“Thank you!” She twirls around and hurries back to the group. They each strike a pose again and I lift the Canon to my eye, through the viewfinder, with the dusky light painting their glittering dresses and armored suits and polished military jackets in the perfect shade of blue, I think I see what Imogen was talking about. There are two dozen Princess Amaras smirking back at me, all of whom look different—different skin colors and body types and sexualities and gender identifications. Princess Amaras who have gone through the Black Nebula and those who led the Nox King’s military and those who fell in love with Carmindors and Zorines and Eucis. But they all have one thing in common:

They love who they are as Amara. They love themselves.

I click a few photos and quietly hand the camera back to the organizer. She fixes her crown before pulling the camera strap over her neck as the sun dips below the buildings.

“Just in time—thank you so much. I forgot to bring my tripod and I was kicking myself,” she says with a laugh. “You’re a life-saver. Really, thanks!”

“My pleasure, Elle,” I reply, and head back into the showroom.

I RETURN TO ARTISTS’ ALLEY. THE showroom hasn’t closed, but artists are beginning to pack up and the steady stream of attendees trickles away. I find the aisle with the purple Princess Amara banner and sheepishly walk up to the table.

Harper slams her hand against her chest. “Oh my God, you came back!”

“Um…yeah?” I push up my glasses again.

“I thought for sure I’d run you off.” Her dark eyes linger on the bruise on my cheek, and I quickly look away. “Did something happen to you?”

“I tripped over a Nox King’s tail.”

She winces. “That’s about the worst way to go.”

“Tell me about it.” I sink into my chair behind the booth. There are only a handful of Save Amara pins left. Harper’s been handing them out all day while I’ve been gone. That was very…nice of her.

I guess she must be good friends with Imogen—or was, before I stepped in. I’ve been nothing but cold or dismissive to her.

I’ve been mean and cold to everyone at this con, I realize.

Since when did I start acting like such a witch?

Harper’s packing up her things, zipping her pencil case closed and tossing it into a clear bookbag. I pick up one of her prints. It’s of Amara and Zorine in a heartfelt embrace, and I can’t help but blush seeing a girl with my likeness kissing the likeness of Fiona Oro, who plays Zorine. I hand the print back as I realize she’s putting them all into a box under the booth.

I bite my lip. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, why couldn’t you?”