The day Trajan had been born had been the worst day of Antonia's life.

At least, in the beginning, it had been. Octavia was nine and Antonia seven, playing in the throne room one early morning when the ornate doors flew open with a bang.

"Where are they?" their father's voice echoed, and Antonia peeked out from behind a marbled column to see the king darting around the room, face flushed and eyes bright with excitement. "Where are my princesses?"

Octavia rushed over to him, giggling as their father grinned, opening his arms wide.

"Aha," he yelled, scooping her up. Antonia inched away from her pillar, dragging her feet. She knew what this good mood meant. Her father met her eyes and smiled, skipping over the steps leading up to the two thrones at the front of the room. "Excellent. I have news-"

"The boy is coming," Antonia cut in dryly. She huffed, sitting on a stair with her nose scrunched up and lips puckered into a pout. Uncle Friedrich trailed behind, looking irritated as he tried to keep up with the king, scribbling something down against a marbled column.

"Indeed he is," their father agreed and lightly poked Octavia's nose. She grinned and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Unlike Antonia, Octavia didn't seem to mind this unwelcome addition to the family. "I will be joining your mother soon-"

"My king," Friedrich interrupted, pausing in his writing to walk over. "You needn't trouble yourself in the birthing room. Surely, your wife-"

"Friedrich," their father cut in, looking amused as he shifted Octavia on his hip. She wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging tighter. "You've met my wife. You know that if I ever were to venture out into battle, she would insist on joining me. It seems only fair that I return the favor."

Friedrich pursed his lips at their father's declaration but bowed his head, stepping back so they could resume their conversation. Her father put Octavia down, urging her to sit next to Antonia so he could kneel in front of them.

"Right," he said, clapping his hands together. "I have gifts for you."

"Goodbye gifts," Antonia said solemnly. Their father raised a brow. "I know what they say. Now that you have a boy, he'll be heir to the throne, and you'll forget about us. Right, Octavia?"

Octavia gave her a puzzled look. Why wasn't she more bothered? If it weren't for this boy, Octavia would be the first queen to inherit the throne. Even at seven, Antonia knew that was a big deal. Octavia was the smartest person she had ever met. Her sister deserved to rule one day. Not this dumb baby who could one day grow into a dumb man.

Their father tucked a black curl away from Antonia's face. "Nobody is forgetting about you."

"Octavia would be the best queen. She should get it!" Antonia insisted, lip trembling. "And I would help her! I would be so good at helping her. Tell him, Octavia. Tell him I would help."

"She helped me feed the horses yesterday," Octavia offered. Antonia pointed at her in agreement. See? Antonia would help. She was good at helping.

Their father's lips twitched. "The best queen?" he repeated and stood up, reaching over to grab Octavia again and lift her into the air. "Let's see! Queen Octavia, please take a seat!"

Octavia gasped as he sat on his throne. At nine, she was too big to keep getting picked up like a toddler, but Antonia had never once seen her sister complain. Her father's affection felt like a luxury only their family could have. You were meant to enjoy it fully.

The throne itself glittered as Octavia sat down. It was made up of polished crystals with pieces of magic trapped inside, so it glowed all sorts of colors. Once, Antonia had overheard the servants mutter that such a throne was wasteful.

"Look at all that water magic," one had said, clicking his tongue as Antonia hid behind a satin curtain. "If our fishers could afford even just a sliver of what is just sitting in their furniture, we'd have twice the amount of food."

"The prices are going up on wind magic," another servant said, collecting some papers Antonia's father had left behind. "The king won't say why. We couldn't have possibly run out. Didn't we fight Dualis because of their magic?"

"Perhaps he used up all of theirs too," the first servant said, wiping down the throne with a rag. Antonia stuck her tongue at them, despite being out of sight. She wasn't entirely sure what they were saying, but it sounded mean, and she wouldn't dare stand for such insults.

After all, how could anyone not like their throne? It was pretty, and despite its massive size, Antonia thought it suited Octavia perfectly. She felt a little disappointed when her sister shifted uncomfortably, looking uncertainly at their father.

"She does look nice on it," he said, turning to Antonia. Octavia slipped off the throne and made her way back to them. "Let's not despair. Octavia has the making of many great things. A queen is only one option of many."

Antonia sighed, dread worming into her chest. Already, they were being shoved to the side. How long would it be until they were nothing more than shadows? Antonia had a growing suspicion it might be her fate to remain in the background of larger stories, but she had at least hoped Octavia might have a chance to shine.

At Antonia's look of discontent, her father's gaze softened. He reached out to grab her hand and then one of Octavia's.

"You are not to be forgotten," he repeated sternly. "Look." He gestured Friedrich back over. Two velvet bags appeared in their father's hand. "Who first?" he asked.

Antonia stubbornly remained silent, so Octavia raised her hand. Her father handed over a purple bag. He only let go once he was sure Octavia had a hold of it, giving a low murmur for her to be careful. Octavia undid the tie, expression cautious as the bag fell away to reveal a glass vial with a glowing orange inside that reflected off the marble floor beneath them.

Octavia made a noise of excitement, jerking her eyes up to look at their father. His lips pursed, fondness touching an expression that was meant to be stern as Octavia gaped at him.

"You got me fire magic?" she managed, voice breaking on the last note. Antonia's mouth dropped. Fire magic, unlike its other elemental brethren, was notoriously hard to control and thought to be twice as powerful. Octavia looked as if she could cry with happiness. Their parents had always encouraged Octavia to pursue her interests in magic, but fire magic had been a touchy subject, despite her desperately wanting to learn it.

"You will only use it supervised." Her father pointed a finger at her. "And someone with water magic must be nearby. Two people with water magic." He considered. "Three."

"Three," Octavia agreed, holding it tighter to her chest. "Thank you!" she squealed and let out a hysterical giggle.

Antonia looked down at her own hands. Nobody had ever bought her elemental magic despite her family's infinite money. She had never seen the colors across her palms. Bitterness rose in her chest, but she pushed it away.

There's a reason for that, she told herself firmly. It isn't anyone's fault.

Their father turned to Antonia, holding out the other velvet bag, and shook it enticingly in front of her. Slowly, Antonia undid the tie so she could peer inside. It looked bigger than Octavia's gift, the rectangular shape cluing her in before she could unwrap it.

"...a book," she said, unenthused. Her father rolled his eyes as he gestured to her to take it out. Antonia gave Octavia an irritated look. She got fire magic, and Antonia got a book. Typical. She looked down at the leather cover; silver words pressed near the top. "Stories of Second Sons," she read and scowled. "I'm a girl."

This just kept getting worse. Her father smiled, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head. "It's just the title. I'm sure the alliteration just sounded better. Look," he said and undid the silver clasps keeping it closed.

Octavia peered over her shoulder. "By Sargon? Like... our Sargon?" she read off, perplexed. Antonia blinked. Sargon was the younger brother of the first king of Romanov. She didn't know much about him other than that. If he wrote this book, it meant this was probably thousands of years old.

Antonia's disappointment momentarily stilled. "Sargon wrote this?" she asked, peering inside. "What's it about? What's that word?" She pointed to the page.

Her father leaned over. "Censorious," he read. Antonia frowned. "It means...very critical." She nodded and flipped a page. "Antonia," her father said and shifted so he was more in front of her. "I know you must think that with an older sister and younger brother, your future feats may remain buried amongst kings and excellent sorceresses," he said, giving Octavia a sly wink as she held her new magic closer. "But for generations, our family has passed down this book to tell all of our stories. See?" He flipped a page. "We had great warriors. Great diplomats. Great druids." Antonia's fingers hovered over the page, uncertain she could touch pages so fragile. "I thought we could read it together. Just you and me."

"You and me?" Antonia repeated, heart fluttering. As dearly as she loved her sister, part of her had always yearned for the attention Octavia got as the oldest. Up until today, Octavia had been his heir. Their father treated her as such. He never ignored Antonia, exactly, but there was a complication in their relationship - in all of Antonia's relationships - that nobody dared to speak of out loud.

Antonia's secret was a secret for a reason.

"That way, you can get ideas about what great things you might want to do," her father continued. "Then eventually, you can write your own stories in here."

Great things. Antonia could do great things. Something caught in her throat.

"...okay," she decided and closed the book. "I like it."

Antonia smiled a little to herself. She could do great things.

"Good." Their father pulled out one more bag. "Then I have one more gift for both of you." Tipping the bag over, three necklaces fell out. Each sat on a golden chain with a pendant dangling off. Different stones sat inside the necklaces: orange, black, and white. "You can choose which you'd like. Your brother will get the last one."

Antonia and Octavia grinned at one another. There was something appealing about their future brother having no say in what necklace he got.

Octavia's eyes drifted to the orange one. "It matches your eyes," she said, lifting the chain. 

So far, only Antonia inherited their father's eyes. Octavia had a gaze blacker than any night - like embers after a flame. Antonia's were still alight with fire, a glowing orange that felt as if it might engulf you if you stared long enough.

Antonia lifted the necklace with the black pendant. "It looks like your eyes!" she said brightly. Octavia smiled. "I like this one the best," she said, holding the black pendant closer to her chest. "It reminds me of you."

Octavia looked pleased with that, but their father's expression suddenly dropped. Something flickered over his gaze, brows furrowing for a moment before it disappeared.

"I'll keep this one," Octavia said brightly, taking the orange one. "It reminds me of you."

Later, their mother would fondly say they were all pieces of her little sky. Octavia the sun, Trajan the moon, and Antonia the night.