“Thank you.”

After she leaves, Rosario settles beside me on the bed so that we are shoulder to shoulder. “I think it’s perfect,” he says.

“You do?”

“We match,” he says, indicating his suit. He wears off-white trimmed in gold, with all the medals and seals of his station pinned to his chest. “Besides,” he continues, “once you wear that thing in public, everyone will finally understand the truth: You are younger than I am.”

“It’s good to have ambition, little brother.”

It’s been a mock argument between us ever since that day, almost eight years ago, when Elisa brought me home from the mountains and introduced me to her seven-year-old prince—who immediately declared himself in charge.

“You’re wearing the Queen’s Star,” I say, indicating the golden star with an inset ruby hanging from his lapel.

He grimaces. “The seneschal is going to announce it. The Quorum thinks it’s best to remind everyone that I’m a hero”—he sneers out the word—“as I walk you down the aisle.”

“I’m sorry.” The Battle of Brisadulce took place a year before I became a member of court. But Rosario and Elisa have told me all about it, so I know the Queen’s Star is one of Rosario’s greatest treasures. He hates having it used as a commodity, as though it cheapens his accomplishment along with all the tragedy of that day.

“Anyway, I brought you something,” he says, reaching into a pocket. “Since this will be the first actual birthday you celebrate, it seems right that someone should give it to you.”

“Oh?” I peer at the object in his hand, but he holds it tight, not yet ready to reveal it.

“Every royal child receives this on their first birthday, you see. It’s a long tradition, and you should be part of it.”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful of—”

He opens his hand and exposes a slender stem of marble topped with a golden ball. It looks like a tiny dagger, or maybe a letter opener, but with rounded edges and a jeweled hilt.

Rosario gives it a gentle shake, which causes it to jangle softly. Either the hilt or the golden ball is hollow.

“I . . . what is it?”

Rosario’s grin is like the sun spilling over the sea. “It’s a baby rattle. For my baby sister.”

I consider pretending to be offended, but a giggle escapes before I can stop it.

“And look!” he says, “When your baby teeth finally grow in you can bite, like this.” He pantomimes biting down on the rattle. “Gold is very soft, you know. We’ll polish out the tooth marks every few months. Any jeweler here in Brisadulce can do it for you.”

“Well.” I grab the rattle and give it a shake. “Let it never be said that I don’t follow the traditions of my adopted country!” I hold it up to the light, which sheens against the golden ball. This tiny bauble is worth more than everything I owned during the first decade of my life all put together.