AS THE NIGHT DRAGS ON, my limbs grow heavy and it becomes a struggle to keep my eyes open, though I’ve been careful to take only the smallest sips of wine. I feel like a ball of yarn being pulled between a group of cats, unspooling more and more with each passing moment. What charm I may have been able to muster earlier in the night is wearing thin now, and I’m not the only one who notices.

“Get yourself together,” Dragonsbane hisses at me as she leads me back to Czar Reymer and Prince Talin.

“If the Czar tells me about his prize-bred horses again, I will fall asleep altogether,” I warn.

“You will not,” she snaps. “You will smile and nod and tell him how fascinating he is and then you will do your damnedest to make that son of his say more than two words. Need I remind you that Astrea is at stake?”

Her words sow shame beneath my skin. Though I’d like nothing better than to jerk my arm out of hers and run out of the room as quickly as my tired legs will carry me, I know she’s right. I don’t know if I can truly call Dragonsbane my ally, but she is not my enemy either. We are on the same side—Astrea’s side.

“Fine,” I tell her, fixing my smile so that it’s broader and toothier, even though it makes my cheeks ache.

Before we can make it to the Czar and Prince, though, the brass door swings open with a clang that makes everyone jump in surprise. The entrance is across the pavilion, with a dozen potted plants between, so I can’t see who’s arrived now. Another suitor, most likely, though the idea of someone else to charm and impress forces a quiet groan past my lips. Luckily, Dragonsbane is the only one who notices, and she fixes me with a stern look.

King Etristo, who had dozed off in his chair, jerks awake, looking toward the entrance with tired but narrow eyes.

“What is this?” he demands, craning his neck to see what the interruption is. “This is a private dinner! Who are you?”

“My apologies,” a voice says. Something about it nudges at my memory, but I can’t place it. I frown, taking a step closer and pulling Dragonsbane with me, though I still can’t see who it is. A scrap of violet and gold brocade, a patch of black hair, but I can’t manage a good look at his face. “I know we’re late but I was told that you were entertaining some suitors here.”

It is another suitor after all, but I’m sure that I know that voice. That bravado so loud that it distracts from insecurity, the charm painted on so thick that you don’t notice the doubt layered beneath it. I know that voice.

I let go of Dragonsbane’s arm and step toward the entrance, weaving between potted plants until I can finally get a proper look at the intruder.

“Erik,” I say, the name little louder than an exhale. For a moment, all I can do is stare at him and blink, waiting for him to disappear before my eyes. It must only be an illusion after all, crafted by my exhausted, bored mind, because Erik can’t be here, parading as one of my suitors. But he doesn’t disappear. Instead, he stands tall and straight by the entrance, dressed in clothing so strange it nearly renders him unrecognizable. I’ve only ever seen him in Kalovaxian garb—fitted trousers and tunics and stifling velvet jackets—but now he wears an ankle-length brocade tunic with wide, sweeping sleeves. It’s patterned with intricate designs of animals and trees that look like they’ve been painted by hand. A thick sash is tied around his waist. His hair—always long and unruly—has been slicked back, secured in a bun at the nape of his neck.

But when his eyes land on me, he smiles and suddenly he looks just like the Erik I remember.

He drops into a sweeping bow. “Queen Theodosia.”

It isn’t the first time he’s called me by my name. He said it in the garden, too, after I told him to take his mother—Hoa—and leave the capital. Clearly, he listened.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, walking to his side. I want to hug him, but I know I shouldn’t, considering our present company.

“I thought that was obvious,” he says. “I’m here to compete for your fair hand.” Though he says it lightly, I can see the doubt behind his eyes, the discomfort lingering just beneath this polished and confident surface. Glimpse him from just the right angle and his illusions slip away, leaving a boy playing dress-up, reciting lines that have been given to him.

“Sir,” King Etristo growls from his chair, “who, exactly, are you?”

“Oh, where are my manners?” Erik says, turning toward the King and bowing again and producing an envelope from the pocket of his robe. “I’ve just arrived from Goraki.”

King Etristo scoffs, but takes the envelope. “Goraki is a ruin,” he says, tearing it open, his eyes scanning the piece of parchment. “We sent an invitation there merely as a formality, but everyone knows there has been no ruling family there since the Kalovaxians slaughtered the last emperor and his children.”

“That is what everyone thought,” Erik says, idly taking a glass of red wine from one of the servers. I wonder if anyone else is looking close enough to see how the glass quivers in his hand, the dark liquid rippling like the surface of a pond when a school of fish swims beneath. “Imagine their surprise when the last emperor’s youngest daughter returned to them after being held by the Kalovaxians for two decades. And imagine her son’s surprise when she passed her claim to the throne on to him.”

He pauses, but no one else speaks. “The son was me,” he adds. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

“You have my congratulations,” King Etristo says dryly. “But the fact remains that Goraki is a wasteland with no money and no troops. You are trifling with our time.”

Erik shrugs, though his eyes dance across the room. “Your requested sum has been brought, Your Highness,” he says, looking back to King Etristo. “I left it with your son when he greeted me with the same questions you’re asking now. He counted it himself before allowing me into the palace. I’ve as much right to be here as any suitor.”

King Etristo lifts a thick gray eyebrow. “And how much is left in your coffers after that expense, Emperor?”

Erik’s mouth twitches. “Enough,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he turns to me and offers me his free arm. “If I might have a moment of your time, Queen Theodosia?”

It takes all I have not to seem too eager when I agree, though that excitement is quickly dampened when Dragonsbane follows us to a secluded corner of the pavilion. The eyes of the other suitors trail after us, but none of their gazes are darker than King Etristo’s.

“It’s good to see you again, Erik,” I say to him, casting a look at Dragonsbane a step behind us. She makes no effort to hide her disapproval. I turn back to Erik. “Or should I call you Emperor now?”

“You can call me Erik if I can call you Theodosia,” he says with a small, grim smile. “All of this title business is tiring, isn’t it?”

“Only when it comes to friends,” I say. “You can call me Theo.”

“Alas, I can’t shorten Erik any more without it sounding ridiculous,” he says with a dramatic sigh.

When we reach the sofas clustered in the corner, I let go of Erik’s arm and sink down into one. “If we’re done being clever,” I say, “would you like to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

Erik’s bravado slips as he sits down across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He glances warily at Dragonsbane when she sits down next to me.

“Can she be trusted?” he asks.

It’s a tricky question but I can’t imagine Erik would have anything to say that Dragonsbane shouldn’t hear. Besides, if she thinks I’m trusting her, it will be easier to keep other things secret.

I nod.

“How’s S?ren faring?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I’d imagine he’s not used to being a prisoner.” Though he keeps his words indifferent, there’s a flicker of real concern behind them. They are brothers, after all, and friends besides.

“He made an exceptional prisoner, actually,” I tell him, leaning back against the plush cushions.

“Made?” Erik asks, eyes widening. The careless facade slips another inch. “He’s not—”

“He’s not a prisoner any longer,” I clarify. Relief streaks across his face. “He has his own room here, no chains. I wouldn’t recommend he try to leave, but I don’t think he wants to.”