She sat in her new bedroom alone.

It was far more luxurious than any room she had been in before. And to call it her own? Well, that was too much to ask. She had never dreamed she would wind up here, in Astroia of all places.

She and Mari - Gods, Mari's name stung like a cut washed with saltwater - had stayed up late, giggling about marrying princes or paupers, seeing the world by ship or by carriage. But neither of them had expected those girlhood fantasies and stories to ever come to fruition. Yet here they both were now. One of them a prince's pet and possession and exhibit.

The other, engaged to the prince's cousin.

Nadia didn't know if she would ever recover from the shock of seeing her best friend, whom she had thought was dead, appearing on the deck.

As she watched a maid put her scanty luggage - only a small canvas sack with a spare change of clothes and other essential items - she felt uncomfortable. Surveilled. Did she have a maid or a spy? Was this room in the centre of the wing because it was the best in the palace, or because it had easy access for everyone to watch her comings and goings?

A shudder ran down her spine. In the temple, she had had guards. Mute guards, but guards nonetheless. On the ship, she'd been ruthlessly watched and even attacked by the ship's captain. Would nothing change here? Was there nothing to her that would dissolve into oblivion that would grant her the freedom she desired?

Instead, the maid was still here. Unpacking her few dresses and hanging them in the wardrobe, where they appeared shabby next to the gold rod and the rich, dark woods of the armoire. She dismissed the maid, feeling that even the servants pitied her. Or disliked her. By all accounts, she ought to have been one of them. Instead, she was a priestess who had somehow become the companion of noblemen and royalty.

But at what cost?

She'd lost her oldest friend. Her new friendship with Rowena was in jeopardy from secrets and lies. Nolan was lost to her forever - she would never be able to look him in the eye now. The only person she could count on was a man who wanted to use her for her gifts - her curse.

Declan. After their meal at the restaurant, he had brought her to the castle by boat. They had entered the gilded, shining gates: him with solemnity, her with a touch of fear. Curiosity welled up inside of her, making her wonder; would he fit in at court as easily as he seemed to slip in and out of disguise everywhere else? Or would he stand out, with everyone watching him, whispering about him, looking up to him as the king's son? Soon, she would find out. She was due to meet the king; in an hour, Declan would show up at her door ready to escort her.

Nadia resolved to make good use of that hour. She examined her room, wanting to see if there were any secret passageways or peepholes that courtiers could use to spy on her. Still, nerves fluttered in her stomach as she rummaged around the spacious chamber. A four-poster bed sat at the centre of the room, with carvings in the sturdy posts: two rings at the base and the top, then in between them elaborate designs of flowers and woodland creatures. She thought she could make out a squirrel or rabbit peeking out at her. Canopies of pink silk draped around it, gossamer and sheer enough to see through it, but opaque enough for some semblance of privacy. Or, as much as one could have in a palace.

Next, there was a writing desk directly across from the bed. Already fully stocked with blank sheets of paper and ink, the two slim drawers revealed that one of them had a false bottom, but it was locked. She made a note to either secure the key or learn how to pick a lock. Somehow. Perhaps it was meant to keep love letters or secret missives in. A hand mirror rested on the desk as well, apparently meant to double as a vanity. The bottom of the stool that accompanied the desk was loose, and when she pulled at it, it came off but revealed nothing more than dust. She carefully screwed it back on, feeling foolish for checking there.

She pulled back curtains to reveal one with a locked door behind it. That would require another key. Nadia was in the midst of examining a length of creamy wallpaper that seemed to flake away from the wall when there was a knock on the door.

Nadia stepped away from the wall. "Come in!"

"Destroying my father's property already, I see," he said, and she noticed the way he called it his father's, not his own. That was the first thing. The second item of interest was that he fully dressed in the clothes of his homeland and completely bedecked in court finery.

She caught her breath for a moment, his attire a far cry from the linen shirts and loose trousers with boots that he had donned like the rest of the sailors when they'd been sailing on the Leyria. The billowing material of his shirt peeked through the slashed sleeves of his jacquard doublet, a white collar concealing his throat. She remembered the gold lines that had shimmered there from how she'd raked her nails down his neck.

"I..." Nadia swallowed, lifting her chin. "I was simply questioning the safety of this chamber. The wallpaper is peeling from the wall."

"It should be perfectly safe, but if you're so concerned, I'll have you moved," said Declan, crossing the room to examine the section of the wall that she was pointing at.

"No, no," she said. She didn't want to seem like a demanding brat who needed all of life to meet her exacting standards. Nadia would leave that role to be played by actual royalty. "Let's go meet your father."

"The king," he said, offering her his arm. "Are you nervous?"

"Why would I be nervous?" she said, doing her best to project an air of utmost, impenetrable confidence. It was, perhaps, somewhat compromised by the fact that she tripped over the carpet on her way out the door, but it was confidence nonetheless.

Declan raised an eyebrow. "Cocky, aren't we?"

"What's your father like?" she said, ignoring his words.

"He's... " Declan sighed. "Eccentric."

"In what way?" His tastes? His moods? She didn't know if she could meet a man whose moods were erratic enough to include short tempers and violent displays of anger, never mind if he was a king or not.

"In every way," Declan said, confirming her worst nightmares. "He sent me away from the palace at the age of twelve because I wore a hat that he disliked."

She choked on a breath. "A hat? Was it very ugly?"

"That's all you have to say?" he asked as they passed through a hallway made of intricately wrought pillars, with gaps between them to show the winding canals below. "I threw the hat off of a ship immediately after."

"Where did you go?" she asked, curious about what life would have been like as a twelve-year-old prince, all alone in the world.

"I travelled the world," he said easily, as though his father had sent him on a pleasant leisure cruise rather than evicted him from the palace. "I took up with the army. They taught me all that I know."

Well, it explained a lot about him, down to the rough, coarse mannerisms he sometimes exhibited and how easily he had fit in with all kinds of people. "How did you wind up flouting so many rules if you were in the military?"

"I never said I was particularly well-suited to the military," he said. "Nor was I predisposed to taking commands."

"How did you make it out alive?" she wondered.

He shrugged. "I was still a prince. In the military, that holds a bit of currency, as you may know. The commanders couldn't whip me or throw me out entirely, but they did keep demoting me and changing me from the land forces to the navy. I am rather fond of the sea, so it happened to work out for me."

She absorbed his words, trying to add a few pieces to a puzzle of him that she was forming in her mind.

"Don't pity me," he added hastily, his eyes staring straight ahead at the panes of stained glass that formed an archway above their heads. "At the age of twelve, really, I think every boy should start to become a man. And what better place to do it than the military?"

"I suppose." But it seemed that at the age of twelve, a boy still needed his family. Tenderness. Affection. Then again, she'd grown up with no family, so who was she to judge?

"Anyway, we are here," he said. Declan leaned in close, his breath tickling her nape. "Welcome to Astroian court, where we are all at the mercy of King Leonard's whims."

-

The doors opened and they entered. Grand, vaulted ceilings rose high above their heads, reminding her of the temple. She swallowed down the memory; now was hardly the time for such weakness. The hall was completely silent; each click of their shoes against the tile echoed like a thunderclap. Declan's father sat on a throne that nearly reached the ceiling as it was placed on a dais with must have been a hundred steps at least. His golden crown covered a head of thinning white hair, but he was spry as he walked down the stairs.

King Leonard, clad in a red velvet cape that covered slim-fitting black trousers and a gold tunic, was thin and wiry. He had a rangy look to him, as though he were a nomadic warrior instead of an established royal. But his smile seemed friendly enough when he stood from his throne and thumped his sceptre against the floor. "Welcome to Moyena!"

She bowed low as Declan nudged her, a strand of hair escaping her bun and brushing the mosaic floor. "Thank you for being generous enough to allow me to stay here, Your Majesty."

"Oh, any friend of my son's is a friend of mine," he said, close enough now that she could see the colour of his eyes: deepest black, like a shadow that would suck in any drop of light that got too close. "I am nothing if not a gracious host. Your name?"

"Nadia Sancta, Your Majesty," she said.

He nodded. "A good name. Very auspicious."

She swallowed. "Auspicious, Your Majesty?"

At her side, Declan tensed. "Father--"

King Leonard held up a hand, his fingers slender but weighed down with rings that featured multicoloured precious stones: rose quartz, cabochon rubies, sapphires, jade. "Silence. Yes, I will be more than happy to allow you to remain in my palace, but first, I must arrange for you to visit the royal fortune teller."

"The... royal fortune-teller?" Nadia repeated. "Your Majesty--"

"Ah, and here I thought my son had brought home a girl, not a parrot who repeats everything I say," he said with a cruel laugh. Perhaps he was less magnanimous and more eccentrically malicious as Declan had suggested. What kind of man could evict his own son for wearing a hat? "The fortune-teller will see you before supper. The two of you are dismissed."