Paper lanterns hanging from branches illuminate the pity hidden behind the partygoers' smiles in a buttery glow, and the soothing music played by a quartet isn't loud enough to drown out their whispers.

"What a weak and selfish man to leave his family for Stigian."

"Abrum sold his soul to waste away in luxury."

"Did you see how awful he looked; it won't be long before they suck him dry and he dies."

Putting into practice everything Borin taught me, I hold my head high, ignore the gossip, and wear a welcoming smile to hide my agony. Leif guides me down the cobblestone paths lined by blooming rose bushes. Their fragrance mingles with the succulent smells of herbs and spices as the palace staff prepares to serve dinner at long banquet tables scattered under the twilight sky. Lucent citizens dressed in elegant gowns and crisp tailored jackets wish us well. 

My fiancé has always thrived in social settings. Leif enthusiastically shakes every hand or kisses their knuckles, capturing the attention of every person we pass. We are quite the duo—fake smiles and charming words despite our turmoil.

We take our seats at the head table next to Micah and Borin. My mother and siblings occupying the chairs on the opposite side. When my food is served, I shuffle it around my plate, dividing my attention between my mother and smiling at no one in particular. Leif periodically pats me on the knee, a reminder that he understands my heart isn't into sitting through the festivities. I wish I could let go of my worries and live in this moment, but I'm haunted by the quiet exchange I heard between Micah and Esmeray and my father's slowly moving fingers.

After several goes on the dancefloor, the crowd bows as Micah, Borin, and my mother retreat through the back entrance of the palace. I struggle not to follow them, knowing my early exit will be rude, so I anxiously bide my time dancing with Leif. The garden slowly empties until all that remains are those drunk on wine and lost in the music's rhythm. I sneak along the edge of the crowd and slip down the walkway. 

With a bow of their heads, the guards open the back doors. I move through the spacious black and white sitting room, my shoes clicking against the marble floor. The crystal chandelier hanging in the foyer comes into view, and I hurry past the large vase with bright exotic flowers and rush up the steps of the imperial staircase. The guards stationed on the second-floor bow, and their iron and red armor clink with the movement. I acknowledge them with a nod and step into the corridor which is off-limits to those outside the king's circle.

Rich paintings in sleek black frames adorn the hallway. They depict the relatively young history of our kingdom—Micah claiming stake to his half of the kingdom, the declaration of equality for Khiros and Cyffreds, and the day Borin promised to serve Lucent and vowed himself to Micah. One day, my portrait will hang on the opposite wall with Micah as a ruler of this land.

"Elle!"

Not wanting to stop, I speed up and focus on the massive walnut doors at the end of the long hallway.

"Raelle, stop," Leif says, grasping my wrist and bringing me to a halt. "What are you doing?"

I turn and meet his worried gaze, pulling my arm from his grip. "Going to confront Micah."

"At this hour? Why?"

I fight the swell of emotion growing in my chest, and I push him into an alcove. "My father didn't leave on his own; Esmeray took him."

"I know it's hard to accept. None of us want to believe he would do that, but..." Leif places his hand on my shoulder. "You saw him, Elle. He stood next to her at his own free will; he made his choice."

"No, you're wrong. He signed to me that he loves me." I brush his hand away and step around him.

Leif releases a long breath and falls in line behind me. I push the doors open to Micah's office to find my mother sitting on a soft leather sofa with her face in her hands. Her red hair flows down her shoulders while Borin sits next to her, rubbing her back. Leaning against the edge of a monstrous desk with his hands in his trouser pockets, Micah meets my gaze.

I stalk past the stone fireplace and over the hand-woven rug until I'm a pace away from the king. "You know how to get him back; you've known all this time. How is she holding him against his will? What did you take from her?"

"Being a good ruler means we must make tough decisions and sacrifice—"

"Don't. Don't you dare try to turn this into a lesson, Borin," I say, holding up a finger and matching Micah's steely stare. "Just tell me how we get him back."

Micah coolly says, "I wish it were that simple, but you and I both know it isn't."

"What do you mean? Give her what she wants; he wants to come home," I yell.

The king removes his crown and places it on his desk before running his fingers through his hair. "I cannot do that. But I assure you, your father's soldiers are searching for a way to...rectify the situation."

"Rectify the situation? Time is running out, Micah. You saw him; she's feeding off his powers. It won't be long before she drains him, and you know he won't survive without it."

"I am well aware of the grotesque practices my sister's kingdom partakes in with the Cyffreds."

"And yet, people leave here every day to join her. Everyone thinks he abandoned us to become a pampered lapdog. They believe he would rather limit his days for indulgences than live a long life equal to the Khiros and free."

"Raelle." My mother stands and moves between Micah and me. "Your father did what he had to for our people. He knew the risk."

My jaw goes slack. "You already knew they took him, and we could get him back?"

"Yes, and your father would want us to trust our king like he does."

Her words sedate the rage within me. My father was the first to teach me to do what I must and serve our people. He always kept Lucent's best interest at heart, and he was proud to instill that quality in his children. His lessons were always a challenge, but this is too much. I'm struggling to uphold the principles in instilled in me.

Micah moves behind his desk and sits in the high-back leather chair. "Leif, you will ride out just before dawn and return to Basecamp. The Stigian will be powerful after a day of siphoning, and our forces will need your expertise to ensure our strategies are strong when the sibyl's wards vanish."

Leif bows. "Yes, Your Majesty."

It must feel nice to play a part in the safety of our kingdom, to have a true purpose. While I'm parading around in dresses and a jeweled crown, Leif is lending his talents to a bigger cause. I'm useless and playing the part of a princess does nothing to help my father or our ongoing war with Stigian. 

"I wish to join my father's men and fight," I say, just as the thought comes to mind.

Every head in the room whips in my direction.

"You will not fight, Raelle," Micah says.

"But every ruler has seen battle before taking the throne. Why am I any different?"

"Yes, my sweet daughter, but they all came into the gifts bestowed upon them," my mother says.

"Father's powers lie dormant," I counter.

Micah shakes his head. "But your father was not crowned the next ruler. Our future is with you." 

"But I've been trained with a sword and—"

"You will not fight!" Micah pounds his fist on his desk.

I jump, and a new fury ignites within me. The countless hours I spent under Borin's direction—sword fighting, learning our history, and how to negotiate with our rivals—weren't just for show. I'm made to rule. My family and king taught me to stand side by side with those I will one day serve. No one ever deemed a task beneath me, for a great ruler leads by example. So why is it I can't draw my sword and defend our kingdom? Why is my freedom bought with the blood of our people and taken away with the crown?

I won't stand idle and wait for the delivery of my father's body in a coffin.

With my hands balled at my sides, I bow. "As you wish, Your Majesty," I say and breeze past Leif.

My submission is a lie—a means to a greater purpose. Let the consequences fall as they may, because tonight, I set off to find my father's men, fight for Lucent, and bring the king's general home.