Gauzy white linens wrapped around the pillars giving the room a crisp look. Thousands of candles cast the crowd with an ethereal glow as they waited for her to be announced.

She sucked in a breath and pulled back her shoulders to lengthen her spine. No fear. The week of her name day had consisted of striking the son of the most powerful merchant in Madra, running away to a secluded beach with a boy she couldn’t stop thinking about, imprisonment in the monastery, and standing in defiance of her father for the first time.

Compared to the lifetime she’d experienced in the past few days, walking into a ball where many eyes followed her every move was easy.

“Helena Rhodipus, princess of Madra.” The herald’s voice rang loud and clear.

There was a moment when no sound reached her ears as if the cheers bounced off a protective barrier, allowing her a moment of peace before stepping into the fray.

She lifted her eyes, finding Edmund near the back wall with a wide grin on his face. With a tiny shake of her head, she let him know to drop his magic. She was ready.

As if someone had lifted a veil, noise rushed in, the excitement of the crowd assaulting her.

To the best of their knowledge, their princess stood among them for the very first time. Not on a platform separated from the crowd as at the Madra games or disguised as someone else. For tonight, she was truly one of them.

She tore her eyes from Edmund as Reed Tenyson commanded his attention and lifted her hand to wave as she walked toward the long table where her family now sat, their masks a testament to their love for her.

The king left them to speak with a gaggle of merchants vying for his attention.

As Helena sank into her seat beside Estevan, she sighed. “I’m already exhausted and we only just arrived.”

Cole laughed from his spot on her other side. “Do not worry, sister. Soon, all eyes will be on me anyway.”

“It’s good to know that the center of attention at my ball will be my brother.” She shook her head.

He flashed her a grin.

Camille, as the only person not of Madran royalty at their table, leaned forward. “We have balls in Gaule, but nothing so grand as this.”

The music began anew, sending soft notes drifting on the air.

Helena opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off as her father appeared with Lord Nirol, a man who spent his life trying to climb the spiral by any means necessary. He was a merchant, but rumors also circulated about his piracy. Helena had met him many times before when the merchant council met with the king at the palace.

Each time had been more unpleasant than the one before it.

“Daughter,” her father began. “You will dance.” He nodded to Lord Nirol.