“Perhaps sparing your life was a mistake.” His voice is casual, but it makes the threat all the clearer. “Traitors receive no pardons, from me or the gods. You know what to do.”

I barely hear him. I barely hear anything. Blood pounds in my ears, blurring my vision and my thoughts until all I can see is Ampelio lying at my feet.

“Father, is this really necessary?” Prinz Søren steps forward. The alarm in his voice surprises me, but so does the strength behind it. No one has ever contradicted the Kaiser. The court is as surprised as I am, and they break their silence with whispers that are only interrupted when the Kaiser slams his hands against the arms of the throne.

“Yes,” he hisses, leaning forward. His cheeks are a vicious red, though whether it’s anger at his son or embarrassment at being questioned it’s difficult to say. “It is necessary. And let it be a lesson to you as well, Søren. Mercy is what lost the Astreans their country, but we are not so weak.”

The word weak falls like a curse—to the Kalovaxians there is no worse insult. Prinz Søren flinches from it, his own cheeks coloring as he takes a step back, eyes downcast.

At my feet, Ampelio shudders, his grip on my ankle twitching.

“Please, My Queen,” he says in Astrean.

I am not your queen! I want to scream. I am your princess, and you were supposed to save me.

“Please,” he says again, but there is nothing I can do for him. I have seen dozens of men before him executed for far less than this. It was foolish to think that he would be spared, even if the information I gave had been true. I could beg the Kaiser until my throat was raw and it wouldn’t do any good. It would only end with a blade at my back as well.

“Please,” he says again before launching into rapid Astrean that I struggle to keep up with. “Or he will kill you, too. It is time for the After to welcome me. Time to see your mother again. But it is not your time yet. You will do this. You will live. You will fight.” And I understand. I almost wish I didn’t. His blessing is its own kind of curse.

No. I can’t do it. I can’t kill a man. I can’t kill him. I’m not the Kaiser, I’m not the Theyn, I’m not Prinz Søren. I’m…Something shifts deep inside me. Theodosia, Ampelio called me. It’s a strong name—the one my mother gave me. It’s the name of a queen. It doesn’t feel like a name I deserve, but here I stand, alone. If I am to survive, I must be strong enough to live up to it.

I must be Theodosia now.

My hands begin to shake as I lift the sword. Ampelio is right; someone will do it, whether it’s me or one of the Kaiser’s guards, but I will make it quicker, easier. Is it better to have your life ended by someone who hates you or someone who loves you?

Through the thin, torn shirt he wears—more red than white now—I feel the vertebrae of his spine. The blade fits below his shoulders, between two protruding ribs. It will be like cutting steak at dinner, I tell myself, but I already know it won’t be like that at all.

He turns his head so that his eyes meet mine. There is something familiar in his gaze that wrings my heart in my chest and makes it impossible to breathe. There is no doubt left in me. This man is my father.

“You are your mother’s child,” he whispers.

I tear my eyes away from him and focus on the Kaiser instead, holding his gaze. “Bend not, break not,” I say clearly, quoting the Kalovaxian motto before I plunge the sword into Ampelio’s back, cutting through skin and muscle and bone to strike his heart. His body is so weak, so mangled already, that it’s almost easy. Blood gushes up, covering my dress.

Ampelio gives a twitch and a shallow cry before going limp. His hand slips away from my ankle, though I feel the bloody handprint left behind. I withdraw the sword and pass it back to the guard. Numb. Two other guards step forward to drag the body away, leaving a trail of slick red in its wake.

“Take the body to the square and hang it for everyone to see. Anyone who tries to move it will join him,” the Kaiser says before turning back to me. His smile pools in the pit of my stomach like oil. “Good girl.”

Blood soaks my dress, stains my skin. Ampelio’s blood. My father’s blood. I curtsy before the Kaiser, my body moving without my mind’s consent.

“Clean yourself up, Lady Thora. There will be a banquet tonight to celebrate the fall of Astrea’s greatest rebel, and you, my dear, will be the guest of honor.”

I drop into another shallow curtsy and bow my head. “Of course, Your Highness. I look forward to it.”

The words don’t feel like my own. My mind is churning so deeply I’m surprised I can find words at all. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to take that bloody sword back and stab it into the Kaiser’s chest, even if I die in the process.

“It is not your time yet,” Ampelio’s voice whispers through my mind. “You will live. You will fight.”

The words don’t bring me any comfort. Ampelio is dead, and with him my last hope of being rescued.

I’M NOT TEN STEPS DOWN the hall when a hand grips my shoulder, restraining me. I want to run, run, run until I’m alone and I can scream and cry until nothing is left in me but emptiness again. You will live. You will fight. Ampelio’s words whisper through my mind, but I’m not a fighter. I am a frightened shadow of a girl. I am a fractured mind and a trembling body. I am a prisoner.

I turn to find Prinz Søren, a sliver of concern cracking through his stoic expression. The hand that stopped me is now light on my shoulder, the palm and fingertips surprisingly rough.

“Your Highness.” I’m careful to keep my voice level, hiding the tempest tearing through me. “Does the Kaiser need something else from me?”

The thought should terrify me, but instead, I feel nothing. I suppose I have nothing left for him to take now.

Prinz Søren shakes his head. He lets his hand drop from my shoulder and clears his throat.

“Are…are you all right?” he asks. His voice sounds strained, and I wonder when he last talked to a girl. When he last talked to anyone but other soldiers.

“Of course,” I say, though they don’t feel like my words. Because I am not all right. I am a hurricane barely contained in skin.

My hands begin to shake, and I tuck them into the folds of my skirt so the Prinz won’t notice.

“Was that the first time you’ve killed?” he asks. He must see the panic flash in my eyes, because he hastens to continue. “You did well. It was a clean death.”

How can it possibly be clean when there was so, so much blood? I could take a thousand baths and still feel it on me.