“Your Highness.” I jumped, my attention turning to the Marchioness who was holding a low curtsey in front of me, her crimson silk skirts pooling around her feet.

“My lady?”

She only smiled, rose, and started toward the next column. I watched in silence as she spoke to the uniformed builder, her head tilted as she listened to his response. Moments later, the half-bloods stepped back from a squared block of stone and it rose up into the air, guided by the woman’s vast amount of power.

And she wasn’t the only one. Near and far, there were silk-clad ladies and dark-suited lords of Trollus’s aristocracy listening to orders from those they had always treated as lesser, lending their magic to the effort.

“Marc, would you give me some light?” I asked, stepping out into the middle of the boulevard so I could see.

Brilliant orbs bloomed into existence high above, filling all of Trollus with their light and allowing me to finally see. Column after column reached up toward the rocky ceiling, growing faster than I had ever hoped. It was how I’d envisioned it in my mind’s eye during those long hours I’d spent drafting and drawing. And not just the structure, but the people. How they were behaving, the expressions on their faces – this, this was what I had dreamed for my city. And it was glorious.

“I thought it was impossible,” I whispered to no one in particular.

Marc answered, “And yet it is happening.”

I hoped it would never end – that against all odds, I might see this transformation of my city through. And I was a fool for it. The gut-wrenching shock of disappointment hit me like a fist to the stomach, almost doubling me over. Cécile had failed. At what, I could not say, but in her mind, there would be consequences. Terrible ones. I braced myself for what would come next.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sound of my own name. Like a bell rung in a silent hall, Cécile’s voice echoed through my ears, Tristanthysium.

“Not possible,” I breathed. Except that it had happened, and every muscle in my body tensed like a coiled spring as a result, anticipation of what she would ask making me blind to everything around me. I turned, staring unseeing toward the north.

Tristanthysium, come to me.

Yes, my fey nature whispered even as I shouted. “No!”

“Tristan, what has happened?” Marc’s voice was tense, his words clipped. “Is it her?”

He thought Cécile was dead, and though her heart still beat strong and true, he was not far from wrong. “Cécile has called me to her. By name.”

“Is the curse broken?”

“No. She has made another choice.”

His eyes widened with realization. “Where is she?”

“Trianon.”

The word and all that it meant rippled out and away from us, carried on a tide of fear through my people. I started forward.

“No. No, she can’t have done this!” Marc caught hold of my arm, trying forcibly to restrain me.