The nearest soldier inclined his head toward Malachi, his mouth set in a thin line. Dante. He didn’t approve of what Nomi and Malachi were about to do.

Nomi picked out Renzo in the press of people. He watched her, smiling proudly. Serina stood to the side of the dais and watched everyone else.

“Are you ready?” Malachi pressed her arm gently into his side.

“There are so many ways for this to end badly,” Nomi murmured. She was caught at the surreal point between fantasy and nightmare and for good or ill, the dream was about to begin.

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked.

Nomi steeled herself. “No, I have not.”

Together, they walked into the room.

The musicians played a fanfare. The soldiers saluted, even Dante. His glare twisted Nomi’s heart. How were they to convince the country, when they couldn’t convince Malachi’s closest friend?

It will take time, that’s all.

Nomi raised her chin and glided across the floor. She didn’t lean on Malachi or let herself be caught up in his shadow.

We are equal.

I am not a Grace.

When they reached the dais, Nomi and Malachi turned slowly to face their subjects, the silver beading of her voluminous periwinkle gown glinting in the light. Serina and the other women curtsied deeply. Some of the magistrates bowed. But not all of them.

The musicians finished with a flourish.

Every breath hung on a knife’s edge, each movement careful and contained.

“Good evening. Thank you for being here,” Malachi began. “Tonight we have come together to acknowledge and celebrate a new chapter in Viridia’s history. One that I am honored to be a part of and that gives me great hope. Our country has suffered deeply. My father’s murder and my brother’s ascension caused strife and unease throughout Viridia. But when I speak of suffering, I speak of more than Asa’s brief, brutal reign and my father’s death. Viridia has also suffered for its lies.”

A low murmur broke through the crystal silence of the room.

Nomi continued, her voice steady and clear in contrast to her wild, unsteady heart. “In particular, the women of Viridia have suffered. We have been broken down, stripped of our choices, our agency, our dignity. We have paid a heavy price for fear. Women once ruled this country”—a gasp from the assemblage—“until they were erased. We have hidden our queens and subjugated their descendants. But no longer.”

“As the rightful Heir to Viridia,” Malachi stated, “I will take no Graces. Instead, I choose to align myself with a queen.” He held Nomi’s hand aloft for a moment, though no one cheered. Serina and Anika slipped through the crowd, their movements deceptively casual, as they tracked the magistrates, their aides, even the servants carrying trays of wine. Nomi’s breath hitched, watching them move silently through the room.