Seraena hammered on the wooden door.

She shifted her weight. The blue bungalow looked like a kindly grandfather in the fading light; greyish-white sand dusted the roof, and the windows sagged like wrinkled eyes. Brown seashells speckled the walls like age spots. She'd been here a dozen times now, Seraena thought, but every time, she noticed something new: the dragon carved into the door handle; the creaky step; the wind chimes.

The door swung in.

A blonde woman stood in the door. Celeste Hillsbrook was holding a mortar and pestle, her cheeks flushed with the evening heat. She smelled of fresh herbs and perfume, and she wiped her hands hastily on a tea towel, smearing green paste.

"Your Radiance," Celeste said.

Seraena sighed. "Seraena. Please."

Celeste didn't correct herself. But at least she didn't curtsey, Seraena thought, which was a step in the right direction.

Seraena scanned the house. "Is Kane here?"

She already knew the answer. She'd spent the last hour combing the Grand Palace and the salt caves, the hot pools and the beaches. This house was the only option. Celeste nodded, gesturing with her pestle.

"He's outside in the garden," Celeste said. "Can I get you some iced tea?"

Seraena shook her head. "No. Thank-you."

"Biscuits?" Celeste asked.

"I'm alright."

Celeste looked distressed. She took to feeding her guests with the same graveness and sense of duty as a priest preparing a sermon. Still, Celeste must have decided that it wasn't worth pressing the issue tonight, because she waved Seraena toward a set of glass double doors. "Just through there."

Seraena pushed them open.

Kane stood in the middle of the garden. He was shirtless and flushed, his dark trousers slung low on his hipbones. Beads of sweat glimmered on his back. A dozen weapons glittered on the grass — scimitars and throwing stars and things that even Seraena didn't recognize — and he bent down, weighing a broadsword in his hands.

"Oh, good," Kane said. "Do you think a knife or a broadsword would be better for a beginner?" He swung the sword experimentally. "A knife is easier than a broadsword, but the odds of close combat are so slim that a new recruit is very unlikely to—" He broke off, catching sight of her expression. "What is it?"

Seraena kicked a stone.

The grey rock flew, smacking into a lopsided tree. Her anger reignited like a sputtering flame finding new oxygen. She could feel sparks dancing along her skin, feel her chest swelling with indignation. Kane lowered the sword.

"Raena." He looked alarmed. "What happened?"

Her throat felt tight. "They're forcing me to abdicate."

Kane stared. "What?"

"They're taking my throne." Seraena could barely get the words out. "The council's lost faith in me. They're issuing a vote of no confidence."

Kane shook his head. "That's impossible."

"Apparently not." Seraena kicked another rock. "I knew I should have replaced half the council with women. Wait, Makenna told me." She screwed up her face, imitating her cousin's voice. "Don't poke sleeping dragons yet, Raena. The world isn't ready. But look what's happened." She flung out a hand. "The whole thing is elitist, patriarchal dragonshit, and now I'll have to marry some stranger just to—"

Kane paled. "What?"

Jagged silence fell. A fresh wave of horror filled her.

"Oh. Gods." Seraena raised a hand to her mouth. "That's not how I wanted to..."

"You're getting married?" Kane asked.

His blue eyes were shadowed. He looked like a statue in the fading light, a monument made of granite and steel. The angry burns on his arms had a pearl-like sheen, and Seraena had to look away.

"That's their condition," Seraena said. "For keeping the throne."

"Who is it?" Kane asked.

His voice was short. Seraena swallowed. "I'm not sure. Cillian has a short list. Foreign nobility, wealthy merchants, political figures... the usual."

Silence fell. Kane stared at the sword in his hands, his head half-turned away, and she thought of the sunflowers that grew along the Wyterlynnish coast in the summer, how they would turn away from the sun and droop as autumn came. Not that Kane was a sunflower, Seraena thought; he'd never needed her light to grow.

Seraena stepped forward. "Anyway, it doesn't matter." She laced their fingers. "I won't agree to it."

She couldn't. Not just because of Kane, but because it went against everything she stood for. Everything it meant to be an independent female ruler. Kane turned their hands over, and Seraena thought of a checkerboard, light and dark nestled together.

"You should," Kane said softly.

It took a second for the words to process. "What?"

"Tell the council you agree," Kane said.

Seraena drew back. "Kane..."

"Hear me out," Kane said, raising his head. "How long until you get married?"

"I'm not sure." She hadn't thought to ask. "A month or two, maybe? Cillian wants to throw some sort of ball first. Somewhere I can meet the suitors before the council decides who I'll marry." Seraena narrowed her eyes. "What?"

Kane's mouth was a thoughtful line. He looked down at Seraena's ring finger — bare, calloused from years of weapons training — and then up at her face.

"What if you played along?" Kane asked. "Bought yourself more time?"

She frowned. "Until what?"

"I don't know," Kane said. "Until we can figure out a way out."

Her grip tightened. "I don't want to lose you."

"I know," Kane said.

Seraena shook her head. "I can't lose you. But I also can't..."

His face softened. "I know, sweetheart. I know."

And he did, Seraena thought; Kane understood her better than anyone. Her eyes stung. "If I do marry, it'll be a marriage in name only. My husband would be a means of appeasing the council. That's all."

Kane looked down at their interlinked hands. The knot in her throat grew thicker.

"You could move into the palace," Seraena said. "Nothing would have to change."

"Yes," Kane said softly. "It would. Because the idea of living in a palace with you... Of watching you laugh beside him during meals, seeing him touch you in the corridors..." His face tightened. "That's not a life, Seraena. That's purgatory."

"Kane." Her voice sounded thin. "Please."

He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. "We'll find a way out."

"Do you promise?" Seraena asked.

Her heart was pounding. Slowly, Kane set down the sword. There was something deliberate about the way that he cupped her face — something almost possessive — and Seraena drew in a sharp breath. He tasted of mint and lemonade, of sweat and something vaguely spicy. His fingers felt warm and familiar on her cheeks. And so surprisingly soft, Seraena thought; her own skin was steely, a by-product of being flameproof, but Kane's felt like hot silk.

The door opened.

"Kane?" Dorian called. "Dinner's on the—" Kane's father broke off, taking in the scene. "Oh. Sorry, Your Radiance. I didn't realize that you were visiting."

Seraena drew back, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish. "Hello, Dorian."

Dorian turned for the door. "I'll come back."

"No." Seraena raised a hand. "That's alright." She gave Kane a small smile. "I was just leaving."

Kane squeezed her hand. "Do you want to stay?"

"I shouldn't," Seraena said.

She ought to get back to the palace. Start amassing support from wherever she could. And on top of that, Seraena thought tiredly, there would be documents to sign, letters to write, formal requests to look over...

"It's chicken," Dorian added. "Soaked in a soy sauce."

Seraena's stomach rumbled. "Well. Maybe just for a bit."

***

The dinner table was set. Dorian had cooked up a storm that evening; the surface groaned under tureens of sweet-and-sour chicken and garlic rice, platters of buttery lentils and pastries stuffed with chickpeas. Celeste contributed her famous coconut-grilled flatbread, the sort of warm pitta that fell apart in your hands.

The conversation turned to Wynterlynn, as it so often did. Dorian — who still took an avid interest in the political affairs of his homeland — was recounting letters he'd received from friends in the area.

Dorian ladled rice on to his wife's plate. "Rumour has it that Eris Delafort has established a stronghold in Lucerna. He's going through the villages and forcing people to swear fealty to him or..." The spoon paused. "Well. You can imagine what the or is."

Kane shook his head. "The Vespertine family—"

"Dead," Dorian said. "All of them."

"Well," Seraena said. "Not all of them." She took a bite of chicken. "Camille Dufleur is alive."

"Yes," Dorian said slowly. "Although I doubt people will want her to rule for obvious reasons."

Celeste frowned. "That's unfair. The girl was possessed."

"I never said it was fair," Dorian said, "but it's true." He picked up his fork. "Anyway, none of it compares to what's happening in Lox." He turned to Seraena. "You must be in briefings all the time these days."

Seraena stopped chewing. She could feel her cheeks growing hot, and a fresh wave of anger and embarrassment filled her. No. She hadn't been in any briefings this week. Hadn't been informed of anything about the Lox Empire, actually. But how to tell Kane's parents that? They'd think her incompetent. Worse, they'd think her a lazy and indifferent ruler.

"I've not heard any news," Kane said.

He squeezed Seraena's leg under the table. Dorian and Celeste exchanged a startled glance.

"Oh," Dorian said. "I would have assumed..." He lowered his fork. "I thought you'd grown close to the Empress of Glass."

"Only during the battle," Seraena said. "Isolde and I don't keep in touch."

Dorian's mouth tightened. "Perhaps that's for the best. The emperor put a bounty on her head. Five hundred thousand rukka."

Kane gaped. "Five hundred thousand?"

Celeste ripped into a coconut flatbread. "Halson's blaming her for the atrocities committed in Bardan." Crumbs scattered across the table. "He's claiming that the nightmare gas was her idea for population control."

"But that's not Isolde's fault," Seraena said, her grip on the fork tightening. "The gassings started long before she arrived at the palace. And anyway, she tried to stop it. She—" She broke off, stabbing a pea. "The whole thing's ridiculous."

"There's more," Dorian said, his face grave. "Halson is raiding the villages. Anyone found to be sheltering the empress or Julian Winterthorpe will be put to death."

A heavy silence fell. Seraena stared down at her plate; the pieces of coconut flatbread had capsized into the chicken, drowning slowly under the weight of the sauce. Too late to save them now, Seraena thought.

"Isolde's smart," Seraena said. "She knows that Halson will be after her, and she knows how to stay hidden." She looked up. "Wherever she is, I just hope..."

Dorian propped his elbows on the table. "What?"

Seraena sighed. "I hope she has a plan."