The only prince she knew of was her many-times-great-grandfather Martin, or the Lost Prince, as he was known in Arden. Most historians in Arden believed that Prince Martin was killed in battle against the Forgers and Tillers. But the truth was that the prince, horrified by his older sister’s actions, had fled to an entirely different world.

“Ha! You’re funny,” Lyric was saying. She shook her head, smiling like Claire had made some sort of joke. “Prince Thorn, obviously— Ew, Elaina!”

Claire covered her mouth too late to stop the spray of soggy crumbs across the embroidered tablecloth.

Mistress Weft appeared with a damp dishrag in hand. “Is something wrong, dear?”

Mortified, Claire took a hasty sip of orange juice and cleared her throat. Maybe the Spyden had actually done something to Claire’s mind, because she thought that Lyric had just said Prince Thorn.

“Who?” she asked again when she was sure she had stopped coughing. It couldn’t be the same person.

Lyric’s eyes widened. “You’ve forgotten about Prince Thorn, too?” She clasped her hands to her heart. “He’s only the reason why Queen Estelle returned! He’s her great-something-grandnephew, who managed to wake her from Queen Rock with his tremendous magic!” Her face took on a solemn expression. “He’s the most powerful Spinner of all time, to be able to unravel the queen from stone. Her Majesty has named him her heir.”

The kitchen suddenly felt cramped. Even Claire’s skin felt too tight, as though it were too small for her body.

Thorn Barley had once been her friend—and Sophie and Sena and Nett’s friend—until he’d betrayed them all, leading them astray while he secretly went to release Estelle from Queen Rock. He’d been born without magic, or so they had thought. But in actuality, he was a Spinner born into the Tiller guild, destined to never learn where his true talents lay so long as interaction between guilds remained illegal. But with Queen Estelle’s return, he’d met Mira Fray and learned he could spin. And so, when he’d next seen Claire and her friends, he’d tried to capture them and bring them to the Royalists. Later, however, Sophie had claimed that Thorn helped them escape from their cell underneath the Drowning Fortress. Though when it came to Thorn, Claire suspected her older sister could be a bit biased.

Claire suddenly understood why everything felt too small. Nothing was big enough to contain the burning-red feeling that was clawing out of her, setting fire to her blood.

Claire was angry.

How could he? How dare he!

And yet, Lyric was still going on and on about the great new prince of Arden. “I’ve actually seen him before, you know. He visited Needle Pointe a few times with Mira Fray.”

“And is Prince Thorn”—the words felt like ashes in Claire’s mouth—“still here?”