The carriage rattled over Dythrid's cobbles, the pale towers closing in above. Beneath her veil, Metheea saw only fragments of the city—enough to remind her she was going back into a cage.
They had pulled her from the academy without warning, smuggling her over the border before she could even pack her own things.
The guards outside rode without a word, their silver mask emblems glinting faintly.
As she stepped into the palace, she hated how everything looked perfect. The memory of Katarthan's open smiles made her resent even more the servants here, who lowered their gaze and would not meet her eyes.
The corridors swallowed the sound of her steps until the double doors of the audience chamber loomed ahead.
The Queen sat upon a high marble seat, silver-threaded silk spilling to the floor, with Prince Frakir beside her, posture relaxed, eyes glinting.
"Princess Metheea Feylisse," the herald announced.
The Queen lifted a hand. "Remove the veil. Let me see what Katarthan has made of you."
Metheea obeyed, the fabric sliding away. The Queen's gaze swept over her like a cold wind.
"So. You were seen in Katarthan's palace."
Her heart thumped. "Twenty students were chosen at random to enter, Your Majesty," she said quickly.
The Queen's eyes narrowed. "Have you met your brother?"
Your child, Metheea thought bitterly. She wanted to lie, but Lerima had surely told the Queen everything. "I did… I met Prince Azrayel."
Frakir cursed. "Do you even think before you act? You walk into the lion's den and expect to be spared?"
She stayed bowed. In her eyes, this boy, barely seventeen, acted without thought far too often.
"And what do you think of him?" the Queen asked.
"He was terrifying, Your Majesty. I thought I might lose my head at any moment." She launched into the voyage, the stiff formalities, even the taste of their tea—anything to keep the Queen from circling back to Azrayel.
"You talk like a fool, and you are giving me a headache. You may rest in your quarters."
The guards took her through narrow corridors and up the winding stair. She trailed her hand along the same walls she'd once run as a child—walls that now closed in like a prison. The view from the narrow window only deepened her sorrow.
Inside her bare chamber, she sank against the wall as the door shut, hugging herself and thinking of Azrayel's freedom.
Servants came and opened her chest; she told them she would do it, and they bowed and left. Inside were a few things from the academy and, at the bottom, the ring she had received. Her fingers traced the engraved letter A.
The lock turned. She put the ring back into her chest and slowly turned toward the sound.
Frakir entered with a smirk. "You smell like those Katarthan bastards."
She almost told him they were better company than he was.
"Why are you in my chambers? Does our mother know?"
He stiffened. "I have chosen my fiancée, Lady Tenes." She remembered the sharp-minded young lady and admitted he had chosen well.
"And why should I care?"
"Because I mean her to be the highest lady in the realm and you will make it so."
"You expect me to trail after her, playing the part of some overbearing chaperone?"
"That one."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you can rot here. Do it well, and I will help you leave the palace."
The next day, she joined Lady Tenes for tea in one of the sunlit parlors. Tenes, with her keen eyes and sharper mind, greeted her warmly. "I have heard much about you," the young lady said, her voice soft but deliberate.
"From my dear brother, no doubt," Metheea replied, lifting her cup. "I imagine he told you I am difficult."
Tenes smiled faintly. "He said you do not bend easily. I consider that a compliment."
"Then you are wiser than he is," Metheea said, a trace of amusement in her tone.
They spoke of the court, its endless formalities, and the weight of expectations. Tenes listened intently, occasionally adding observations so sharp they made Metheea pause.
For the first time since her return, she found herself almost enjoying the company.
Metheea tilted her head. "Tell me, why did you approve of your betrothal to Frakir? He is a brat."
Tenes chuckled. "He can be disarmingly charming. Even with the right to inherit my father's duchy as his firstborn, I believe aligning myself with Frakir's side would serve me better."
Metheea smiled faintly, thinking the girl far too good for her brother. "You are too good for him."
"Your brother is a good man," Tenes said. "He told me stories about you when you were little."
Metheea paused. When they were younger, Frakir had made her life easier. He had been a good boy yet now he seemed to take pleasure in bullying her. She smiled at Tenes, not believing her words.
"He is, but with the Queen's influence, he grew up rotten."
Lady Tenes's eyes widened slightly at the boldness of the remark before she lowered her voice, leaning in as if to shield the words. "Your Highness, there are ears on the wall."
She chuckled, but Metheea could care less; she had been beaten for smaller remarks when she was younger.
"How is Katarthan?" Tenes asked, deftly changing the topic.
Metheea glanced toward the window, almost longing for the land she wanted to escape from.
"It was different," she said softly.
"Wasn't it?" Tenes exclaimed with sudden excitement. "We went there when I was younger, as diplomats. It was nothing like Dythrid."
"It is," Metheea agreed, a small smile curving her lips. "The fashion, the food, the people—" She felt a pang in her chest.
"I always wondered," Tenes mused, "how kingdoms so close could be so different."
"I wonder myself," Metheea said, then let the subject drift toward the ball for tomorrow.
She asked Tenes what dress she planned to wear.
"A deep blue silk with silver embroidery," Tenes replied, her eyes bright. "It catches the light beautifully and hard to ignore in a crowded hall."
"Then we must make sure you stand where every important pair of eyes will see you," Metheea said, leaning in.
They whispered over which guests to greet first, whose favor would matter most, and which rivals to avoid.
Tenes suggested slipping in a few compliments about the Queen's taste; Metheea advised drawing certain ladies into conversation just long enough to make them curious.
By the end, they had a careful map of the evening—where to be, when to speak, and how to keep Tenes in the brightest circle of attention.
Metheea sipped her tea, her smile faint but genuine.
For the first time since her return, she felt as though she was moving a piece on the board rather than simply being one.
The thought carried her into the rest of the day, the image of the ballroom already forming in her mind as the day goes