“Malwin,” Crier murmured, and felt Malwin’s fingers freeze against her spine. None of the other servants noticed; they’d finished with Crier’s hair and makeup and the room had emptied out. Crier knew the wedding guests had started arriving a couple hours earlier. Even on such short notice—the wedding date had been pushed up nearly a month, and the new date had been announced only a week ago, her father’s fastest riders sent to all corners of the nation to deliver the news—there were two hundred in attendance. All of them requiring lodging, heartstone, and food for their servants. The palace had been in chaos for days. It didn’t help that barely two weeks had passed since . . .

Since Ayla had stood over Crier’s bed in the middle of the night with a knife in one hand, poised to strike.

“Yes, my lady?” said Malwin.

“Your Kind speaks of ‘heartbreak,’” said Crier. She’d seen the word in so many human books, faerie stories and love stories and comedies and tragedies alike. It was everywhere. “I know it is not . . . literal. But what is it?”

Malwin hesitated. “Why do you ask, my lady?”

Ever since the night of the attack, all the servants had been visibly warier of Crier, her father, Kinok, even the Automa guards. Their expressions when they saw Crier ranged from nervous to downright terrified. Most of them didn’t know the full story of what had happened that night—it seemed Ayla and the other servants involved had kept their plans a secret, though Crier knew the rumors about Ayla working for Queen Junn were untrue. Still, she understood why the details didn’t matter. Her Kind wasn’t known for being merciful. In the past, her father had punished innocents for other humans’ crimes. If she were a servant, she’d be terrified too. She’d been doing everything she could to appear nonthreatening—keeping her voice gentle, her expression smooth, her orders quick and simple—but it wasn’t helping. She was the sovereign’s daughter. She could hurt or kill them with a word.

Before Ayla, Crier hadn’t realized the extent of her own power, as foolish as it sounded. She knew she had power—she knew the servants had to obey her—but she wasn’t the sovereign. She had no real influence. She wasn’t dangerous, she was just Crier. Why would anyone fear her?

She’d been so naive.

“I’m just curious,” she assured Malwin. “There’s no wrong answer. I’m just curious.”

“All right, my lady,” Malwin said quietly, going back to the laces. “Heartbreak . . . well, it’s like being sad, but more than that. The worst sadness you can feel. When you’re so sad it feels like a real wound, like your heart itself is broken, bleeding.”

“What causes it? What makes people that sad?”

“Could be anything, my lady.” Malwin made a considering noise. “When you lose someone you love. Or if someone you love does something to hurt you, something truly terrible.”

Crier thought about that. She thought about the letter from Queen Junn, currently hidden inside Crier’s mattress along with a heavy gold locket. Junn’s confession: I killed Reyka. She thought about her father humiliating her in front of the Red Council: My apologies. My daughter thinks herself wise beyond her years.