Magnus floated through the halls as if on borrowed legs, greeting the guests with a voice that sounded more like his father's than his own. He was covered head to toe in glittering finery and polished white, from his ceremonial crown to his spotless boots. Carefully applied powder hid the still fading bruises on his face, and his hands remained encased in his soft gloves. He stood straight and tall, a curated smile on his lips, despite the ache of his body and his heart. He was a lovely little liar and he hated it.

He listened and feigned interest in all of the idle conversation. Countess Vivienne Cott's dress was custom made and shipped all the way from Vignor across the sea. It allegedly cost a fortune despite having very little fabric. Authority over Lord Achan Victon's estate was passed to his teenage bastard son instead of his wife. Count Gaspar and Countess Gianne Imber had gifted Magnus yet another crystal mantelpiece like they had every single year. For a moment, Magnus thought of Mina and her songbird carving that currently claimed the center spot of his mantel. He didn't know what he would do with it, but he decided not to think about it any further, desperately trying to keep her out of his mind.

Some conversation drifted to more serious matters, but the careless manner with which the others spoke of it made Magnus clench his fists in frustration. The weather was unforgivingly frigid this year in the northwestern region, but Lord Heath and Lady Viola simply moved to one of their countryside homes to escape it without a thought for the people under their jurisdiction. Captain Alaric secured new territory along the western border, claiming it from the Velari who'd lived there for generations. A quarter of Alaric's men died in the effort, but no one spoke of what it cost the people already there. Lady Lavere Hartwick just recently gave birth to twins the same day she and her husband Lord Deryn had a dozen suspected rebels hanged. Magnus's thoughts drifted to Mina once more. Suppose the truth about her loyalties fell into the wrong hands. That noose could have been around her neck.

Kydia and Finley were in attendance despite Magnus's wishes that they'd stay away for their safety. Kydia wore a deep purple gown, open in the back aside from a few crisscrossing gold chains and a neckline that reached almost completely down her torso. Her light hair was coiled into a complex updo, her arms were decorated with golden bangles, and golden hoops hung from her ears. Finley wore a suit a similar color to his twin sister's, tight fitting and adorned with gold. They too wore carefully practiced smiles.

"Happy birthday," Kydia greeted, pressing a kiss to Magnus's cheek.

He hugged both of them. "Thank you. How have you been?"

"Surviving," Finley huffed. "Marlowe has yet another mistress."

Kydia shot him a look and quickly changed the subject. "Magnus, Lake Yortawa finally froze over. Do you remember how we used to play out there when we were young?"

Magnus nodded, remembering the three of them sliding across the ice, laughing until their stomachs hurt. They were so free and unburdened back then, nothing like the silently suffocating nobles that stood there today.

"How could I forget? Oh, what I'd give to go back there."

"We'd probably break through the ice now," Finley muttered.

"Finley," Kydia warned with a sigh. "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"And I appreciate it," Magnus murmured with a small smile. "I know we all wish we could just speak freely."

"But that's what keeps us alive, right?" Finley said bitterly. Glancing warily at the other guests, he straightened his posture like a puppet tugged upright by strings. "We each have a part to play."

Magnus fell silent. Was that what Mina was doing too? Playing whatever part she had to to protect herself?

Kydia touched his arm. "We'll get through this, Magnus. Like we always have."

He placed his hand over hers in gratitude.

"Your Highness." Dario's cool voice cut through the moment. 

Finley and Kydia lowered eyes to the floor and backed away, seamlessly falling back into their roles as scorned nobles instead of Magnus's closest friends.

Magnus looked over to his father's advisor, his gaze steady. "Yes?"

"The princesses of Kithage have arrived. His Majesty would like you to meet them."

Magnus nodded silently, bowing his head to the Paxtons before following Dario to the throne room. He kept his expression neutral, burying the ache in his chest under layers of cold learned focus. As he walked, he adjusted his gloves and straightened his collar, making sure every visible piece of the abuse was safely tucked away like his father wanted.

The king was already waiting there, a lazy smile on his face. Magnus bowed before taking his place at his father's side.

"Where's that little shadow of yours?" the king pried. "What? Didn't want your future wife to see the girl you've been lying with?"

Magnus stiffened. "She's off doing her job and I'm here doing mine."

His father smirked, but said nothing more as they turned their attention to the entrance.

Dyian stood at the ready by the doorway. His eyes met Magnus's for a moment, his face expressing a thousand words with just a glance. He could see how Magnus screamed and clawed from the inside, and it pained him to see what the sweet young boy he knew was being forced to become. But there was nothing he could do. Taking in a deep breath he spoke, his voice ringing out loud and clear.

"Your Royal Majesty and Your Royal Highness, may I present Princess Myranda Aurelia Cateline Lynea, Princess Marielle Rosalyn Asteria Lynea, and Princess Malita Daphne Helene Lynea, daughters of King Lysander Atlas Kilian Lynea and Queen Lucille Iridessa Morgana Lynea of Kithage!"

The heavy doors parted to an explosion of color and fanfare. Three golden haired maidens floated into the room, surrounded by armored guards and an army of attendants, all bearing the Lynea family crest: a thorny rose surrounded by a burning sun.

They all bowed and curtsied deeply before Magnus and his father. The princesses were dressed in Kithaginian ball gowns—high necklines, long flowing sleeves, and wide ruffled skirts. The youngest princess, Malita, draped in her forest green gown, looked around the throne room with wide eyes and parted lips. Marielle, in a dainty pink gown, had shifty eyes and looked between her two sisters as if unsure where and how to stand. But it was Myranda, barely eighteen, that commanded all the attention. She was the walking embodiment of her family crest, almost seeming to glow in her red and gold gown. Her sparkling blue eyes fell on Magnus, and she smiled radiantly.

Magnus nodded silently in return. He didn't like the way she seemed to pick him apart with her eyes all while maintaining her perfect, graceful composure.

"We welcome you to Cordia, my dears," the king greeted.

"We thank you graciously for having us," Myranda replied, her voice like soft and smooth velvet. "We apologize that Princess Maevis could not be here to celebrate His Highness, but she and Prince Perceval send their regards."

Even as he stood there, face to face with the perfect princess, Magnus thought of Mina. He thought of her dark eyes, her unsmiling lips, her rough callused hands, her uneven hair, her biting remarks, and her scars that mirrored his own. She had nothing Myranda could offer, and yet she was everything.

~*~*~*~

Mina didn't stop at the maids' quarters to grab any of her few belongings. She just ran. She ran through the once vacant halls, now swarming with gaudily dressed nobles. She brushed past maids who called after her, wondering where she was going. She dodged guards, ducking under arms and slipping between cracks like she always had on the dirty city streets. Her tears never ceased and her lungs burned, but she pressed on.

She was nearly to the gate when she stopped, her feet faltering from under her as her chest heaved. She could still hear his voice replaying in her ears, so utterly devastated and heartbroken. She knew she had hurt him worse than any blade or poison ever could.

Trembling, she looked back at the castle, to the cold stone walls that encased both so much wickedness and still so much love, love she could not have found anywhere else.

She had to save him. Not because he loved her—he probably hated her now—but because she loved him, and she believed he was worth saving. She was only alive because he believed she was worth saving all those years ago.

She had to protect him now, and if that meant she'd die for him, then so be it. She just hoped he could forgive her.

She turned and stormed back into the castle, a fire blazing in her heart.