“I can survive one more night,” I tell him again. “But promise me something?”

He delicately lifts the crown from the box, eyes focused on it instead of me. “Anything,” he says.

“When the Kaiser is dead, whenever that may be, I want to burn his body. I want to put the torch to him myself and I want to stay and watch until there is nothing left of him but ash. Will you promise me that?”

His eyes flicker to me and I realize that I’m shaking. I take a deep breath to calm myself.

“I swear it to Houzzah himself. And to you,” he says quietly.

Neither of us so much as breathes while he gently sets the crown on top of my head, a few flakes falling on my nose and cheeks as he does. His eyes stay locked on mine as he reaches a hand up toward my cheek before hesitating and letting it fall away. Worry still creases his forehead.

“You will survive.” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself of the fact. He hesitates a second longer, as if he wants to say something else, before giving a brief nod and leaving the room just as quietly as he came in.

I take one last look at my reflection in the mirror. Ashes already flake down over my cheeks and nose, marking me. The red stain I used on my lips looks like fresh blood. Underneath, I see bits and pieces of my mother staring back at me, but twisted with hate and fury my mother never needed to know. I’m not sorry for it.

I am angry.

I am hungry.

And I promise myself that one day I will watch them all burn.

* * *

—

By the time I arrive at the banquet, it has already started; sitting at the long table are dozens of courtiers in rich, jewel-colored silks and velvets. The lot of them drip with Spiritgems of all shapes, sizes, and types, which glitter in the light of the chandelier overhead. Seeing them now, so many, sickens me. How many of my people have given their lives and sanity so that these people can have a little more beauty, an ounce more strength?

Crescentia isn’t here, I realize as I scan the room, which means Elpis’s trick with the treska seeds worked. At least that’s one thing that’s gone right so far, one less problem I have to worry about. But that relief is short-lived, because once my eyes find Søren’s, everything in me tightens up again and I can hardly breathe.

He doesn’t look like the boy who left three weeks ago. He is hollowed out, with stark dark circles under his eyes. His long blond hair is gone, shaved off so unevenly that I wonder if he did it himself. It’s the traditional Kalovaxian expression of grief, and despite everything, I feel a pang of pity for him. I quickly drown it in more hatred, though. He might be mourning his mother, but he’s still a murderer. How many of my people has he personally killed? I doubt even he could tell me the answer to that, let alone remember all their names.

I am rage and hurt and hatred, but I force that aside and give him a small, tentative smile, as if I’m glad to see him, before forcing my eyes away in case anyone else is watching.

“Ash Princess,” the Kaiser bellows from his place at the head of the table, eyes suddenly heavy on me, oozing over the many inches of skin left exposed in the gaudy crimson dress.

He means to humiliate me, to put me on display like a stolen jewel, but for the first time I don’t mind it. I can see the fury etched into the lines of Søren’s face as he takes me in. The Kaiser is unwittingly doing my job for me—it won’t be at all difficult to push Søren over the edge tonight. The real challenge will be keeping my anger toward both of them in check.

“Your Highness,” I say, approaching the Kaiser and curtsying at his feet. His face is already a drunken shade of vermilion. As he always does, he tilts my chin up and places the palm of his hand against my cheek in order to leave his handprint in the ash that’s already sprinkled down over my face. I keep my gaze lowered, but out of the corner of my eye I see Søren go rigid, eyes locked onto his father in cold rage.

“You’ll sit at my side tonight,” the Kaiser says when I rise, gesturing to the chair to his left. The one that used to belong to the Kaiserin. He takes a long swig from his jeweled goblet before setting it back on the table. There are drops of red wine in his beard; they look like specks of blood.

“I would be honored, Your Highness,” I say.

Though it’s nothing I wasn’t expecting, dread still pools in the pit of my stomach as I take the seat, only inches away from the Kaiser and directly across from Søren. Though I know it’s good that they’re both staring at me, that it means the plan is working, it still takes every inch of effort not to shrink away.

“You look quite pretty tonight, Ash Princess,” the Kaiser says, leering at me before turning his attention to his son and grinning. “Doesn’t she look pretty, Søren?” he asks.

He’s taunting him, I realize. The attention Søren’s been paying me hasn’t gone unnoticed by the Kaiser after all, but instead of angering him, it only seems to make him gleeful.

To his credit, Søren manages a nonchalant shrug, though he studiously avoids looking at me. He mutters something under his breath while staring down at the plate in front of him.

The Kaiser lifts his goblet for another long gulp before slamming it back down, making Søren and me jump, and startling all the courtiers at the table into silence. They try to pretend they aren’t listening in, but of course they are.

“I don’t think I heard that, Søren,” the Kaiser says. “I asked you a question and I expect a proper answer.”

Søren flinches from the Kaiser’s voice and his eyes finally rise to meet mine, full of pain and apology.

“I said she looks beautiful, Father,” he says, but each word is sharp as a knife.

The Kaiser frowns at his son’s tone, like he’s been presented with a puzzle he’s never seen before. His mouth twists and he takes another gulp from his goblet. His eyes are unfocused as they turn back to me.

“I don’t believe you thanked me, Ash Princess,” he says. “Don’t you like the dress I sent you?”

I want to stare the Kaiser down and spit at him. But I am not Queen Theodosia right now, I am Lady Thora, and so instead, I bite my bottom lip and fidget uncomfortably, tugging at the low neckline.

“Of course I do, Your Highness,” I say, my voice shaking around each word. “I’m so grateful for it. It’s lovely.”

He smiles like a wolf closing in on its prey, and my heart hammers quicker in my chest, my palms sweat. People farther down the table resume their conversations, but across from me, Søren’s gripping his dinner knife so tightly that his knuckles have turned white. The Kaiser’s hand comes down to rest on my bare knee, exposed by the slit in the dress.