Lucien walks away, his smile returning as he and his parents converse easily. In his shadow walks the willowy Malachite in his dress armor—jet black and inlaid with garnets. His snow-white hair and skin stand out even more in the dark armor, the red of the garnets matching his bloodred eyes. His long, bladelike ears can hear every rumor in this room, I’m sure.

The broadsword on his back glints ominously as he looks my way. He’s not Lucien—not a noble trained from birth to hide his true feelings. His fury is obvious—no, disgust? Something between the two, etched in his long white eyebrows and slender chin. I’m used to his easy, lazy, joking smile—always, no matter how serious the situation. But now those lips are set, serious.

I’ve lost even him, too.

The firehorns suddenly blare a new melody—not the usual introductory one but something grander. More important.

The announcer calls out in a thundering voice aided by the little brass polymath tool held to his lips: “Noble ladies and noble gentlemen of the high Vetrisian court, I present to you Her Highness the crown princess, Varia Helsereth d’Malvane, Archduchess of Tollmount-Kilstead, Lady of the Great People and Forestborn.”

I watch as Varia walks in, her sleek black hair oiled to perfection and left long, several small braids tipped with emeralds hanging around her face. Her bright green dress practically glows under the light of the oil-lit orbs hanging from the rafters, cut low to show her smooth shoulders and precise posture. Her makeup is expertly applied, a blush, a lip-tint with hints of strawberry, and the charcoal wax on her cheekbones drawn into two lines of perfect interlocking stars. She keeps her long lashes down, looking at no one as she sweeps across the floor of the banquet hall to her parents waiting on the other side. The white mercury sword is on her hip—her sword—and my chest swells for a brief moment.

He’s gotten to return his.

Jealousy wars with happiness; I’ll never be able to return Father’s sword. But Lucien… I’m glad for him.

I’m so glad he’s happy now.

Varia hasn’t been seen alive for five years. There’s a beat of silence, and then the nobles gathered in the banquet hall implode. The whispers catch flame and burst into shouts, shocked gasps, frantic mutterings, the chatter resounding in the high ceiling.

“Alive?”

“New God Almighty—that can’t be her!”

“Her portrait…it looks just like her—”

“Magic? Surely she died, and this is a trick—”

“An imposter? She’s the right age—”

“You can’t teach an imposter how to carry oneself like a d’Malvane—”