To Lachlan, I only sent two messages. The first was a simple note: “I hope all is well with you and your family. Verdana sends our best wishes to the Aeradian people. Princess Idalia.” The other I wrote on a day when I felt rather brave, thanks to the plant one of the stable boys had fed me. I saw stars when I wrote the cursed thing. I can’t remember the exact words, but it was something along the lines of:

“Lach, Lach, quiet, old Lach! Do you remember that bird that hurt you in the aviary? I think about it often, and it makes me laugh. Have you spoken to Prince Braizen? How is he? Did he grow up to have warts and bad skin? I hope so. Do you know we almost kissed? Ha! Can you believe it? That despicable, traitorous Prince and I were to be married. I, for one, am glad we are cursed. Now I never have to see his ugly face again! If you are ever in his territory, please tell him I am not thinking about him, and I never have. Verdana wishes you water and good wishes and bread and also, water. -Idalia.”

Lachlan’s sage-green eyes glow as he watches me approach. I swallow hard and pray he never received that humiliating letter, that his father burned it before it ever reached his hands.

I look at Teddy, and my mouth almost falls open. She’s as tall as her father now—and her dress! It’s wildly extravagant, with red and purple fabric slipping into a pool at her feet. The neckline clutches her throat, and a huge gold necklace falls almost to her waist. A tiara rests perfectly atop her braids, and her lips are stained a dark berry. Her citrine eyes blaze beneath thick lashes. She slowly scans the chamber as if considering how each stone is made. For a moment, I forget which Thrope I’m to impress.

Between his children, King Lester stands with his hands behind his back. His constant frown and light, pasty skin stick out in contrast to his children. Their mother must have been the most beautiful woman to have ever existed, and, in the womb, the Thrope children were smart enough to have chosen her features.

King Lester’s nose lifts as he turns his head to glare at his son. Lachlan doesn’t seem to notice; his eyes never move from me. His burgundy tunic has gold buttons the same shade as my gown. A fully bloomed Salva rests under one shoulder. He’s so still, a marble statue dressed like a King.

I stop before the platform and curtsey.