Matilda sweeps my hair atop my head in an intricate, braided bun. The rope-like coil reminds me of a serpent, right on theme with my gown. Every few minutes, I wonder what other people will think of my animal choice, only to tamp down the thought, telling myself I don't care that much. There are harmless garden snakes along with the poisonous ones.

My maid inserts a silver comb in front of the bun. It glitters like a crown on my head, matching the heavy jewels around my neck. A hundred tiny diamonds weave into a lattice, tapering into a single, large one at the end. It's the most elaborate necklace I've ever seen, also the heaviest I've ever worn, and I can only be grateful that it covers my chest, which my low cut gown exposes.

"Here's the final touch," Matilda says. She hands me a charcoal-colored jewelry box. When I pop the lid, a silver, ruby-encrusted band stares back. It's the ring my father gave me the night he died. "I think it will go so perfectly with your dress," Matilda continues. "Go ahead and put it on."

I can almost picture my father's blue eyes in the shiny metal, so kind and loving, like I was his own flesh and blood. My throat tightens. It's the first time I've looked at the ring since he passed on. It's acid on a scab, a bitter reminder of that night, those final words he spoke to me, the final moments I spent with him.

"I-I don't think I can." My face tingles with the beginnings of tears, and I inhale a breath, looking to the ceiling. If I cry, I will destroy the meticulous makeup Matilda applied to my face. My eyes will look puffy and swollen. Not the best appearance for diplomacy.

Matilda glances between me and the ring. Slowly, she takes it from the box and slides it on my finger. I embed my teeth in my lower lip to keep it still.

"I can't, Ma—" I cut off right before the tears come. Matilda rubs my back.

"There, there," she soothes. "Your father gave this to you to wear. You'll honor him by wearing it. Think of it as a celebration of his life, just like The Festival of Fallen Roses is a celebration of many queens."

It takes all the strength within me to restrain my sobs. My lungs suck in deep breaths of air, in and out, in and out. I focus on how the ring is too big, how I can't wear it in case it falls off. I calm myself enough to protest, but the door swings open before I can.

"Your highness, it's time," a maid says.

Matilda gives my shoulder one last squeeze. She doesn't understand the pain that this ring holds. She only wants me to look my best, and wearing a ring that my father, the former king, gave me is the perfect look for a princess.

I follow the maid through the hall, past the lobby decked out in streamers and garlands and the Royal Suite being watched by four guards. We continue down a narrow corridor until we reach a set of double doors, guard in front of each one.

"Ready?" one asks.

I nod. My back straightens out of habit, my chin high in the air despite my hair's weight. The guards nod to each other, and a beat later, the doors swing wide.

"And finally, may I present Princess Aylo of Saursi."

Applause thunders throughout the room. I plaster a smile on my lips and wave to the crowd of suits below. I lift the corners of my dress, and my heels click on the red and gold tiled staircase. For a moment, I feel like elegance itself. My dress is sleek and refined with a short train, the opposite of the fluffy monstrosities typical at a ball.

It's something my mother would wear.

I clasp my hands in front of me to hide my nails digging into my palms. I can't think about her now. How messed up is that? At a moment as magnificent as this, I can't share it with my mother, not even the memory of her. My mental state is already too fragile due to the silver encircling my finger. I scan the room, desperate for something to take my mind off my parents.

A nagging feeling distracts me. Something is off regarding the guests, but I can't put my finger on it, not yet. I have to focus on finishing the last steps without tripping. Once on the ground, a new sight raptures my attention: Clemaina.

I don't know how she remained hidden at the base of the staircase during my descent because she's the central attraction. Her dress has somehow doubled in size and truly resembles that of a peacock, the feathers on her skirt a myriad of blues, pinks, greens, and yellows. She holds a mask rimmed with silver gems and white feathers up to her face. Various others hold masks in their hands too as accessories. I opted against it. A snake's skin provides enough camouflage.

Music flits through air, a flurry of light, charming notes, and the guests' conversations hum in the background. Sigvard and Benno emerge from the crowd, the former in gray with a fur cape, the other in a tan jacket and pants that are trimmed with brown fur. Clearly, Benno represents his kingdom tonight by dressing as Riaca's most prized animal, the lion.

"Have you gotten a look at Clemaina's dress yet?" Sigvard asks.

"Sure did. It's very..."

"Reminiscent of a male peacock?" Sigvard laughs. "I'm surprised she'd wear such a thing. After all, she's already attracted a mate."

"I'm sorry?" I let out a startled laugh of my own.

"Sewale," Sigvard says, as if that explains everything. My brow creases, and he exhales a small sigh. "You know how male birds have extremely colorful feathers to attract a female bird? Clemaina's the reverse, a female trying to attract a male with an extravagant outfit."

I glance back at my sister, who laughs as she speaks with a lady in a fluffy white dress. The whitening strands of her hair complete her sheep costume.

"What'd you bet that she's familiar with the handicap theory?" Sigvard asks.

"Come again?" I say, half paying attention.

"The handicap theory. You know, since birds are selected based on appearance, they adapt to such bright feather colors and patterns that they become an easier target for predators. The more noticable, the more easily preyed upon. Attracting a mate becomes a danger to their survival."

I blink at my brother. His words drip with hostility, and somehow, that makes the slight smile on his face all the more terrifying.

More easily preyed upon.

Preyed upon. I fully take in his attire, connecting it to what he told me earlier. He decided to be a wolf, not a mouse. I suddenly feel nervous standing next to him.

For the first time ever, I'm grateful to the boy dressed in navy blue who ambles toward me.

"Good evening, Princess Aylo. I am Prince Dorenire of Progaldoss." He sweeps into a bow, his cloak falling behind him. "May I have this dance?"

"The pleasure is mine." I take his arm without a glance at Sigvard.

Past an outer ring of chatting nobles, couples dance a quickstep in the center of the ballroom. Prince Dorenire and I clasp our left hands together, while our right rests on each other's elbows. He leads forward, while I go backward three bouncing steps. My right heel taps my left, then plants on the floor as my left foot crosses over it, going to the side. Right crosses behind left, and the pattern repeats with me starting forward.

Our feet skip back and forth to the jig. Years of practice are paying off—I can do the full routine in a floor length skirt and heels without tripping. Another boy cuts in mid-bounce, and soon, I'm swept into a whirl of dances with changing partners. One minute, I dance with a hawk, the next, a frog. Older royals and diplomats dance beside me, their steps more refined than mine despite the energetic moves. As I look around, I realize I'm the only one in a slim fitting gown. Most women wear gaudy dresses and jewelry like Clemaina.

I tap my green-gloved hands together elegantly at another tune's end. A new melody lulls through the room, silky and sweet, perhaps a touch sad, too. A boy dressed as a fox advances with a bow, and I'm off dancing again, swaying to the dulcet notes.

Of course, every dress has flaws, and now is the perfect time to regret my choice. I'd appreciate more fabric between me and the hand on my waist. The prince makes small talk with me, asking about how life is in the palace.

"Do you have any plans this week?" he asks.

"I—"

"How about tomorrow?"

"I-I probably have tutoring."

"All day? Don't you have afternoons off?"

"Um..."

Someone looms over the boy's shoulder. Relief floods me at the sight of Benno.

"May I cut in?" he asks.

"Oh, uh, sure." The boy slinks back, disappearing into the cluster of people around us.

Benno takes my hand, and we start to twirl through the banquet hall.

"That was perfect timing," I say. "I think he wanted to ask me for tea or something tomorrow afternoon."

"Glad to help," Benno says with a chuckle.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon us. The music only magnifies our awkwardness. I've never danced with Benno before, and there's something kind of strange about waltzing about the room with a friend.

"So..." Benno starts. "Are you having a good, uh, time?"

"Tonight?" My brow wrinkles. "I guess. It's kind of marginal."

"Is it?"

I don't like how formal our conversation is. Something is different, but I don't know how to shift it to normal.

Benno spins me around, and when our eyes meet, I realize he isn't looking at me like he normally does. Or perhaps I just never noticed this particular shine in his eyes before, not amusement or sorrow, but...

"Benno...is there something..."

The question freezes in my throat. I don't quite know how to word what I want to say. Actually, I don't know what I want to say in the first place.

"What is it, Aylo?"

His voice is too soft, though now I recognize the tone. He's spoken to me like this before. Have I been clueless this whole time?

"Benno..."

The music ends, and applause tickles the room, cutting off whatever I would've said. I force a smile, then push my way through the crowd, to the edge of the room, past adults in puffy dresses and stiff tuxedos, past young men in costume, maids and butlers in black.

Finally, I reach the refreshment tables. Tiny punch glasses line the table on one side, while the other contains miniature hors devours and pastries. I take a cup of pink liquid and a stuffed mushroom, then hurry away from it. Food spreads weren't my friend at the last festival when I crashed onto the cake table. Unpleasant images sneak into my head—my green dress dyed pink from punch, custard oozing under it, cheese stuck in my hair.

I bite into a savory, cream-filled mushroom to bring myself back to the present.

"Aylo, there you are." Sigvard sidles up beside me, seeming to appear from the shadows. I shrink toward a fake plant standing along the wall.

"Hello."

Sigvard eyes me, but doesn't comment. His voice drops to a whisper. "When do you think Odeia will arrive?"

"No idea," I murmur. I dump the punch down my throat in one gulp. "These cups are too tiny."

"If you drink too much, you might get cramps while dancing."

"You might also get dehydrated by drinking too little."

A maid passes with a silver platter balanced on her fingertips, and I set my empty glass on it. I lift the edges of my skirt and start back into the crowd. I'm not totally sure where I'm going. In fact, I don't even register that I'm leaving the room until Sigvard places a hand on my arm.

"Don't tell me you're leaving me again," he says, letting his skull drop backward.

"I don't want to be in the way of the refreshments."

"We're by the wall," Sigvard intones. "There's plenty of space around us. And don't you normally like to hide out by the food tables?"

"I'm not very hungry right now."

"Are you feeling alright?" The jokes drain from his face, leaving concern in their wake. His shoulders hunch down, the way they did as a kid. He looks like my brother again, not a supposed threat or a murderer.

"D-does something feel off to you?" I stammer at last. "I don't know why but I just have this weird feeling."

"Everything seems normal to me. What's it about?"

"It has something to do with the guests. I don't know, there's something strange about them."

"You're darn right something's strange," Sigvard mutters. "They're all dressed in crazy costumes."

I take another look at his wolf costume. Do wolves eat snakes? They probably could kill one by smashing their heads.

I force my thoughts back to the room. My gaze sweeps over the guests—the boys and men in suits and robes, the women in ball gowns...

"The girls," I gasp.

"Huh?"

"Where are the girls?" I say. "There are plenty of young men at the ball, all eager to dance with me. But there aren't any other girls my age."

Sigvard glances around. "Huh, weird. I didn't even notice."

I whack his arm. "Of course you wouldn't. You're too young to notice girls, and you blend in with the guys."

"No wonder we fit better than normal here. There are fewer puffy dresses to squeeze around," Sigvard jokes.

"But this doesn't make any sense," I say. "Why would there be a ball that purposely excludes an entire demographic of royals?"

"Maybe none of them wanted to come."

"Are you kidding? With this many males present?"

"Maybe there weren't any old enough to attend."

"You've got to be kidding. Look around! You don't think even one of the boys here has a sister around his age?"

"Okay, fine. Let's say you're right. Why wouldn't any girls be here?"

"I don't know." My mind flashes back to dancing with Benno, the way he looked at me and was so formal. "Maybe Benno knows something."

"Benno?" Sigvard frowns. "What would he know that he hasn't already told us?"

"Could be a lot. Come on, let's find him."