Chapter One

In the glittering ballroom, no one admired the marble columns or the massive glass chandelier hanging overhead. They didn’t notice the baskets overflowing with snow-white hydrangeas, the little cakes spilling out of crystal trays or the never-ending flow of wine. No, all eyes were on Emilia. Even if it weren’t her special day, her red and gold gown made her stand out in the blindingly white space. It whirled around her and she turned to smile and this person and that. On command, she shoved her left hand into their faces for them to gawk at, like a well-trained dog.

“You’re so lucky,” they would gush. Then she’d do it all over again for an equally adoring crowd.

No one stopped to wonder where the lucky groom-to-be was. Why should they? This wasn’t about him. Most things weren’t about Roede, but that was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was exactly as it was meant to be. So what if Roede didn’t love Emilia? Not the way he was supposed to, anyway. Not in the earth-shaking, time-stopping, breath-stealing way that men loved women in books and films. (Roede wouldn't know anything about that. He didn’t read those sorts of books. Lyssie’s the one who left them all over the house for him to find when he had nothing better to do.) (Roede never had anything better to do.)

“You know you don’t have to marry Emilia, right?”

Lyssie sat, not in one of the little wrought-iron chairs, but on top of the stone wall that separated the patio from the garden below. Her chubby little legs swung back and forth, kicking up her skirts and showing an indecent amount of petticoat. In one of her usual acts of defiance, she wore a red gown, though even she had the sense to forgo the gold trim. With her hair tamed into sleek curls and her round face powdered, she looked the part of a noble young lady. Or she would have, if it weren’t for the pile of crumbs in her lap and the chocolate smudged at the corners of her mouth.

“Maybe I want to marry her.”

“Sure, and maybe I’m the Empress.” Lyssie paused to eye the tray of cupcakes she’d smuggled outside with her. Roede slid it across the table so she could reach. “Is that why you’re hiding out in the dark like this?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m just... letting Emilia have her spotlight. It’s not like anyone is here to see me, anyway.”

The tall, glass-paned doors were wide open. If anyone bothered to, they could look up and see Lyssie scarfing down sweets and Roede slouched in a too-small chair. Just like he could see the wide-eyed, slack-jawed herd of women drooling over his mother’s ring.

“I’m here to see you,” Lyssie offered around a mouthful of cake and whipped cream.

“Didn’t you say you were only coming for the food?”

“Well, can you blame me?”

“Lyssie, we’re catering.” They may have handed the food off to the wait staff that Emilia’s mother hired, but every one of the baked goods had come from Morning Glory’s kitchen.

“That just means my favorite baker made these, even if they shouldn’t have stayed up all night to do so.”

“Maybe your baker couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh? And why would that be? Was my baker nervous about something? Did they perhaps make a hasty decision that they now regret?”

Roede shrugged. “You’d have to ask them.”

“I would, if they would ever come back to work.” When he didn’t respond, she let out a huff that formed a little cloud in the cool night air. “Can we be serious and stop speaking in riddles for a second? It was nice of you to help me out with such a large order, especially since Lady Adeline dropped it on me at the last minute, but I wish you’d come back to the bakery. It-“

“Lyssie!”

“What? You said it yourself, no one is paying any attention to us. I don’t know what you’re so embarrassed about, anyway. You have a skill that few do. One that I most certainly do not. The bakery hasn’t been the same since you left. I’ve tried following the recipes you gave me, but they never work like they’re supposed to. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Maybe if you wouldn’t mix up the sugar and the salt-”

“That was one time!” She raised a cupcake as if to throw it at his head, before thinking better of it. Rather than commit culinary carnage, she lifted it to her painted lips and bit it nearly in half. “I don’t know why I try to talk to you. Look what you’re doing to me. I’m stress-eating!”

“Are you often stressed?” This time, she actually threw the cupcake at him. Or, in his general direction, rather. It landed, somewhat pitifully, in a shrub on the other side of the wall.

“Only when it involves you. I hope you know that I’m serious. I know Lady Adeline came around sobbing about how this is what Mother would have wanted, but you still don’t have to do this. Mother... Mother isn’t here anymore. What she did or didn’t want doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is what you want.”

The problem was, that wasn’t true. Not about Mother - that part was true. Their mother was long laid to rest in the family tomb right next to their father, where they would await their inevitable rebirth. What she wanted didn’t matter. The problem was that what Roede wanted didn’t matter, either.

It hadn’t mattered when he didn’t want to be a soldier. It hadn’t mattered when he didn’t want to be sent from the safety of Evalystine to the goddess-forsaken battlefield where he’d nearly lost his arm. Nor had it mattered when he hadn’t wanted to be sent back, not because he’d wanted to keep fighting or had suddenly gained a taste for Drest blood. He’d wanted to stay because being shipped back after a pitiful few weeks - to be deemed unfit for battle, useless at only twenty years old - was more shame than he or his family could bear.

Why should it matter whether he wanted to marry? It was what he was supposed to do, and so, he would do it, because it was his duty. Because he was meant to serve his country and his goddess. At some point, it was supposed to bring him peace, because that was what he was made for. What they were all made for.

Someday, Lyssie would realize that. Then, she too would stop speaking of wants and desires. She would think only of what must be. She’d do her duty to her goddess to marry and bear many children. If she was lucky, she would learn to be happy, the way their mother hadn’t.

Roede shivered, despite the heavy coat he wore. Although it was not yet winter, the nights were growing longer and the days colder. It wouldn’t be long before Life retreated and Death took hold of the land.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Roede rose to his feet, though he didn’t know where he intended to go. If he went back inside, Lyssie couldn’t hound him about this anymore, but then he might be expected to... socialize. Worse, Lady Adeline was inside. Maybe his sister was the lesser of two evils.

“Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. I-" Lyssie stopped short, gaze catching on something. “What’s that?”

A dark figure was striding up the wide cobblestone road that made up main street. The beast was tall as a man and bone thin, with long, silver talons that glinted dangerously in the moonlight. Its gold-crowned head was held high, as if it had every right to be there when nothing could have been farther from the truth.

“Lyssie,” Roede said. “Get inside. Now.”

For once, she didn’t argue with him. He helped her down, and her little legs carried her toward the party as fast as they could. Once Roede heard the click of the door behind her, he let out a breath. The mostly glass walls of the ballroom wouldn’t do much to protect Lyssie, but at least there was some distance between her and the creature.

Roede didn’t know what he expected to do. He didn’t have a weapon, and the military attire he wore was formal wear - not meant for battle. He allowed instinct to carry him, as he gripped the wall with both hands and flung himself over it. Pain flared in his right shoulder. His nerves caught on fire, from the shoulder to the tips of his fingers. He should have known better. He’d been gritting his teeth through a low-grade throbbing for the better part of the day. Apparently, such simple tasks as kneading dough and mixing batter were beyond him. And Lyssie still thought he could come back.

He sank to the ground like a stone, left arm gripping his right, and waited. Either the pain would subside or that monster would find him in this sorry state and end the job. Either way, he’d be put out of his misery.

“Are you alright?” The person who spoke had a lilting accent.

Roede’s head snapped up, and he looked into a pair of night-dark eyes. No, they were darker than that. Because the night sky at least had the moon and the stars to brighten it. There were no stars in this man’s eyes. No light at all.

The face that stared down at him was almost human. It was narrow, with cat-like eyes and a long nose that had a metal stud in one nostril. It matched the piercings under his lips and lining both ears from lobe to tip. There was a smattering of silver glitter across his sharp cheekbones, and his full lips were painted black. Nestled in his crown of fluffy, golden curls was a circlet of silver stars.

In one hand, the man held a black glove with silver claws on the fingertips. There was nothing abnormal about the other outstretched hand. The bronze skin was smooth, except for the calluses on his thumb and forefinger, as though he wielded a pen more often than a sword.

He didn’t mock Roede for his misfortune. Nor did the man strike him down with the terrible might of his god. The man’s concern seemed genuine, with his dark brows furrowed and lips twisted into a frown. But Roede knew better than anyone how the Drest could play at being human.

“Don’t touch me!”

He bit back a hiss as he pushed himself off the ground. The sharp flare of pain was worth it to put some distance between him and the man.

“Suit yourself.” With a shrug, the Drest straightened and shoved his hand back into his glove.

“Your Highness.” There was a knight with the man, in full white-gold armor. “We need to keep moving.”

“Of course. I need to go now but, first, I need you to do me a favor.” The Drest man lifted one clawed finger to his lips. “Keep this between us. You wouldn’t want to cause a panic, now would you?”

The man winked. Fucking winked. As though they were in on some great secret together, as though Roede had already agreed. Not that it mattered whether he had or not. He could only watch helplessly as the man turned and started down the street again, long robes billowing behind him like nightfall.

Roede took the long way back to the party. No more acrobatics for him. As he stepped into the bright ballroom, he blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted. He didn’t see Lady Adeline until she’d already sunk her claws into him.

“Sir Halene, there you are,” she said, as if she’d actually made some effort to look for him. She was all smiles, even as her grip tightened. As the mother of the bride-to-be, she was the only other person permitted to wear gold, and wear it, she did. From her rock-sized earrings to her the tips of her knife-thin heels, she was covered in gold.

“Sorry, I was just-“

“There’s no time for that now. Come, you simply must dance with Emilia before the night is over.”

The crowd parted easily for them. Lyssie might have attributed that to his massive size, but Roede was sure that it had more to do with the hard, determined line of Lady Adeline’s mouth. By now, all of Ateris must have known not to get on her bad side. Every set of eyes that had passed over him before fixated on him now. Maybe Lyssie was right. Maybe it wasn’t too late to run away.

Emilia smiled as they approached and it didn’t light up the room or make her green eyes sparkle. Roede didn’t feel any butterflies, unless butterflies felt like cupcakes trying to crawl up his throat.

“Sir Halene,” Emilia said in greeting. Her voice was soft and pleasant in a way that grated on Roede’s nerves. In public, they were always Lady Emilia and Sir Halene, even though they’d known each other since the day Roede - who was a month younger - had been born. In private, they were Roede and Emilia, talking over the garden wall that separated his - Lyssie’s, really - yard from hers.

“My Lady,” He said. Lady Adeline twisted her nails into the meat of his triceps, and he bit back a yelp. “Would you- that is, may I have this dance?”

“Of course.”

Emilia put her delicate hand in his, and they stepped onto the dance floor. A chorus of oohs and ahhs erupted as he put his hand on her waist. For a moment, neither of them moved. Roede stared into her face, and willed himself to feel something. Anything. As usual, nothing came. It should have been this hard. Emilia was everything a man could want in a wife. She was pretty, in that nebulous way all girls were. She was well-mannered, kind, and her family was in possession of a small fortune. What was there not to love?

“Is everything alright?” She asked.

For a second, he heard an echo of her words in a Drest accent. He shook off visions of starless eyes and pierced lips and forced a smile.

“Yes,” he said, and the words tasted bitter on his tongue. “Everything is as it should be.”