I looked down at the red wine licking the edges of my crystal glass, the golden cutlery shining brightly under the chandeliers hanging overhead. I tried desperately to ignore the swarming whispers that gathered at my shoulders and giggled at my ear. My temples throbbed, another headache looming. If only they weren't so loud.

The Angels would not leave me alone this evening. Usually hearing voices in one's head meant they were broken in some way, but for me it was a sign of my gift. A blessing. I knew I should be grateful, that I should smile and laugh with them. Be happy for my gift, be reverent of what I was lucky enough to have inherited from my mother and the many Mothers before her.

But right now, all I craved was silence.

Peace.

Because tomorrow I was leaving, off to Garnette to marry a prince. Another thing I should be happy about. Something I was happy about. I just...

"Won't you share at least one glass of wine with me before you go, sister?" Elliotte said, his pale white, manicured and uncalloused fingers floating into view, cutting me off from the Angels and the traitorous thoughts running through my head.

The room around me came into focus along with Elliotte's light hazel eyes and icy blonde hair. Courtiers in powdered wigs and dresses of shining fabric glimmered around us, more blinding than the polished dinnerware.

The giggles of blushing women and the words of charming men hit me with ferocity, my temples throbbing sharply at the onslaught. Colours swarmed, the gentle music gone shrill to my ears as those around us flirted and manipulated one another, all while watching Elliotte and me from the corners of their ever-conniving gazes.

I looked away, my stomach turning. I never much liked events like this, but this was one I couldn't avoid. Elliotte cocked his head, silver brows puckering in concern.

"What were they saying?" he asked. As a male born into our line, he had been doomed to never know the voices of the angels. But there was no trace of jealousy in his gaze.

Just soft, gentle, pity.

I hardened my features as I focuses away from his face, shaking my head. , I took a long swig of wine, then winced as its sweetness brought on another wave of nausea.

"Couldn't hear them clearly." I sighed. "It's unlikely I ever will. Mother can't either. Not so long as our gift is locked away."

Elliotte frowned, leaning back in his seat, relieving me from the conversation. He scanned the room, gaze catching by the door as it had been all evening. Darren stood, perfect as a gilded statue, his golden cape spilling from his shoulders. I wasn't the only one leaving tomorrow.

"I'm sorry," I said before I could stop myself. I bit down on my tongue, cursing myself for even bringing it up.

I just couldn't stand the way his lips puckered, the glint in his eyes dimming. Darren was one of my closest friends, and a man I had long suspected was something even more to my sometimes flighty brother. But Darren was also the captain of my own personal guard, and would be leading me and a small contingent of specially selected men to Garnette where he would stay by my side, protecting me until one of us no longer drew breath.

He had vowed so much a year ago when my mother, the queen, promoted him to the title. He had accepted without hesitation. To Darren, Rosailles had always come first. Much like how my marriage had been penned before I was even born, our fates were bound to always leave the place we grew up in order to serve it.

Elliotte did not reply right away, finishing off his glass of wine. Almost instantly, a servant appeared, wine flagon in hand, refilling his glass. My gaze caught on her. Warm brown skin, a few tightly coiled ringlets escaped hair pulled into a knot to frame dark eyes. They met mine a moment, and lingered a few seconds before she dropped her gaze and withdrew, blending in almost seamlessly with the other servants. I pressed my lips together. She seemed familiar yet I could not place an instance I had seen her before. The Verenice Palace boasted a large contingent of workers, and it was not possible for me to keep track of them, but something about this particular woman struck me as odd.

Maybe because none of them ever met my eyes like she just had.

"Don't apologize," Elliotte said finally. He reached over, giving me one of his lopsided smiles and taking my hand. "Tomorrow you usher Rosailles into a new era where peace can finally be realized. I've long known this day would come, and his role in it. Though I have often tried to ignore that both of you are to leave me, I have chosen to love you regardless, rosebud."

I gripped his hand back, tears threatening at the back of my eyes. I blinked furiously, holding them at bay. They had tried many times the last few weeks to force there way from me, but I would not allow myself now with so many people watching. Such a thing would be ungrateful under the eyes of the Angels, who had gifted us with such an opportunity.

But still, I would miss Elliotte so much. He gave my hand an answering squeeze, saying all that we couldn't with the silent gesture, before letting go. His face relaxed, then shifted. A mischievous glint lit his eyes.

Ah, there's the brother the courtiers all know and love.

"In a few short days my sister is to be a queen, and not once have you ever been drunk." He gestured to my glass. "Drink with me tonight, let go for once in your life. Angels only know, you need it."

I frowned at him. "You know I can't."

"Can't or won't, there is a difference." He pouted, leaning forward. "Please, sister. Live a little. Once you're a wife, you will be stuck with a man you barely even know." His gaze danced over the room full of people for emphasis. "I know of many that would be happy to...prepare you for what is to come." He winked at me.

Warmth spread up my neck, settling at my cheeks. "Elliotte!"

He only laughed. "I tease." He sighed. "I'm only looking out for you, are you sure you are...ready?"

I wanted to push away from the table. Of course, Elliotte would choose to have such a fiendish conversation now of all time. But it was different that his usual teasing, the underlying question peeking between his words. Was I really ready to do this? Marry a man from a country that had been our enemy for centuries? And more than that--a stranger.

I only had his name and a few details I had gathered over the years. Jourdon Gilroy Laurient: Crown Prince of Garnette.

He was three years my senior, making him around twenty-one years. He was a military man, having undergone rigorous training as a young boy, sent off to an academy for ten years in his adolescence that cut him off from his family.

But I had nothing else, no idea what he liked or what he even looked like. Ties between Rosailles and Garnette had been so tense that I would be the first Roserian royal to set foot in their palace since the reign of Queen Giselle--the queen that had ultimately locked away the magic gifted to my line.

The same magic I carried.

I clasped my hands together, hoping Elliotte didn't catch their tremble. "I'm sure His Highness will treat me well. He's beloved by his men."

Elliotte cocked a brow. "So I have heard. But military men can be..." His gaze fell again unbidden on Darren. "Difficult to love."

I pressed my lips together. I thought of Jourdon's letters, the ones wrapped tightly together and already tucked away in my trunk upstairs.

Though there weren't many, the years he had been at the academy nothing but a long stretch of silence between us, I had read each one of them over and over until the paper wrinkled. Where I had pressed my fingers to his tight, neat letters, inspecting each word closely and ravenously for some clue about my future husband.

From them I had gathered an image, one that I had imagined over and over again, perfecting it each year that passed until we would finally meet.

"I'm certain we'll make it work." And I believed it, the words that been signed at the end of each letter floating across my mind. Yours, Jourdon. That one glimpse of warmth, of feeling. That promise that even now, he was already mine. He could have signed it differently, stiffly and formally as he had written the rest of his letters. But that one word, Yours, stuck with me.

It was why I did not drink with my brother despite him begging me nearly every night, and it was why I did not bother with the courtiers that glanced at me even now, darkened eyes hooded, red lips wet and wanting as they eyed me, hoping for one last chance to be the one that led me astray. I was a challenge to them, a game. But not one that would be won.

Eventually Elliotte sighed in resignation after inspecting my closely, likely seeing each subtle shift of my emotions.

"He better be worth it. Worth you." His jaw tensed in a rare show of sternness. "All his training will be for naught if I receive even one letter from you where you sound unhappy. I will ride over there myself through day and night should he make my dear sister cry."

"You wouldn't."

"I most certainly would! All should fear an older brother's wrath."

I tried to keep a straight face, but then the image of my brother, with his puffed sleeves and unblemished skin shimmering with silver dust, standing before the tall, straight figure of how I imagined Jourdon to look...I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep from laughing.

Elliotte grinned in return. "You think I jest, but I am serious! It is important to me you are happy."

I took his hand in mine. "I will be. I promise."

His gaze softened. "Good."

A trumpet blared and Elliotte and I both turned forward, the room stilling, even the twinkling light from the chandeliers appearing to go still as the doors to the great hall swung open. Everyone stood, including me and Elliotte.

"Announcing, Her Royal Highness, Blanche Laverne Rosiers, Crown Princess of Rosailles."

My sister walked in. She was nearly Elliotte's twin with white blonde hair that most of the courtiers strived to mimic, which was coiled and wrapped into a beautiful display of cascading curls and the petals of white Roserian roses. Her dress was as perfect as the rest of her, flowing ivory silk, with a bodice made of embroidered gold.

There were whispers, of course, all the attention that had been directed at me and my brother turning to her. I remember once, when I was younger, overhearing a reverent courtier gaze at her and mutter, "She is an Angel. One sent down to us by the heavens. A gift to us, for no one else could possibly be as beautiful."

It was the first time I had realized the effect beauty had and one of the first times I had ever compared myself to my sister. She of course, was not an angel—she favored our father, who had been pale and beautiful before he had stripped himself of it as the general of our army, earning scars that only grew in number until the day of his death.

I pressed my lips together, stilling the memory. It was not a good idea to allow it to take hold of me.

A laugh penetrated my thoughts, as if the Angel's mocked me. I gritted my teeth and focused on my sister as Blanche swept through the room, eventually taking her place next to me. I kept my gaze forward . I had no illusions that she would share the same kind of sentimental conversation with me as Elliotte had.

"Announcing Her Royal Majesty, Laverne Maurelle Rosiers, Queen of Rosailles."

Where Blanche and Elliotte favored our father in appearance, I was our mother's spitting image. We both had the trademark Rose line crimson red hair and red-toned pale hazel eyes. Our skin was so pale, if I was no careful out in the gardens during the warm season it would freckle and redden.

 It all signified the physical manifestation of our Gift. The Gift of Roses. Magic the Angels had given the Great Queen mother Roselle of old. The First Queen, and the warrior that led our country to independence from its oppressors.

It was our legacy, one we took pride in, the evidence lingering even now around the Great Hall. Ivory statues of Angels loomed overhead, each one carved with the face of a passed Queen. Paintings decorated the walls, reaching up to the high domed ceiling, the Great Mother's feats lined with gilded gold, the red of her hair catching in the crystal chandeliers as she fought back the Garnetti Aurelians who hunted down the Angelicans and murdered us horrifically, calling us witches and demons.

I symbolized everything my betrothed's nation once hated. Something parts of it still did.

Still, the visible signs of my gift had not kept my mother from promising me to Garnette. Her steely gaze swept our table, and I averted my eyes before I felt the weight of her stare settle on me.

It was fleeting, the focus of her attention shifting quickly as if I were of no consequence—like tomorrow she wouldn't be losing not only the only way to keep the magic of our line in the Rosiers family, but one of her daughters. A child she bore from her own womb. A queasiness settled in my stomach that had nothing to do with the throbbing in my head.

The Queen took her place next to Blanche. She observed the gathered courtiers, nobles, and aristocrats from every reach of Rosailles gathered before us.

"Thank you for joining us today," she said, voice carrying strong through the room, reverent silence following. "It is an honor to us all that you are here today to see off my daughter, our Princess, on her journey to Garnette."

No one moved but the focus in the room shifted back to me again. I kept my figure straight, hands clasped tightly to keep them from fidgeting.

My mother rose her glass, the rest of the room shifting as they followed. "Today we drink and feast and celebrate in her honor, and the ever-lasting grace of the Angels that have gifted us with such an opportunity. Tomorrow we say farewell." She paused, as if to take a moment to mourn, as if she might in some way feel something about me leaving.

"Tomorrow we also welcome a new beginning, a new era. One the people of Rosailles have long wished for. All because of our Princess Ophelia." She looked at me then, a smile on her face. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I smiled back, turning it to the rest of the room.

"Today I let her call upon the Grace of the Angels before starting our feast."

My mouth went dry, but I quickly swallowed. I had known this was coming. I had prepared my words under the strict eye of our advisors all week. I let out a short, nervous breath and did my best to ignore the clammy wetness of my hands clasped before me.

"G-Gathered citizens of Rosailles and the Angels always with us." I paused, cursing my shaking voice. I had never been as good at this as Mother and Blanche were. I caught Darren's eye across the room and he gave a small node, followed by one of his rare, encouraging smiles.

I sucked in a breath to calm my nerves. "Today I am honored by all of your love and loyalty. But for too long have we kept ourselves locked within our borders, fearful of what lies beyond. For too long we have guarded our crops, the towns along the Golden Mountains living in fear of raids and what battle may spring up in the middle of the night, waging on for months at a time. Even us, with all our privilege have felt the deceitful hand of this hatred take what we love." My voice broke, my father's smiling face spilling from my memories.

The emotion tugged at me, willing to overwhelm me in the heat of the moment but I pushed on, trying desperately to ignore it.

Not now. Not here.

With effort, I steadied my voice. "The Angels have received your prayers, and they have listened. When I was born, I also made a promise. A promise of peace. A promise to all of you. That with my hand, I will end these years of suffering, I will unite us with Garnette, and begin the healing process that both countries wish for. To move forward into a new era. The Angels have seen to it, and I will continue to ensure their vision by acting through their Divine Hand." I let my arms spread, though it lacked the same grace at my Mother's would have.

My hands trembled and I locked my fingers together to try and contain it. "Now let us enjoy our feast and wine with gratitude, for they are gifts from the Heavens and the Angels that watch over Rosailles, Forevermore."

"Forevermore," the room chanted back. Heads bowed in a wave of powdery white.

I looked at my mother. She nodded, but it was stiff, her lips a tight line, and I knew I had disappointed her yet again. Quickly she shifted her gaze, smiling as she took her seat. The rest of the room followed and I let out a deep breath once the servants swept into the room, carrying silver trays laden with food.

Elliotte elbowed me, catching my eye before I could let myself spiral into the hole I dearly wished would open up below us and swallow me from sight.

"Not bad."

"Don't lie. That was horrible."

"You only stumbled a little," Elliotte attempted to reassure me. "So I will repeat: not bad."

The same curly-haired servant placed a bowl of soup before me. She was gone again before I could get a good look at her. The slightly sweet scent of broth and stewed vegetables greeted my nose. My favourite. As were all the dishes tonight.

"Mother looked livid."

Elliotte shrugged. Beside us, Blanche was silent, even though it was clear she could hear us.

"Starting tomorrow you won't have to concern yourself with what Mother thinks anymore," Elliotte whispered.

My eye went wide. Part because I was shocked he would say something with her so nearby, never mind the fact that it was likely he was overheard.

But also, because he was right. Tomorrow, for the first time, I would go somewhere where Mother's eyes could not follow.

I sat back in my chair, meeting the steady stares of the Angels within the statues.

Without realizing it, I smiled.