Out of all her siblings, Octavia looked the most like her mother. They had the same dark ringlets, warm skin, and dark eyes. Her mother only stood an inch or two taller, a few fine lines etched into her face.

There was something satisfying about seeing Friedrich cower away from a face so much like Octavia's.

"You know," her mother said pleasantly as she watched Friedrich disappear further into the castle. "I was against his marriage to my sister. Only my betrothal was necessary to ensure peace with Dualis... but Jivanta insisted she loved him." Octavia glanced at her mother, a silent question hanging in the air. Her mother didn't much talk about her sister. Nobody did. "It was too grand of a wedding for a marriage so short," her mother decided. "We'll be sure not to make the same mistake when your uncle's funeral comes around."

Octavia might have been more startled by the hostility, but the image of Savoy's beheading replayed in her mind, and she dismissed it. Instead, she moved closer to her mother, interlocking their arms as she pushed her toward her father's room.

"I found more paper in the drawing room," she said, reaching into the front of her dress to pull out a piece of parchment and hand it to her mother. It wasn't the map she had shown Antonia yesterday, but instead, her escape route listed out, still written in the invisible ink she had made. Her mother glanced over it, giving a quiet thank you as her eyes flicked towards the burning torches to show she understood how to read the message.

Octavia relaxed as they entered her parents' room and closed the door. Her mother let go of her, immediately going to the candle in the corner to read Octavia's letter. Her father glanced up, eyes brightening at Octavia's appearance, only to frown when he caught sight of her face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, standing behind a desk. Trajan was asleep in their bed on the other side of the room, smacking his lips as he shifted. "Where's Antonia?"

"Antonia is fine," Octavia dismissed. "Lord Savoy isn't."

She kept her voice low, but newfound paranoia rose in her chest. The Revolutionaries had given them these rooms, but maybe it was just the illusion of privacy. Maybe Friedrich had seen everything Antonia had done last night. The thought almost sent Octavia sprinting to her sister.

Be calm, she reminded herself. Quietly, she explained all she had seen. Her father's lips pursed as Octavia took the parchment from her mother and laid it out for them all to read. Even whispering the words out loud seemed too precarious, so she let them take in Octavia's escape plans in silence.

"This won't work for all of us," her father finally said. Octavia swallowed. Here came the hard part.

"No," she agreed. "But it will work for two."

Her father opened his mouth before pausing, suspicion rising in his gaze. Octavia fixed him with a stern look.

"Friedrich wants to stop the Royalists. That means he's going to kill you and your heir first." She gestured to where Trajan was sleeping. "If he kills me, Mom, or Antonia while you're still alive, he's just given the Royalists a martyr."

"Octavia-"

"He won't hurt us," Octavia told him firmly.

Her father shook his head. "And why is that?" His voice was already growing taut. He was humoring her, but that was it.

"I have a plan for us," she said, unwilling to admit what that plan was in these moments. Her father would never agree, and if Antonia found out what Octavia intended for them... well. Her sister could wait. "Take Trajan and go. Nobody is going to want Mom dead. She's Dualian."

Her father hesitated at that, exchanging a wary look with her mother.

"The Dualians are a large part of this revolution," Octavia pressed. "I've seen the rosters. There are plenty of Romanovian commoners, but Dualians are the ones who are fighting."

"I wouldn't presume they have no ill will toward your mother," her father said slowly. Octavia frowned at that. Could the Dualians blame her mother for entering a peace pact with her father? "Morana, you should go with Antonia-"

"What about you and Trajan?" Octavia whispered. Her father said nothing as he walked across the room, grabbing a glass and pouring himself a glass of water - or perhaps something stronger. "Father-"

"If Antonia's magic is discovered, far worse can happen to her."

"I will protect her. I've always protected her. I'm trying to protect you," Octavia said, voice rising. Her father took a sip of his drink. "We don't have time to argue. I can handle this."

"It is not your job to handle this, Octavia."

"Well, you're not doing it!" Octavia exploded. Trajan darted up in his bed. "All you've done since the Revolutionaries invaded the castle is surrender. It seems that running away is the one thing you should be able to do."

Her father slammed his glass down so hard it cracked. The candlelight reflected in his eyes, matching the liquid orange of Antonia's so well. Unlike Antonia, his hair was a light brown. Since the revolts, he had let it grow, leaving it now to his shoulders alongside his beard, both of which he had done little to maintain. With his disgruntled clothes and bags under his eyes, he looked far from a king.

"I have done nothing to-"

"You have done nothing," Octavia said coldly. From behind her, her mother walked over to Trajan, whispering something before lightly nudging him to the door. It was only when they both left that Octavia spoke again. "I am going to do something. I love you. You know I love you, but you will die if you and Trajan don't do this within the day. Is that what you want?" she asked, pointing to the door. "For Trajan to die?"

A long silence hung over them.

"Trajan, no," her father finally said, giving a low laugh as he shook his head. He poured himself another drink. "As for me..." he trailed off and ran a hand over his face. Octavia stared at him, a heavy sort of thud ricocheting through her. "You care about our country?" he asked.

Octavia held out her hands. What sort of question is that? Of course, she did. It was her home. And even if the people had turned against them, they were still their people. They were all Romanovian. Not Htraehean. Not Cambrian. Not anything else.

Her father turned, wiping off his hand where some of his drink had spilled. "This is what the people want, what your people want. It is not a fight I'm willing to sacrifice my family for. Trajan and Antonia can leave. You and Trajan can leave. Make it your choice, but my life is not the one that will be saved."

There had to be an irony that the first death sentence she had ever heard her father give would be his own.

"No," Octavia began. "I- you're not dying."

Her father exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. "Octavia-"

"You're not making me watch you die!" she shouted.

It wasn't fair. As a child, Octavia remembered playfully sparring with her father in the ballroom. He'd cry dramatically as she poked him with a stick, falling to his knees with a distraught yell before collapsing on the floor. Octavia would giggle endlessly, walking over to shake him awake. He'd commit to his theatrics for a few minutes, refusing to move until Octavia got worried, and then he would suddenly grab her with a roar that he had come back from the dead.

Those few moments when her small mind had considered the possibility that her stick hurt her father had been terrifying. The thought of him truly hurt... she wasn't sure she could bear it.

Her father looked away.

"Give me a chance," Octavia said. "I'll have Antonia and Trajan leave tonight. But if I find a way for you to escape, please tell me you'll take it." Her father hesitated, and Octavia took three long strides to grasp his hands. "Please."

A few moments passed, and slowly he nodded. That was something. Octavia nodded, kissing his cheek before turning to leave the room. She went to grab the escape plans off the table, but when her fingers reached for them, they were gone.

Cursing under her breath, she stepped out the door. Had her mother taken them? The thought made her stomach churn. Those pages contained all the information needed to escape with the timing of the guards' duties and disguises she had hidden away over the past few days. Octavia bit her tongue, forcing herself to smile at a guard on the floor below her. She didn't recognize this one. It might be his first rotation.

"Hello," she said, walking towards the stairs. "I don't believe I've seen you before-" Pain shot through her as she exited the spiral staircase to the first floor. The guard reached for her, eliciting a sharp cry as he yanked her arm back. "Let me go!" she screamed, struggling. "Let go!" She twisted painfully against his grip. He pushed forward, dragging her across the ground.

From the floor above her, there was a scream.

They were too late. She was too late. The executioners were here.