“You only want me to add some lightning?” I clarify. I long to touch the rain, but I’ve been told exactly what I’m expected to do.

“I want you to not screw this up,” she hisses in a low voice meant only for me.

“It’s a good thing I’m the one doing it, then,” I say.

A commotion interrupts our exchange, and the Stream reporters part to reveal Cormac standing in the doorway. I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s obsessed with choreographing every aspect of my return to Arras—and of our sham engagement. The sheer fact that he would ask Maela to direct this shows how little he trusts me not to mess things up.

“Prime Minister.” The respectful greeting is murmured by every man as Cormac passes through the room, heading straight to Maela and me. When he reaches us, he ignores Maela and leans down to plant a kiss on my forehead. He lingers long enough for the several cameramen who snap photos of the moment.

“I will answer questions at the beginning of the broadcast,” he announces.

More than a few of the men grimace. Undoubtedly this will affect their Stream schedules and carefully planned programming. But no one challenges him. No one would dare deny the prime minister a chance to speak to his people. No one who wanted to keep his job, or for that matter, his life. I think of the man who dared to ask about my parents once at a rebound station, how he was carried away to an unknown fate. Now I know he probably wound up on Earth, half the man he once was, forced to become a Remnant to fulfill the whims of the Guild.

“We go live in thirty seconds,” a man announces from behind the camera.

Cormac looks to his side, spotting Maela still hovering in range of the camera lens. He groans and shoves her out of the way. It’s inelegant and rude, and Maela’s cheeks blaze with fury, but her gaze is leveled directly at me. I make a mental note to remind Cormac not to put me under her direction for future events and programs.

“And we’re live,” the man says, pointing a finger at the young reporter selected to interview Cormac and me.

“We’re extraordinarily honored tonight to bring you an interview with Prime Minister Patton from the studios of the Western Coventry,” he says, introducing the topic of the program.

“I’m pleased I could make it here to officially introduce my citizens to the young woman who has captured my heart,” Cormac says. His stance is steady and everything from his gesticulations to his perfect smile prove how he weaseled his way to the top of the Guild.

“We’ve had the opportunity to meet Miss Lewys today,” the reporter continues in a smooth voice, “and I think it’s safe to assume she will capture the hearts of Arras, too.”

Not a single one of these men has talked to me. Not even the one who adjusts the microphone system for the audio recording. I might become Cormac’s wife, but that means nothing to them. I could be a prop for all they care.

“Prime Minister, I know everyone in Arras is dying to know the same thing. How did Miss Lewys capture your attention?”

If one of them uses the word capture again, I’m going to scream.

I was the one who was captured, and it definitely wasn’t romantic. But like everything in politics, a shiny veneer applied to the surface of the story is meant to divert the listeners with its sparkle so they can’t see the ugliness beneath.

“Miss Lewys came into service with the Western Coventry in a truly remarkable way.”

That’s an understatement.

“Her talent caught my eye almost immediately. She’s an exceptional Spinster, but I soon discovered she had other talents and characteristics as well.”

Imagine a woman having other talents.

“Can you elaborate?” the reporter asked.

I keep a smile on my face, even as I choke back the mirthless laugh bubbling to my lips. I’d love to hear what traits caught Cormac’s attention. Was it my penchant for talking back or my obvious distaste for the Guild and everything it stood for, including him?

“Well, she is quite beautiful,” Cormac says, exchanging a nod with the reporter.

Yes, that is definitely my most winning characteristic—to Cormac. I’m pretty sure he hates everything else about me. At least our marriage will be based on a foundation of mutual disgust.

“She is beautiful,” the reporter confirms out loud as though they are discussing a statue behind them.

“And she has a rare treat for you tonight,” Cormac says. “We usually don’t show real-time weaving on Stream programming, but this evening Adelice will be weaving a rainstorm throughout the Southern Sector. If you’re in the area, you’ve probably been anticipating these showers all day. If not, you haven’t checked your weather programming.”

Cormac gives a stern look to the cameras and then relaxes into a grin. “I’m only kidding, of course.”

I know better than this. Cormac is incapable of jokes. Everything is a thinly veiled threat with him and this one is very clear. He wants to make sure the citizens of Arras have their priorities straight. He needs everyone to have their eyes on me.

“Adelice.” Cormac’s arm opens wide as though he’s presenting me. Somehow I feel more like a sacrifice than entertainment.

I smile widely and murmur a soft hello. I’ve been warned not to speak. This program isn’t about hearing me speak. It’s about giving Arras a face, one they’ve seen before if they’ve been allowed to remember it, while further glamorizing Spinsters. Now young girls can dream of beautiful clothing, luxurious lifestyles, and the possibility that they, too, could marry the most powerful man in the world one day.