Breathe.

Just breathe.

Cyrene stood before the closed doors on the very ballroom where she had had her own Presenting ceremony a year prior. At the time, she had entered from a side room with her heart in her throat and all her dreams swirling through her mind.

Now, her thoughts were empty.

Her heart was empty.

Her life was empty.

This moment should have been the best of her entire life. Yet it was the one she dreaded above all else. She would trade anything to avoid being shackled further to the Dremylons. To avoid having to parade around at Edric’s side and give him counsel that he would not listen to and provide entertainment that would bring her no joy.

She was doing this for her family.

For a wide-eyed Elea, who had been permitted to hold her train as Cyrene entered the vestibule.

For Reeve, whose High Order duties always kept him furiously busy.

For her mother and father, who she knew were enjoying their lives back at court after so long away.

She didn’t want to tear any of them from their simple lives. Least of all, tear any of them from this world. She would persist as she had done until she could take no more. Until she was ready to actually do something about this injustice. To stand up and fight for what she believed in.

Guards stepped forward and opened the doors, and Cyrene took one more deep breath before stepping through them. Her gown was heavy and tight. Boning cut into her ribs and held her waist into an even more miniscule size than she was. She was bedecked in the traditional Dremylon gold from head to toe with a slight shimmer to the fabric, so she shone like sunlight. The sleeves swept off of her shoulders, revealing her pale collarbones and the ruby necklace that Edric had brought for her at the last moment. It was a weight at her throat, but she knew he meant well. It had belonged to his mother. And it was a consolation for not getting to wear a red dress as she pleased. She hadn’t even gotten to wear a comfortable pair of slippers. Instead, she was in heeled shoes that made her take tiny steps forward and pinched her toes. But at least she looked stunning. The shock and awe on all the attendees’ faces said as much.

It felt as if it took an hour to walk down the aisle as a string quartet played a holy song to the Creator. Finally, she made it front and center before the dais. Edric was seated alone with Kael standing off to the side. Kaliana’s place was unoccupied, as she was still too sick to attend the ceremony. Daufina’s place was noticeably empty. A place she was to fill. A place that never should have been vacant.

Cyrene pushed away her fears of the moment and approached the officiant, stopping just before the raised platform. She kept her eyes forward through the entire ordeal. Affiliates and High Order watched her from all sides. And she felt judged from the solid wood doors, past the sweeping jade and mother of pearl columns, all the way to the gilded throne. No one believed she deserved this. An Affiliate only a year into her residency. Someone who had not even been with them the full time. No matter the circumstances of her kidnapping.

Yet she held her head high. She ignored their stares and had walked in, as if she were queen.

The crowd sank into their seats as the officiant raised his hands.

When silence fell once more, he addressed the crowd before him, “It is with great pleasure that I stand before you in honor of the great Creator and benefactor of her glory to invite a new host into such an esteemed position with the Byern court.”

He bent his head and intoned a long prayer to bless the ceremony and her commitment to the throne. All Cyrene could think about was how much her feet hurt.

Finally, the officiant ended his prayer, collected a circular talisman that she knew she had to hold in her left hand, and a green cloak with the sign of the Dremylon royalty hand-embroidered into the cloth. It had belonged to the very first consort in existence for Viktor Dremylon himself. As soon as it touched her shoulders, she felt nauseated.

She didn’t know if it was cursed or if the thought of all she knew of Viktor Dremylon made her physically ill. This was wrong.

It was her turn to move up to the top of the dais and claim her place before the entire court. Yet she was frozen in place.

Edric leaned forward in his seat and was staring hopefully in her direction. She couldn’t even look at him, or she might empty her stomach all over the throne room floor. This couldn’t possibly be right. Her eyes turned to the long glass windows that took up the far wall. It was a beautiful sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky. And she couldn’t possibly understand why.

How could the storm have answered my call and my fears on the day of my Presenting? How could my magic respond to the start of my adult life yet absolutely nothing was happening when I was about to do the unthinkable?

She wanted a storm. She wanted to be vindicated. She wanted to know that this was the right choice, despite her gut telling her it was not.

“Come along, my dear,” the officiant said, gesturing for her to take her place of honor.

With a deep sense of foreboding, she willed her feet to move up the steps. She shot one uneasy look in Kael’s direction and found him a blank slate. Whatever he was feeling, he masked from her. And she could sense reluctantly that Edric was upset with her for even seeking out his brother.

She turned in place, letting the folds of her dress swirl in the most alluring fashion to face the crowd. There, before her, was a sea of strangers. She only recognized her family in the front row. All of her friends and the people she loved, even Rhea, were not present here.

The officiant cleared his throat and addressed Cyrene, “Are you willing to take the oath?”

Another oath. How many more ways could I bind myself to this country?

“I am willing,” she found herself saying.

“Will you solemnly promise to do your duty to your country and your people? To stand with the king of Byern henceforth, forevermore, until your time at his behest has concluded? To do all within your power to uphold the law, justice, and mercy before the eyes of the Creator and to do so with your best judgment in all things?”

“I will.” Her voice was strong. Though she did not feel the vow in her heart. She felt it like the noose that had slithered around Daufina’s throat at the behest of His Majesty.

“I present to you, Consort Cyrene!”

The crowd applauded her confirmation just as the first window shattered.

Black-hooded figures leaped into the room, silent and deadly. The cheers instantly erupted into screams. Chairs were overturned, feet were stamping on the ground, and everyone was in a panic at once.

And then the slaughter began.

Swords drawn and faces obscured by masks, it was impossible to tell who had managed to invade the castle so seamlessly. But Cyrene knew the skill involved with the creatures’ stealth, and she had seen firsthand what those wicked curved blades could do to flesh.

Braj.

Unholy creatures of the night. Assassins who wore the mutilated faces of their victims. Deadly killers who would never stop coming until they felled their prey.

Cyrene didn’t have it in her to scream. She wasn’t even mad that they’d interrupted her Investiture ceremony. She just wished they’d come a little earlier. Saved her the trouble.

Magic came to her fingertips at will, and within a second, Kael was standing at her side, sword in hand. She could practically breathe in the amount of magic he was pulling in. So vast a depth, she felt dizzy. Her own magic was heady but no longer bottomless. Not when she had been drawing so deeply every single day in training. Not when her anger burned it so effortlessly. But she could hold her own against a Braj. It wouldn’t be the first she had killed.

“Cyrene, get out of here,” Edric called, rushing to her. “We must go. We must get you safe.”

She brushed him aside. “I will not run while my brothers and sisters are being slaughtered by assassins.”

“You are not safe here! You must protect yourself.”

“I am not a maiden in need of defending. I will stand for what is right. Now, draw your sword, and help us!” she spat at him. Then, she stretched her hand out. “And, if you will not, then give it to me, for I know how to use it.”

Edric looked as if he wanted to argue, but already, Kael was rushing into the melee. Cyrene didn’t wait to see what Edric would do. She frankly didn’t care. She dropped the precious consort cloak, tossed the talisman to the cowering officiant, kicked off her heels, and dashed toward the fight.

She didn’t care that facing off with half a dozen Braj was suicidal. Or that using magic at all in front of Byern citizens was certain to draw attention. Or that she probably looked ridiculous in a dress and corset while rushing into battle.

All that mattered was that adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she felt useful. Important.

This asinine consort ceremony had made her feel like a spectacle. She was a pawn, a doll, a prop. Here, in this moment, she was so much more. It was what she had felt all those months as she discovered her magic and found her way to Eleysia to train with Matilde and Vera. Her heart sang, and for the first time since Maelia’s death, she let it.

More guards rained into the room to help the guards who had already been in attendance for the festivities. To take the place of the fallen soldiers who had done their duty to their country.

Soon, the tang of blood filled the air, and sweat beaded her brow as she threaded into the fight behind Kael. She didn’t have a weapon, and she hastily scooped one up from a fallen soldier. It wasn’t as heavy as the one she had practiced with Orden, and she found that was to her advantage now. She had never been great with a sword, but she infused her magic through the blade and let it guide her.

Then, with a huff, she nearly face-planted over her dress. With Kael preoccupied with a Braj, Cyrene sliced into her dress, letting the many layers tumble to the ground, freeing her legs. She couldn’t do much about her corset, so she measured her breathing and then moved deeper into the battle.

She found her first Braj after it sliced off a guard’s head. Its eyes found her, and if it could smile, then she was certain he would have.

“Heir,” it growled. “You slaughtered my brothers.”

She paced in a circle with the creature. Her pulse beat a tattoo against her temple, and her hands sweat in their grip on the sword.

“They would have killed me just as easily.”

“As I will do.”

It came at her with lightning speed, but she had been practicing with Kael all week. Her instincts were sharp and crisp. Her motions fluid as a dance. She stepped out of his path and met its sword with a twang of her own as they burst against each other. She felt the first faint touch of its mind against hers and she laughed aloud.

She exploded into his mind, blasting it out of her own and unraveling whatever it had been attempting. “Not such an easy target.” She sneered.

Then, they stepped through a series of clashes. Sword meeting sword. Offense. Defense. One step forward, two steps back. A game, a riddle, a synchronization. She didn’t give any further, and then, without warning, she blasted it backward off his feet with her wind magic. She heaved over at the exertion and felt a headache blossoming in her skull. She pushed it away, kicked the Braj’s sword from his hand, and pressed the tip of her blade to its neck.

“Who sent you?” she cried amid the remaining sounds of warfare.

The Braj simply laughed tonelessly. “I came for the heir, but your soul is no longer true.”

“Don’t speak in riddles to me. I don’t care of your heirs and your darkness and your meaningless words. Tell me who sent you!”

She pushed the blade against its throat, hard enough to draw blood. It was black as ink and came from its neck as a sludge. It choked and sent her a venomous glare.

“Pure as snow. Light as starlight. Radiant as the sun. Tides will turn, and the prophecy is now.”

Cyrene nearly screamed at its obtuse words. But, before she could ask it anything further, it wrenched his body forward, pushing itself onto her blade and committing suicide. Then, she did scream. Her body full of rage. Wholly unable to believe that she had had it and lost it without any answers.

She wrenched her sword from the Braj with a squelch and moved to help with the rest of the battle. Only one more remained, and it was squared off against six guards. She could feel the pulse of its magic binding their minds together.

Her anger sliced through the magic like a knife, and the guards recovered in a daze. Then, Kael was there, out of breath, and he hacked off the head of the last Braj, the black blood covering himself.

The silence that followed was deafening.

A destroyed throne room.

A pile of dead bodies.

A missing king.