow their heads, and retreat out the doors from whence they came, except for one, who runs on ahead of me to summon Mistress Erron.

I open the door to my chamber to find Amarra sitting in her usual chair, doing some form of needlework, maybe stitching something. She springs to her feet at the sight of me.

“Samira,” she squeaks, before clearing her throat. “You’re back early. How was the celebration?”

“Eh, it was fine, I guess.” I don’t feel like explaining everything that happened. It just seems exhausting and trivial compared to what is coming.

Amarra steps closer to remove my shawl, but I wave her off, taking it off myself. She moves to the far side of the room, where a small table stands, with a pitcher of water and two glasses on it. She fills one glass and brings it to me.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

She stares at me for a long moment. “Drinking,” she says slowly, as if it’s obvious, which I suppose it is. “You look awfully thirsty.”

I take it, nodding gratefully, wondering how she knew. I down it in eight seconds.

“Record time?” Amarra asks, smirking.

I shake my head, chuckling. “Four is my record. Of course, I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s not usually water, though,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.

I place the glass down on the table, and head for my bedchamber, before turning to face her. “Mistress Erron will be coming up any minute, just send her away. I told Arviragus I wasn’t feeling well. I just needed some space.” I notice her hands twitch when I mention Arviragus’ name.

“Of course, my lady, I will send her away.”

“Thanks,” I reply, before closing the door to my bedchamber. I open my wardrobe and reach in, pulling out a plain hemp shirt and linen leggings. I hastily pry the stupid red dress off me, and throw on the shirt and leggings, pulling on a pair of tall leather boots. I reach back into the wardrobe to grab the heirloom deerskin satchel that was once my grandmother’s, then my father’s. I shove the dress back into the wardrobe, then think better of it, stuffing it in my satchel instead. I’ll be able to sell it once I get out of the city. I grab my knife, securing it at the small of my back, under a green cotton cloak. I need a hat, something to hide my face. I shuffle through the wardrobe, coming up empty. The hood of my cloak will have to be enough. As I pull my hand from the wardrobe, my wrist snags on something sharp, and I let out a yelp, cursing. I hook my fingers around the sharp object and pull it out. When I see what is, I gasp, and almost drop it. It is a piece of broken glass the size of my hand. Memories come washing over me, unplugging a dam of pain I had worked so hard to build.

I’m suddenly eleven years old again, in my parents’ bedchamber, rifling through my mother’s things. I always was a mischievous child. I search everywhere for it, I know she has it hidden somewhere. I find it hidden under her pillow, a shard of glass. I found her holding it once, staring into the distance with tears running down her face. When I asked her what it was, she told me it was from the mirror in her bedchamber from back home, when she lived in Galworth before she married my father. She said she had smashed her mirror in anger when she found out she was to marry and live in another kingdom, forever leaving her childhood and her homeland behind. She told me she brought this shard of glass to both remember her home, and to remind her how broken things can still be useful and beautiful. She undoubtedly felt broken at the time. And then my wild eleven-year-old self stole the glass from her, and Mother never saw it again before she died.

A knock at the door shakes the memories loose. “Samira? Are you okay?” The sound of Amarra’s voice is a sweet relief after the cold silence of my heart.

I open my mouth, but my words come out a bare whisper. I clear my throat and try again, wiping away tears as I do so. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” I whisper, trying to convince myself.

I throw my satchel over my shoulder so the strap crosses my chest and the satchel sits at my left hip comfortably, as if it were made for my body. I stride to the door and open it just as Amarra raises her fist to knock again, and she punches my right cheekbone instead, and I go reeling backwards. I catch my balance as Amarra reaches for my arm.

“Oh, my lady, I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I didn’t mean t—”

“It’s all right, Amarra, I’m fine,” I cut her off, gently rubbing my cheek. “I’ve taken quite a few hits, but I must say, I didn’t expect such force!”

Amarra reddens, then notices my attire. She looks me up and down for an awkward moment, trying to formulate a reasonable question. She finally settles on, “Going somewhere?”

I didn’t think this through. How am I supposed to answer this? “I’m...going for a ride.”

“At night?”

“I want to see the stars.”

She narrows her eyes. “Through the clouds?”

Damn it! I bite my lip in frustration. “I’m just going for a ride, Amarra. Is that a crime?” I say impatiently, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“N-no, my lady. I was simply inquiring. Let me go with you?”

“No, Amarra.”

“Please?” she begs.

I sigh. “Fine. But you can only accompany me to the stables, no further.” I walk past her, heading for the door that empties out into the hall. “It’s not fair when you beg. You know I can’t resist when you’re adorable.”

She smirks and grabs her simple cloth cloak before slipping out the door with me.

“You don’t want the guards, I assume?” she asks, already knowing my answer. She’s too familiar with my late-night escapades.

I laugh in response.

“Then why are we taking the obvious route to the stables?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Why don’t we take your usual window?”

“I like the way you think, Amarra.”

We retreat back to my chambers, and I open my favorite window in the whole palace. It’s only a five-foot drop to the two-foot-wide ledge that is my usual escape course. I jump down, landing easily on the narrow ledge, and turn around to help Amarra slowly lower herself out the window. She hesitates, glancing at the ground forty feet below, and she lets out a small whimper.

“How do you do this so frequently? I’m terrified right now.”

I shrug. “You get used to it.”

I continue along the ledge, moving slower for Amarra, and she grips my wrist in fear the whole time. I stop when we reach the southwest corner of the palace.

“Okay, you’re going to have to jump here,” I say, indicating the roof of the palace barracks four feet out and ten feet down, blurred by darkness.

Amarra pales and shakes her head. “No, no, no, no. I can’t do that.”

“What did you expect?” I snap at her. “A red carpet out the palace doors? If you don’t want to do this, you shouldn’t have come with me.”

A muscle clenches in Amarra’s jaw, and to my surprise, she leaps, landing loudly and gracelessly on the roof of the barracks, falling on her face and almost rolling off the side of the building. I drop down beside her, my feet not making a sound with the impact, and hoist her to her feet.

She trembles slightly, and nods in thanks, and I hurriedly lead her to a corner of the barracks roof, helping her down a ladder until our feet land softly on the cobblestone ground. Still shrouded in shadows, I look around the empty courtyard, making sure no guards will see us. “Alright, come on,” I whisper over my shoulder to Amarra, grabbing her hand and dashing across the courtyard, acutely aware of the full moon shining down on us as it peeks through the clouds. We pass through the gates of the courtyard and across Kelworth Square, and I make a left turn into a narrow alley.

“Where are you going? The stable’s the other way,” Amarra hisses, clearly on edge.

“This is a shortcut,” I reply. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this plenty of times before.” I make it halfway down the alley before I notice a red-haired man about my age standing at the far end of the alley, blocking the exit. I spin around to see two other young men blocking the way we’d come from, slowly advancing on Amarra and I, forcing us closer to the redhead, and I recognize Hal Atwood’s seaweed-green eyes as the distance between us quickly closes. He swaggers toward me, a crooked smirk pasted on his face.

“Ah, Samira, where do you think you’re going? You didn’t seriously think it’d be that easy to get away from me, did you?” He looks over at Amarra. “And…is this your servant? Foul, but still a pretty thing.” He nods to the two men behind us. “You can share the blond,” he tells them with a chuckle. “But the princess here, she’s mine.”

My grip tightens on Amarra’s wrist as the two men step towards her, bickering among themselves. “I am not yours, Halsten, nor will I ever be,” I spit at him. “Leave us alone.”

One of the men yanks Amarra out of my grasp, and I lunge after her, but Hal grabs my shoulders and forces me against the brick wall of the alley, forcing the air from my lungs as my head slams back against it, dizzying me. Hal’s hot and smelly breath is suddenly washing over my face, and he presses his body against me.

“Get the hell off me,” I snarl at him, trying to reach for the knife tucked into my waistband, but he has my arms pinned.

He simply chuckles with a hungry look in his eyes, as he presses his lips to mine roughly, and tugs at my shirt. I hear Amarra scream and whimper in pain a little ways down the alley, and I slam my knee into Hal’s groin and bite down hard on his lip, causing him to rear back long enough for me to grab my knife.

He presses a hand to his bleeding lip. “You little biー” I slash at him with my knife, catching his forearm before he can react, sending a small amount of blood flying. His fist catches me in the jaw, but I don’t fall back like most girls would, I’ve taken my fair share of punches before. He grabs my wrist and slams my hand against the wall, knocking the knife from my hand, and it falls to the ground. I punch him in the stomach and he groans, but he sweeps my feet out from under me and I fall hard on the ground with a resounding crack, the pain stunning me momentarily. I look over to Amarra, who has the other two men clawing at her remaining clothing, and I roar in anger, trying to surge to my feet, but Hal kicks me down again. Just then, Arviragus comes charging into the alley, his sword drawn, and rushes towards the two men on Amarra, stabbing one through the leg. The man screams in pain, and the sight is enough to make the second man flee the alley.

Hal looks between me and Arviragus, slowly backing away from me. “This isn’t over,” he growls at me, before turning and running from the alley.