—

I expect dinner to be held in the same dining room as last night, but instead we’re brought to a large open-air pavilion with no dining table—just plush sofas and chairs and low tables that are laden with golden plates of finger food and glasses of deep red wine.

We are the last to arrive. King Etristo is already seated in a high-backed chair, frail shoulders hunched over in what seems to be his usual posture, an attendant holding a glass of wine at his side. The three suitors are spread out around the room, each speaking with his own entourage. I recognize Chancellor Marzen’s sister—Salla Coltania, S?ren called her—and Prince Talin’s father, Czar Reymer.

When they notice me, they all get to their feet—apart from King Etristo, who remains seated, though I don’t take it as a sign of disrespect. I don’t think he could stand on his own if he wanted to.

“I told you she would be worth the wait, didn’t I?” King Etristo calls out to the suitors with a laugh, grabbing the wineglass and taking a swig before pushing it back at the attendant without sparing him so much as a look.

“I hope I haven’t kept you long,” I say, noticing that S?ren isn’t here. His presence has been requested at all other official events, but I understand why he’s been left out of this one. King Etristo already mentioned the rumors about S?ren and me; the last thing he wants is that shadow cast over tonight, especially when I’ve refused the purity examination. Suddenly, the white dress seems like even more of an obvious ploy.

“Not at all, not at all. I just thought it would be best for you to all get to know one another in a more comfortable setting. No stuffy dinner here, just an easy night of conversation. How does that sound?”

It sounds like it will be anything but easy or comfortable. “It sounds wonderful, Your Highness,” I say with what I hope is a gracious smile. “Thank you.”

He inclines his head before reaching for his wine again.

I glance around the pavilion, feeling the gazes of the suitors and their guests dragging down on my shoulders. Chancellor Marzen and his sister are sitting closest to me, so I make my way to him first, Dragonsbane trailing behind me like a shadow.

“Hello, Chancellor,” I say, holding out a hand to him. He stands and bends to kiss it with a graceful flourish before letting it drop and gesturing to his sister. Tonight her glossy black hair is piled in a braided bun on top of her head. Her mouth is painted vermilion red and her eyes are rimmed with kohl. She looks like the kind of woman who would bite you as easily as she would smile at you.

“Queen Theodosia, may I present my sister, Coltania,” he says in Astrean that is proficient but stilted.

Her red mouth bows into a cold approximation of a smile. “Pleasure,” she says. “I’ve heard so many things.” Her Astrean is a bit rougher than her brother’s, but I don’t have trouble understanding her.

“You have me at a disadvantage, then,” I say lightly. “But it’s lovely to meet you as well. This is my aunt, Princess Kallistrade,” I add, gesturing to Dragonsbane. Petty as it might be, it gives me some measure of delight to see her flinch at her formal title.

Dragonsbane and I both take our seats as the Chancellor pours us each a glass of wine.

“How are you finding Sta’Crivero?” he asks me, passing me my glass.

The thought of drinking after last night makes me want to retch, but I force myself to take a small sip. “It’s beautiful,” I say, without really thinking about it. It hardly matters, though—a shallow answer for a shallow question is all that’s expected.

“It is very bright,” Coltania says, though in her mouth that doesn’t sound like a compliment.

Chancellor Marzen scoffs. “The Sta’Criverans are excessive and…” He trails off, saying something to his sister in what I imagine must be Orianic.

“Tacky,” she finishes, flashing a full smile.

“Tacky,” Chancellor Marzen replies with a chuckle. “That is the word.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” a deep voice says as a shadow falls over me, and I look up to see Czar Reymer with Prince Talin cowering at his side like he’s trying to disappear into the air. “Your Majesty, might we steal your attention for a moment?”

I glance at the Chancellor and his sister, but even though they look like they want to protest, they both nod.

“We’ll speak again soon, Your Majesty,” the Chancellor says with a smile that I can only describe as oily.

“I look forward to it,” I tell him before taking hold of Czar Reymer’s proffered hand and letting him help me to my feet and lead me—and Dragonsbane—to another corner of the room.

* * *

—

The rest of the night yawns on, a daze of being handed off between the three suitors and trying my best to make pleasant conversation so that they find me charming, which seems to be easier than I thought it would be.

It quickly becomes clear that Marzen sees a union between our countries as inevitable—as I speak to him and his sister throughout the night, they make it sound like his proposal has already been made and accepted, which I find I don’t care for. So much of my life has happened without my consent. Feeling like I have no control even here and now makes my chest feel like it’s caving in around my heart and lungs. I suppose he thinks his arrogance charming, especially when paired with his oily smile and charisma, but instead I find myself recoiling from him so much that Dragonsbane finally pinches my arm.

“Smile,” she whispers, leaning toward me like she’s fixing my hair. “You look like you’ve swallowed a frog.”

Repulsive as Marzen might be, I prefer the company of him and his sister to that of Czar Reymer and Prince Talin. I have a feeling that the Prince and I might actually get along decently without his father present, but there seems little chance of that. The Czar lingers over every conversation like the sun, blinding and disorienting the both of us with his handsome smiles and overconfident air. I begin to pity Prince Talin—though he must be used to his father’s presence, he still wilts beneath it, a sapling doomed to grow weak in the shadow of a great oak.

And if he is intimidated by his father, he is absolutely terrified of me. Throughout our conversation, his eyes flicker around the room as if he’s looking for some kind of escape, and he goes to great lengths to avoid having them ever meet mine.

If we were alone, I would put his mind at ease and tell him that I have no desire to marry him either, but if King Etristo got word of that, I fear his patience with me would finally reach its end.

I suppose Archduke Etmond is the most pleasant of the lot, though that title largely falls to him by default. Most of our time is spent in an uncomfortable silence that I’m actually grateful for—it gives me a moment of peace in what has been a very chaotic day—but there are a few moments when he surprises me, like when he very shyly asks how I escaped the Astrean palace and seems to actually care about the answer.

So I tell him the story, surprised when I realize it occurred not two weeks ago now, though it feels like another lifetime. I leave out the bits about S?ren, too aware now of what others might think of our relationship, but I tell him the rest.

His eyes are wide and awed, so I take the opportunity to peel back the white satin gloves Marial made me wear and show him the light scars on my palms from clawing my way up the boulders. Heron tried but hadn’t been able to heal me completely. I thought them ugly, but the way Archduke Etmond looks at them makes me think that there is something lovely about them. I certainly prefer them to the scars on my back, though I suppose they mean the same thing now—I went through hell and I survived to tell the tale.

Unfortunately, my time with the Archduke is too short. The Czar and the Chancellor seem to realize that he’s an easy one to take advantage of—in social situations if not on the battlefield—and every time I make my way over to speak with him, it’s only a few minutes before one of them appears and asks to speak with me alone. By the third time it happens, I almost refuse, but Dragonsbane at my side is a clear reminder that doing so would be frowned upon.

Make them like you, she said to me in the riser, but there doesn’t seem to be any trouble in that area. They like me perfectly well with little effort on my part. They like me because when they look at me they see magic and money and that is enough for them to swoon over. The Archduke is the only one who looks at me like he actually sees me, though there’s nothing romantic in it. I’d imagine it’s similar to the way he looks at the soldiers he commands—with respect.

The realization hits me like a slap—he’s the only person I’ve met in Sta’Crivero who looks at me that way. Everyone else treats me like a fragile doll, to be kept high on a shelf, played with on occasion, and protected at all costs but never respected as an equal.