••Five years later, in another world••

"This has to stop." I brushed my long fingers through my silky black strands. To feel the soft texture against my calloused hands would usually soothe me somewhat; but not today. Not with this news.

Not when knowing our people were still at unrest and protesting our leadership.

Or more the fact that...we didn't have any leadership. Not anything real, at least. Four exhausted Acewood mages sitting on thrones didn't make rulers, no matter how decadent and decorated those thrones were.

We were pretenders portraying powerful people who knew what they were doing.

We didn't know a thing.

"Sym," said Lady Ossenna, at my side in instants. Though we sat at opposite ends of the elaborate meeting table, she was always so nimble, so quick to reach me if she sensed me about to break. And when I broke, I either fainted, or exploded into a fit of screams and fire. Neither was acceptable right now.

"It's been two years," I said, clenching my trembling hands on the table. I'd barely touched my wine and hadn't even considered taking a bite of any of the meats or cheeses spread out on a wooden board in the middle of the table. Ossenna had nibbled some. Otho had had two plates full, already working on his third. And Arden...well, they never ate or drank in front of us, lest they become forced to remove their veil.

I studied Arden, envisioning them frowning beneath their thick black cloaking. They weren't allowed to show their face, as part of their role in our Mage-advisor team. But some days, I wished they would reveal their expression to me. They were so solemn, so calm all the time. But of late, there was something different about them that I hadn't been able to pinpoint. Something slightly off, but so subtly that it wasn't enough to question in front of the other mages.

Arden was a gender-neutral being with abilities beyond my knowledge. Their array of skills was so vast and far that it was impossible to know exactly what they could do. They perceived emotions quite well, but if they'd perceived mine, they didn't mention it. They kept their gloved hands joined atop the table in silence as they listened to my complaints.

"It's been two years," I repeated, raising my voice above its normal neutral tone. "And while I understand Hendry did this for their safety...the princesses need to return home."

"The queens," said Otho, wiping a light red mustache of wine from his upper lip. With no scruff, not a hair out of place, his skin was impeccable within seconds. He could eat a whole pork and not show a single bit of strain while doing so. "I don't think they'd appreciate you downgrading their titles, Sym."

I held back a snort. "Their titles are as princesses, Otho. Only one of them is the true queen, and if they remain at a distance, we can't really determine which one it is, can we?"

Otho shrugged, brushing off crumbs from his thick red frock coat. He was more interested in the beverage in his hands and the richly woven clothes on his back than in anything serious about our kingdom. Unless it involved his particular tasks—matchmaking and emotions, or batting his long eyelashes to order his horde of beautiful serving girls around—he stayed out of whatever didn't interest him. Apparently, Acewood Kingdom having an official, elected ruler wasn't one of his priorities.

"Acewood is in danger," I added, tapping a finger to the table. "Without proper leadership, the nobles won't follow. And if the nobles don't follow, we'll find ourselves at the verge of another rebellion."

"Riots," hissed Ossenna as she slithered back to her seat across the way. Her vivid pink and purple threads whooshed about in her movement, catching the light from the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows to my left.

Looking outside would have normally soothed me, too. Thriving trees and shrubs, beautiful flowers, crops producing their fruits and vegetables—enhancing growth was part of my magic. Part of my role. But lately, I hadn't been able to focus on my abilities. I'd been too busy playing at king, when I was far from qualified to do so.

While our four-mage council didn't have an actual leader, the three others tended to look to me for answers. I'd been a Mage-advisor for the longest time—one-hundred-and-ten years—and usually, I did know the answers.

Not today. Not this week. Not even in the past year. I was no king, nor had I ever wanted to become one. No matter our extended lifespan as mages—I would never crave a crown so heavy.

"Yes, riots," I said, my finger-tapping picking up speed as my heart rate accelerated. "This is why we need the princesses here."

"The queens," said Otho, again, but with more defiance in his timbre this time. His big, sky-blue eyes widened as I glared at him. "What? I'm doing what they asked, no more, no less. When they moved to the four corners of the kingdom, taking over our dwellings, they wanted to be called queens, so that's what I call them. Don't they outrank us?"

Otho was, all things considered, a stickler for the rules. When he joined our team eighty years ago, he was a spirited young man who was quiet, observant. He'd quickly grown into a dashing man whose powers revolved around emotions and intention. And whose intuition was usually spot-on. He was cunning, incredibly handsome, and always on-hand with a comment...whether or not it was welcomed. I'd expect no less than the truth, brutal and blatant, from him.

Of course, he'd bend over backwards to please the princesses.

I cared for Hendry's daughters as much as I could. Perhaps not like a father, but like a distant uncle who sent them luxurious gifts at every birthday and wished the best for them. Since their father's unexpected death two years ago, however, my relations with all four women had shifted drastically. Especially with the elder, Gwenore. She'd taken over my home-sake of Club Fields, and was relentless in how she governed it, insisting she didn't need my magical help, which was custom for every other region of Acewood.

"Princesses, queens—whatever they call themselves." I fidgeted with the golden bracelet around my bronzed arm. I pressed my fingertips to the club-shaped pendants dangling from the band, imprinting the shapes into my skin. Like a brand, a reminder of who I was, what I was meant to do, what I could no longer do.

Advise a monarch. Ensure growth. Feed the kingdom.

Instead of that, I was quelling potential rebellions, babysitting restless knaves, and spying on my fellow advisors out of worry and suspicion.

There was a reason King Hendry moved his daughters away—he was wary of those who advised him. His regular, noble councilors, sure; but also, us, his magical ones. Including me, and I'd served others before him without ever triggering doubt. Though we'd made blood bonds and signed unbreakable contracts and pledged our lives to him, he felt something wrong in the atmosphere. He thought it had the distinct whiff of magic. Which meant we mages were suspects.

Sometimes, Hendry's obsession reached an exaggerated point where he believed he was hearing things, seeing things. None of us could fathom what he was saying until the riots broke out two years ago, just before Hendry's death. Riots he kept warning us would happen, because he'd decided to relocate his daughters out of Acewood. He'd warned us there'd be unrest because of his decisions...and he'd been right.

We'd been on alert since then, bracing for another outburst, for more attacks, but thankfully they hadn't come.

Yet.

"They need to come home. Their real home, where their parents raised them. And to stop calling themselves queens, and elect one of them as the true queen, at last."

Ossenna nodded, folding up in her decadent, cushioned chair, her dark skin illuminated with remnants of her neon-purple power. When she was high on emotions, or containing her anger, she was like a bolt of lightning. Her galaxy eyes ignited and loaded with energy, and—

No, we're not there yet. She's holding it in, and so must I.

"I understand their frustration, and yours, my friends." I eyed Ossenna, and garnered a nod from the ever-silent Arden. "They're disappointed with all that's happened, how the kingdom has handled their father's death. And they naturally think they're safer away from the capital and the concentration of magic." I waited a beat, two, before continuing, needing to gather my thoughts before I let them explode. "But it's been two years."

"Grief affects everyone differently," said Arden, their soft but firm voice shocking all of us into attentiveness.

Otho leaned forward, elbows on the table, absorbed. Ossenna arched her barely-there eyebrows as she twisted her body towards Arden.

I watched, waiting for Arden to finish, but they had nothing to add. Pressing them for more would only prompt them to retreat further into their shell, and to run off to their underground lair with their tail between their legs.

Arden never used to be so shy—if shyness was what this was. They were never outspoken, but definitely never masked their feelings or minced their words. I couldn't quite pinpoint when their attitude had altered, but Ossenna sensed it too, and we talked about it often.

We exchanged a look now—let's chat about this later in one of our rooms—before I cleared my throat and sat up straight.

"Two years is more than enough to process grief, Arden. It's beyond what's necessary for royal daughters who were taught about lines of succession and heritage." I rolled my ankle under the table. "I understand the pain, and I sympathize. But it's time to move forward."

Ossenna inclined her head. "They should have been back by now, I agree. Tilda is younger, so I understand her refusal, but the other three..."

Otho moved his thick, long, shiny blond hair out of his face, then plopped a grape into his mouth. "I'm not disagreeing that we need them here. The overall sentiments of the population are...dire." He winced and licked below his lip as juice spilled out of his mouth. There was something so sensual about the gesture, about his tongue slowly lapping up grape nectar. I might have been enticed were I inclined towards men...but I preferred tall, dark, powerful women with bright eyes and sharp tongues.

My gaze found Ossenna's for a split second, and I caught her lips quirking as she switched to Otho, mesmerized by his lips as he spoke. She wasn't interested in him, but she was recording the way his tongue moved to replicate later.

With me.

The woman knew me upside down, inside out, yet she still managed to surprise me. Her atmospheric powers blended with her near-prophetic abilities and her spicy, spell-worked teas made her impossible to lie to, impossible to resist. I'd know, as I'd tried for decades to avoid the frightening attraction between us—and failed.

"Dire?" I scoffed. "More like chaotic. That's the word I heard most at the last court session."

As Aces—our nickname for Mage-advisors—we'd alternated holding court in the past two years. We'd met with citizens and aristocrats and merchants from across the kingdom, to hear their woes. At my last session, the week before, I'd been struck by the intensity of Acewoodian's reaction to us still not having a monarch. One might have thought they'd be liberated without a crowned individual to decide on their laws and taxes, but no; these folk wanted a queen. They wanted a ruler.

They wanted the mages off the throne.

"Don't we still have our wild card?" Again, Arden's calming timbre surprised me.

"Ysac?" Otho dropped the morsel of cheese he'd been about to delicately shove past his lips.

Ysac.

I shrugged my shoulders up as I pictured the smiling, charming jester who served as an all-purpose errand-runner and spy at court. Few knew he spied; only Ossenna and I used those services from him, which he gladly provided. He was well-loved by all, pursued by many—men, women, and in-between—and an absolute mystery to unwind. With his poetic phrases and agility with every instrument ever played, one would never guess he was also a skilled swordsman, an animal lover, and a geography buff.

"Has he agreed to the mission?" Ossenna's starry eyes shifted to a darker hue, her concentration color. She peered from Arden, to Otho, to me, and pursed her burgundy-colored lips. "I haven't seen him in a few days, so I sort of assumed he'd already left."

"No," I said, rising from my seat, fluffing out my golden robe, shaking out the crumbs from previous nights of snacking in the meeting room. "I mean no, he hasn't left. But he did agree to the mission."

"And he knows what's at stake?" Otho adjusted the lapels of his scarlet jacket and narrowed his gaze. "Surely you don't expect him to succeed on his own, do you? He's charming, and intelligent, but we all know one of the queens will resist his charm without difficulty."

I flinched. Yes, Otho was right—while Ysac had a decent enough rapport with Astrida, Luned, and Tilda, he and Gwenore...weren't so friendly.

They were once close, as youngsters. Hendry considered Ysac his ward, raised him alongside his daughters while always ensuring he wasn't their brother. But something had happened between Gwenore and Ysac in their teenage years, and neither ever wanted to discuss it. They'd simply stopped being courteous towards one another and avoided spending any time in the other's presence.

To our luck, I'd thought about this a lot. I'd planned around all the potential problems. This had to work.

"He knows what's at stake," I said, gliding down the tiled floor to stand before the window. A bright flare of afternoon sun basked over my skin, warming me from within. "He needs someone a bit more convincing with him...so I thought Jack might help."

In the window's reflection, I saw Otho choke on his swig of wine, Ossenna lurch to her feet in swirls of pink and purple fabric, and Arden shift in their seat with a low grunt.

"Jack, really?" Ossenna flurried over to stand beside me. I smelled her lavender and honey scent and it, along with all my other habitual rituals, should have soothed me.

Clearly, nothing would soothe me for a while, if she couldn't.

Jack the knave was a feisty, rebellious mercenary we'd employed for many years, but who had a tendency to...disobey. To do things his way. He'd been at the helm of the riots years ago. His actions had gotten his brothers killed, but he'd been forgiven by King Hendry before his death.

We mages...well, we hadn't forgiven him. But until another monarch came along to revise Jack's situation—freedom—we had no choice but to let him roam about freely.

But since he was a mercenary...

I hope I gave him enough incentive.

Otho shook his head. "Have you asked Jack already, or can we vote on this? Because I don't think—"

I flipped around so fast I made myself dizzy. "I ordered him to do it. It would do him good to get out of Acewood, and he and Ysac can keep each other in check."

Ossenna snorted. "If they don't kill each other first."

I ignored her—which would get me reprimanded later—and focused on Otho. "There are no better options to travel the kingdom and bring our princesses home. They know Ysac and Jack; Ysac will woo some of them, and Jack will intimidate the others. Between the two of them, I expect success." I inhaled deeply, not fully convinced of my own words. "I expect our princesses to be home soon, and we can organize the final vote, and have a leader, at last."

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