Hours later, I stand with Papá outside the basilica, steeling myself for my bridal walk. The arching doors tower above me; the carved de Riqueza sunburst at their center winks balefully. Beyond the doors, the audience hall buzzes. I am surprised so many could attend on such short notice. Perhaps, though, it is the hurriedness of the whole affair that makes it irresistible. It speaks of secrets and desperation, of pregnant princesses or clandestine treaties. I don’t care about any of this, just that King Alejandro is ugly.

My papá and I await a signal from the herald. It has not occurred to Papá to wish me a happy birthday. I’m shocked when his eyes suddenly shimmer with tears. Maybe he’s sad to see me go. Or maybe he feels guilty.

I gasp with surprise when he pulls me to his chest and grips fiercely. It’s suffocating, but I return his rare embrace eagerly. Papá is tall and lanky like Juana-Alodia. I know he can’t feel my ribs, but I can feel his. He hasn’t eaten much since Invierne began harassing our borders.

“I remember your dedication day,” Papá whispers. I’ve heard the story a hundred times, but never from him. “You were lying in your cradle, swaddled in white silk with red bows. The high priest leaned over with a vial of holy water, ready to pour it on your forehead and name you Juana-Anica.

“But then heaven’s light washed the receiving hall, and the priest sloshed it onto the blanket instead. I knew it was heaven’s light because it was white, not yellow like torchlight, and because it was soft and warm. It made me want to laugh and pray at the same time.” He is smiling at the memory; I can hear it in his voice. I hear pride too, and my chest tightens. “It focused into a tight beam that lit your cradle, and you laughed.” He pats my head, then strokes the linen of my veil. I hear myself sigh. “Only seven days old, but you laughed and laughed.

“Juana-Alodia was the first to toddle over after it faded. Your sister peeled back the wet swaddling and we saw the Godstone lodged in your belly button, warm and alive but blue and faceted, hard as a diamond. That’s when we decided to name you Lucero-Elisa.” Heavenly light, chosen of God. His words suffocate me as surely as his embrace. All my life, I’ve been reminded that I am destined for service.