CHAPTER 2: THE BIRTHDAY

“Happy birthday, Your Holiness!”

Leila nodded at the servant and hurried up the marble steps. Purple ribbons wrapped the staircase bannisters, and ornamental gold stars hung from the ceiling. The palace looked lovely, as it did on each of Her birthdays, but this year the opulence was off-putting.

“Happy birthday!”

Another nod, and She abandoned the stairs, heading down one of the many corridors. More smiles, more kind wishes. She should’ve felt honored, but instead She wondered who was celebrating Her life and who was anticipating Her death.

A door appeared before Her, and She shoved it open. “Cosima, I…”

She staggered to a halt. Two bodies entwined, naked save for a sheet shared between them. Cosima’s fair skin and fiery hair were instantly discernable, as were those tan arms and that shaggy, golden-blond mane.

“Oh God.”

Asher’s lips tore from Cosima’s. “Your Holiness.” Stumbling from the bed, he clutched a sheet to his nethers and kneeled. “Apologies for the improper circumstances.”

Cosima laughed. “Oh, Asher, it’s just Leila. She doesn’t mind.”

“I didn’t know You were coming,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Leila muttered.

“If I had known—”

“Just go.”

“Of course, Your Holiness.” He grabbed his clothes from the floor. “Good day, Your Holiness.” He rushed away, leaving Leila with a glimpse of his bare ass before he slammed the door.

“Did You see that?” Cosima chuckled. “He just scampered off with one of my bed sheets. What a loon, I swear. What are You doing here, anyhow?”

“You summoned Me.”

“Is that right? Oh my, I completely forgot. I can’t even remember the reason for it, I feel so foolish. The matter must’ve slipped my mind in the heat of the moment.”

Leila said nothing, Her cheeks burning.

“Are You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Leila mumbled.

“You’re not upset, are You? About me and Asher. You said You weren’t seeking his affection. I assumed You wouldn’t mind.”

Her gut coiled. “I’m not upset.”

“I assure You, it was just the one time. Well, a few times in one night, but never again.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Cosima smiled. “Of course, what was I thinking? You’re not the type for such dramatics. You’re bigger than that. A true woman.”

The knot in Leila’s gut pulled tighter, and She headed for the door.

“Leila?”

She glanced over Her shoulder, met by Her sister’s smile.

“Happy birthday, dove.”

Leila left without a word, holding Her chin high with a confidence that felt fraudulent. She reached a chamber a short distance away, where Delphi was curled up along the cool blue linens of her bed reading over a scroll.

“You’re alone? That’s unusual.” Leila’s voice broke once She spotted feet poking out from beneath the room divider. “Oh. Spoke too soon.”

“Leila!” A servant girl popped out from behind the divider, still tying her dress into place. “Happy birthday!”

Leila mustered a smile. “Thank you, Shae.”

“You’re twenty! A grown woman!” Shae squealed, pinching Leila’s cheeks. “Today is going to be the best day. We’re all so excited for You.” She headed for the door. “I’m off now. Happy birthday!”

As Shae disappeared, Leila turned to Delphi. “I thought she liked men.”

“She was feeling curious. Who am I to deny her self-exploration?” Delphi smirked. “Aren’t You supposed to be with Cosima?”

Sighing, Leila flopped down onto the bed. “She was occupied. Had that new guard, Asher, all good and naked.”

“You’re serious? The little cunt.”

“Delphi…”

“I mean it. She’s always been a bit uppish, but I swear she gets more and more cunty with age.”

“She can bed whom she pleases.”

Delphi rolled her eyes. “Please, You must see the intention. There are plenty of guards in this fortress, but she chose Asher, the exact man who made Your bits tingle. She did it to spite You.”

“Well, it didn’t work. I hadn’t the slightest interest in him. No tingle whatsoever.”

“Your saving face only does her favors.”

“She’s family.”

“By title,” Delphi said. “When was the last time she actually behaved as family?”

Leila’s stomach churned. She sat upright, idly playing with the ends of Her hair.

“Well, we don’t need her anyhow.” Delphi plastered on a smile. “Do You want to discuss Your birthday?” When Leila didn’t answer, Delphi tensed. “Your father then.”

“He moves against me. Through the tournament.”

“It’s confirmed?”

Leila scowled. “Three men of an unsavory disposition were hired. I’m assuming he’s placing them in the tournament. They’ll likely compete for Me.”

“And then?”

“And then…I die.”

A red fog filled the space between them, bleeding from Delphi’s flesh. Anger. At least she doesn’t pity Me.

“Have You given any additional thought to killing Your father?”

Leila sighed. “Delphi, we can’t.”

“I know, I’m just rather fond of the idea.”

“His network reaches far past what we know. If we cut off the head of the beast, another will grow in its place to strike Me down. Until we uncover all his allies, he lives.”

“Well then, onto more pressing matters,” Delphi said. “These three men—You think they’re coming to do the deed? Stab stab, and You’re dead?

“I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“So we watch them. Keep them close.” She pointed her scroll Leila’s way. “You’re positioning Rom to be the Proctor, yes?”

“Already in the works.”

“Good. Then we’ll have eyes and ears on the inside.”

“It’s not enough. I need someone I can trust implicitly.”

“Then I’ll join him. Think of a reason to mingle amongst the men. Be Your spy.” Delphi’s eyes brightened. “What if I act as a servant? Get the men pretty for You. Women always babble when they’re being made beautiful. I’m sure men are the same.”

Leila didn’t answer, and Delphi furrowed her brow. “Do You not want me down there? In the labyrinth?”

“No, it’s not that…” Leila’s voice trailed off, Her mind turning over Her sister’s words—and words She Herself hadn’t spoken, still gestating in Her thoughts. Romulus wasn’t enough. Delphi wasn’t enough.

I need to be in the labyrinth.

The door crept open, and a man poked his head inside. “Your Holiness?”

Leila flagged him over, and he bowed before walking in. Wavy black hair spilled down to his shoulders, his golden-brown skin splashed with freckles across his arms, his face, even his plump lips. He was clearly of Leila’s age, yet boyish—his frame was tall and slender, his hands fidgety, and his large, chestnut eyes gaped at Her in reverence.

She frowned. “Can I help you?”

He shook himself, bowing again. “Apologies for the intrusion.”

“I’m sorry, but…who are you?”

“Hylas. Page to the Sovereign.” He bowed for a third time. “His former went missing inexplicably, so I’m told.”

“Is that so? I hadn’t any idea.”

“Your Holiness, I hate to bother, but we’ve yet to receive Your preferences for the pool.” Hylas rambled words that sounded rehearsed. “Tomorrow, the men of Thessen and beyond will line up for miles for the chance to compete in Your tournament. The pool will determine who among them is worthy. We’re required to procure a variety of men, but some will be catered to Your tastes. So…” he unrolled a scroll, preparing to write, “…Your preferences?”

“I have no preferences.”

He faltered. “But…this is Your future husband. Surely You have preferences.”

“I’m sure the girls will sort it out on their own.”

Hylas shifted from foot to foot. “Apologies, but I can’t leave without Your answer.”

Leila sighed. “All right then. I want a robust man with a body like marble, an ass tight enough to shatter a diamond, and a cock the length of a cucumber. A pillar. No, a tower.” She nodded at his scroll. “Are you getting this?”

Hylas’s face flushed. Clearing his throat, he scribbled across his parchment. “A…tower?”

“Of course. How could I possibly settle for less? Will that be all?”

With a quick bow, Hylas dashed for the door, throwing it shut behind him.

Delphi frowned. “He thinks You’re serious.”

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t be choosing a man anyway. Let them waste away searching for the cucumber cock.” Leila wrinkled Her nose. “Is that big for a cock? Cucumber length? Oh, why am I even asking you…”

“Brontes will see these requests.”

“Oh good, I hope to see his face when he does.”

Leila chuckled, while Delphi gazed at the spot where Hylas once stood. “I’ll track him down. Tell him to find some nice men for You. Give him Your real preferences.”

“Why would you do that?”

“What about creative types? Intellectuals? I’ll tell him to look out for those.”

“So they can die in the tournament? That’s just cruel.”

Delphi kept quiet, a single eyebrow raised.

“Why are you looking at Me like that?” Leila said.

“You’re not at all curious about the tournament? About these men?”

“You mean the ones coming to kill Me?”

“I mean the ones coming to marry You,” Delphi said. “Or at least try to.”

Leila laughed. “Oh, the idiots. No, not particularly.”

“Leila—”

“They compete for a woman they’ve never met simply because She’s The Savior.” She played with the folds of Her dress. “It’s foolish. Offensive, really. They come because they marvel at My title, not…Me.”

“They’ll marvel at You once they meet You. You are quite marvelous, after all.”

“Have you lost sight of things? Brontes moves against Me.”

“I know that.”

“He killed our mothers.”

“And there’s nothing I want more than for him to rot. Except to see You happy.” Delphi scooted closer, taking Her hand. “You’re the last of my family, and I cannot watch You waste away in misery forever.”

“And you think a cock would rectify all things.”

“Not a cock. Just a companion.”

Leila smiled. “I have you.”

“A companion with a cock.”

Groaning, Leila rolled Her eyes. “Delphi—”

“One for You to play with.”

“God…”

“On Your fifteenth birthday, I found You crying in Your chamber. You said You feared You’d be a child forever. That You longed to kiss a boy, yet there was no one for You to kiss. And when a boy did come this way, he wasn’t permitted to kiss You, or court You, or see You as anything other than untouchable.” Delphi gave Leila’s hand a squeeze. “Cosima and I were already having our fun, and You were certain You’d be left behind. So I stayed up all night assuring You Your time would come. And then I explained to You the magic of two fingers strategically placed—”

“I was there, Delphi. I remember.”

“You have twenty men coming to the palace for the sole purpose of winning Your affection. Surely it’s crossed Your mind that this is an opportunity to partake in the one pleasure You’ve been denied Your entire life.”

Leila glowered. “Seventeen men. You forget, three are coming to kill Me.” She threw Her arms into the air. “But to hell with My assassination, let’s put all our attention into finding that cock for Me to play with.”

“Leila—”

“There are more important things.”

“Of course,” Delphi said. “But if You can heal the realm and slit the throat of a traitor in the same afternoon, why can’t You reclaim Your power and kiss a man in the same tournament?”

The chamber door flew open, and a bevy of servant girls exploded into the room. “Happy birthday!”

Four grinning faces surrounded Leila, yanking Her from the bed.

“You’re twenty!”

“You’re positively glowing!”

“She’s always glowing.”

“Shut up, Nyx.”

The servants dragged Her from Delphi’s chamber, pulling Her down the corridor, the stairs, then into a periwinkle room lined in pillars, its pearlescent floor punctuated by a pool. The royal bathhouse. There was another like it for the rest of the palace to use, but this one was for Leila alone. She stood at the pool’s edge as the girls peeled off Her dress, then tiptoed into the water, taking a seat on the bench.

Light beamed through the pool in ripples. Her submerged skin always set the water aglow, but the servants didn’t react, accustomed to Her power to the point of apathy. She liked that about them—that Nyx, Hemera, Damaris, and Faun regarded Her as slightly-less-than-holy.

Faun hovered beside the pool, juggling a handful of colorful vials. “What’ll it be today? Lavender? Vanilla?”

Hemera swatted her arm. “Do vanilla, it matches Her skin!”

“It’s Her choice, dummy,” Nyx scoffed.

“Vanilla is wonderful, thank you,” Leila said.

The girls prepped Her bath, a flurry of bustling bodies in flowing white dresses. Faun was the eldest at twenty-one years with deep olive skin, long brown hair, and freckles dotting her nose and cheeks, though her most distinct feature were the black tattoos swirling down her arms all the way to her fingers. Damaris was plump with dark red locks, the soft pink of her skin a direct contrast to her cornflower eyes. And Nyx and Hemera were the youngest, identical twins just eighteen years old with the same golden skin, sharp features, and upturned, chestnut eyes. The only dissonance between them was their ebony hair; Hemera’s was long with bangs, while Nyx’s locks were short, falling over her ears.

Hemera rang out a hand rag. “I swear, I’ve been waiting for tonight for months. Years, even.”

“Please, no one cares about tonight.”

“Nyx, you bitch!” Hemera said. “It’s Her birthday.”

“Yes, and in two days the tournament begins. That’s what everyone’s been waiting for. You know I’m right.”

Leila swallowed a groan. Just one moment without mention of the tournament, that’s all I ask.

“You won’t be seeing us tomorrow.” Damaris lathered up Leila’s leg. “Mousumi has us working the pool, same as all the other girls.”

Leila frowned. “Apologies. That sounds dreadful.”

“Oh, not at all,” Damaris said. “I’m actually quite excited.”

“Is that right?” Faun smirked. “Our untouched flower, eager to feast her eyes on Thessen’s finest, unattached and as naked as the day they were born.”

“Naked?” Damaris glanced between the girls. “No one said they were going to be naked.”

“It’ll be grand,” Hemera said. “Hundreds of handsome men in the buff.”

“And ugly men. And fat men. And hairy men,” Nyx muttered.

“What about You, Leila?” Hemera looked up from her work and smiled. “Are You excited? You must be.”

Vulgarities filled Leila’s mouth, so She opted not to answer.

“Leila, Your hair is so beautiful.” Hemera sighed, brushing Her long locks. “The envy of us all, I swear it.”

“Pretty soon You’ll have Your pick of men to brush Your hair,” Faun said. “Play with Your hair… Pull Your hair.”

“Faun!” Hemera squealed.

“You all were thinking it. I’m just saying it.”

“Did You submit Your preferences?” Damaris took a seat behind Leila, massaging Her shoulders. “I’m just dying to know what The Savior desires.”

“She asked for a massive cock!” Nyx said. “Hylas showed me! I saw it!”

Damaris gasped. “He showed you?”

“Well, I made him.”

“A large cock?” Hemera giggled into her hands. “Leila, I never would’ve guessed You were such a minx!”

“She’s not a minx. She’s playing games.” Scowling, Faun dropped her rag. “Leila, why didn’t You submit Your true preferences?”

“I have no preferences,” She said.

“You still fight the tournament? Even with it just days away?”

“Why would You fight the tournament?” Hemera scoffed. “I would die to have one of my own.”

“Can you imagine?” Damaris kneaded Leila’s back. “Twenty gorgeous men throwing themselves at you. It’s like a dream.”

“It’s not My dream,” Leila muttered.

“Well then, if You find the prospect so repugnant, why don’t You let one of us take Your place, hm?” Faun chuckled. “We’ll slip on Your glowing skin, wear Your flaming eyes, and play Savior for thirty days.” She cast Leila a critical look. “Women of sound mind would kill for such a burden, You know.”

“Your Holiness.”

Leila jumped, sending a wave splashing onto the tiles. The servant keeper appeared at the pool’s edge, about thirty years old with tawny skin, a statuesque figure, and thick, black curls tied at her nape. Her large, dark eyes scanned the unrolled scroll in her hands, her presence alone enough to render the girls silent.

“A word while You’re freshened up?”

Leila nodded. “Of course, Mousumi.”

Mousumi didn’t bother looking Her way, still reading her parchment. “The schedule for Your birthday feast has been finalized. We require Your approval. After Your bath, You’re to meet with Cecily for Your fitting. It seems she’s chosen a red dress—a royal color for a royal occasion. Is this acceptable?”

“Yes, that sounds lovely.”

She scribbled along her scroll. “Once all is prepared, Your court will be ushered into the atrium, followed by the Sovereign and then Yourself.”

“Bring the Sovereign in first,” Leila said. “Then the court. Then Me.”

Mousumi’s eyes lifted from the parchment. “Your father will see that as an affront. That the court holds title over him.”

“Bring him in first.”

Mousumi went back to scribbling, her nostrils flared. “The feast will be served, then Your gifts will be presented. The Sovereign’s page will note Your gratitude and deliver Your thanks to the proper patrons.”

“The page?” Damaris said. “Surely that’s the scribe’s job.”

“The scribe retired his post,” Mousumi muttered.

“Another?” Damaris glanced between the girls. “I swear, everyone’s leaving.”

“All friends of the Sovereign too.” Nyx raised her eyebrows. “Bet you he’s picking them off.”

“Quiet. That’s the Sovereign you speak of.” Hemera splashed her sister. “Father of Her Holiness.”

“I take no offense,” Leila said.

Mousumi cleared her throat. “Does the schedule suit You, Your Holiness?”

“It’s fine.” Leila smiled. “Thank you.”

“Right.” Bowing, Mousumi rolled her scroll and headed off.

Hemera exhaled. “Thank God she’s gone. I swear, she’s so stiff.”

Nyx shoved her arm. “Watch your words, she’s our keeper.”

“I think she’s all right,” Damaris said.

Hemera scoffed. “Don’t lie, she’s as frigid as a Kovahrian winter.”

Leila flashed them a frown. “Be kind, ladies.”

“Don’t pretend You haven’t noticed.” Faun laughed. “She’s not even nice to You.”

Their chatter faded as Leila’s thoughts churned. The tournament was fast approaching, and She still hadn’t a proper plan. But amid Her nagging worries were the words of Her servants, gently prodding at Her mind.

Let one of us take Your place.

The girls finished their work, and Leila soon found Herself surrounded by the dusty rose walls of Her dressing room. The rays of the setting sun filtered through the window, bouncing off crystal and gold ornaments. Chairs lined with pink silk cushions littered the space, along with tables covered in perfume and jewelry.

“You seem sad. Is something troubling You?”

The woman spoke in soothing tones, but her gaze didn’t leave her stitching. Cecily was the palace fitter, a servant of station, and every dress Leila wore passed through her hands first. She was older than most of the others at thirty-seven years, with fluffy brown curls, honey-hazel eyes, and sandy skin—a warm look to match her presence, though everything about this day felt cold.

“I’m just thinking,” Leila said.

“It’s the tournament, isn’t it?” Cecily stitched the seam along Leila’s hip. “You don’t like it.”

Leila’s gaze shot toward her, and Cecily offered a smile. “Everyone knows.” Pocketing her thread, she pulled out a fragrant vial. “Is it the lack of control? The fact that Your husband is chosen through challenges as opposed to Your will?” She pressed her perfumed fingertips to Leila’s wrists. “Or is it something else?”

“It’s many things.”

“I understand. Love is scary enough without danger thrown into the mix. Whose idea was that, anyhow? It’s a bit silly, I think.”

Cecily shuffled off to one of the tables, looping several strands of jewelry around her wrist. She returned to Leila’s side, stopping short at the sight of Her frown. “Oh, child, I know it’s overwhelming, but try to see the good in this. You are to be presented with the finest men in Thessen.” She draped a string of jewels across Leila’s neck. “I have faith this tournament is exactly what You need.”

Leila nearly scoffed aloud, but She kept Her mouth shut.

“Almost done, child.” Cecily’s face flushed. “I suppose I should stop calling You that. You’re a grown woman now. But You’ll always be small to me. I can’t help it.”

A sliver of warmth crept through Leila, thawing Her. “I don’t mind.”

Cecily circled a table stacked with crowns, some intricately beaded, others made of gold-plated flowers, stopping in front of a crown of sharp, golden spikes—Leila’s favorite. Prompted by Leila’s nod, she placed the crown on Her head.

“Look at You.” She steered Leila toward a mirror. “What do You think?”

A flowing red dress draped Her like a river of blood, pulled across one shoulder and cinched at Her waist. Topaz and rubies hung from Her throat, with rows of matching bands and bracelets stacked on Her arms and wrists. But the crown stole Her focus, sharp and severe: “The rays of the sun,” Her servants would say, though Leila saw blades. For once, an authentic smile graced Her lips.

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

“You make my work easy,” Cecily cooed.

Leila took one last look at Her reflection—the vision of a queen. Then, perhaps for the thousandth time, the tournament floated through her thoughts.

The vision of a queen, with none of the control.

She left the dressing room, attempting to still Her mind. The royal parlor appeared, its walls covered in burgundy tapestries, the furnishings ornate and bejeweled.

Pippa spun toward Her in a swirl of fine yellow linen, her usually disheveled hair tied up in a bun. “You look like a princess!”

“Like a queen.” Cosima, wearing a layered dress the color of rose wine, pulled Her into an embrace. “Look at You! You take my breath away.”

Memories of Cosima’s naked flesh pressed to Asher filled Leila’s mind, and She squirmed out of her grasp. Delphi stood at Her side, a beauty in mint green and lapis, but Leila was more interested in the two chalices of wine she carried. “When’s our entrance?” She snatched up a chalice. “I want to get this over with.”

“Brontes was just seated.” Delphi raised an eyebrow. “I see You switched the order. Feeling mischievous, are we?”

Wembleton tromped into the parlor, wearing a rich gold tunic and too many colorful drapes. Leila took a generous gulp of wine, hoping to blur the sight of him.

“Your Holiness, congratulations to You on this special occasion. Your celebration awaits.” Wembleton waited for Leila to respond, and when She didn’t, he turned to Her sisters. “Ladies, are we ready?”

The court lined up in front of a set of golden doors—the entrance to the atrium. As the doors opened, Wembleton waddled out, his arms wide. “Ladies and gentlemen, join me in welcoming The Savior’s court.”

One by one, Leila’s sisters waltzed away, and a weight dropped in Her gut. She hated this part.

“And now, please stand in attention for Her Holiness, our One True Savior.”

The screeching of chairs sliding along the polished floor sent Leila rigid. After downing the last of Her wine, She headed through the doorway.

The atrium was lavish on a normal day, but on Her birthday, it was a sight to behold. The ceiling overflowed with splendor, with red and purple ribbons spiraling downward and golden stars dangling from string. Garlands of lilies wrapped the marble columns; shining gold place settings spotted the infinitely long dining table, spilling with food and drink; and rows of beautifully dressed people—Her palace staff in their finest garb—stood in silence, watching Her. Waiting.

She stopped at Her seat at the head of the table, a crimson throne boasting rays, gold as the sun. Her sisters waited by their seats alongside Her, their heads bowed in reverence, and the sight of it stung. She had always despised events like these—grand feasts, festivities for The One True Savior. They served as a reminder that She stood on a pedestal above all others, and She stood on that pedestal alone.

Taking Her seat, She nodded for the others to do the same. Only Wembleton remained standing, his chalice in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we celebrate Her Holiness on this, Her coming of age. Let us pay tribute to Her glory, for it is Her light that unites us, that fills our bellies and gives us shelter, that keeps our great realm whole and pure.” He turned Her way. “This feast is not a gift from us to You. No, it is a gift from You to all of us. And for that, we thank You. Truly. Humbly.”

Leila dug Her nails into the table, sickened by the stale stench of his lies.

“For all that You are and all that You do, we devote our lives to Your service.” Wembleton raised his chalice high. “Blessed be The Savior!”

“Blessed be The Savior,” the others said in unison. Leila barely lifted Her chalice before taking a swig, longing to saturate Her insides. Music wafted through the space, and the people dug into the feast, laughing and indulging in the opulence. It seemed everyone was content with the night ahead. Except Leila.

And Her father.

He sat at the opposite end of the table, a crown of gold-plated leaves on his head, layers of maroon drapes adorning his bare chest. Perhaps he looked handsome, but it was hard to see past his hideous glower.

The spread of food thinned, the faces around Her reddening with inebriation. Hylas entered the atrium, a scroll and reed in hand. He cleared his throat, again, then once more until the room finally fell silent. “Presenting the gifts to Leila TūsSalvatíraas, Her Holiness, our One True Savior, on this, Her coming of age.”

Guards in silver chest plates marched into the atrium carrying armfuls of goods—black garnets from the realm of Ethyua, peach trees from the farmers’ union—and with each lot Leila recited Her gratitude. “Tell the Monarch of Ethyua I’m in awe of his jewels. Extend to him My deepest thanks. Tell the farmers I’m delighted. Peaches are My favorite.” All the while She stared at Her father, who stared at Her all the same, and Her rage burned deeper, charring Her insides.

“From Her sister, Delphinium Tūs Salvatíraas of The Savior’s court,” Hylas announced. “‘The Warrior’s Chant,’ a poem by Karti, delivered in its original form.”

Leila spun away from Her father, gaping at the scroll delivered to Her hands. “Delphi!” She gasped, unrolling the aged parchment. “Oh My God, this is My—”

“Favorite. I know,” Delphi said.

“Look—he misspelled sanguinary.”

“Poor bastard, bet he never heard the end of that.”

As Leila scanned the faded ink, Delphi hovered over Her shoulder. “The ending’s my favorite. ‘Lo, he set his foes aflame, turned their flesh to rot and ash, and ne’er was he questioned. Cross a warrior, and be burned.’”

Glancing sidelong at Brontes, Leila gave Her sister a squeeze. “Thank you so much.”

Delphi whispered into Her ear, “May all who cross You burn.”

“From Her sister, Cosima Tūs Salvatíraas of The Savior’s court,” Hylas said. “A piece formed by the elite glassworkers of Trogolia.”

Guards plucked the scroll from Leila’s hands, replacing it with a palm-sized ornament.

“I saw it and instantly thought of You,” Cosima said. “I know how much you adore Your garden.”

Leila rotated the piece in Her hands—a crystal rose, its clear petals reflecting all the colors of the rainbow. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“Not nearly as beautiful as You.” Cosima snatched the rose away, taking Leila’s hands. “Precious dove, I’d do anything for You. You know that, yes?”

I’d do anything for You. But Cosima and Asher were still naked in Leila’s mind, and her words lost all meaning, fading away like the flush of her pale skin.

Pale skin. Leila froze, studying Her sister—painted lips, shiny red waves, and milky flesh that could rival Her own. Leila was fairer in comparison, but the shade was similar, passable as the same to the untrained eye. Eyes. Cosima’s apple-green irises weren’t particularly unusual, but they were striking, and perhaps that was all that mattered.

“Are You all right?” Cosima asked.

Leila shook Herself. “Apologies. Too much wine.”

Chuckling, Cosima flagged a servant, having Leila’s chalice promptly refilled. “No such thing.”

Pippa’s gift was next to arrive—a circlet of jeweled violets. No doubt Cecily had assisted. Leila gave Her sister a firm hug, though Her mind remained on Cosima.

Pale skin. Striking eyes.

“From beyond the fortress,” Hylas said, “a gift from Petros Elia, the principal artist of Thessen. An original painting to add to Your collection.”

Leila’s back shot straight. She rose from Her seat as two guards marched into the atrium, a large, framed canvas held between them.

The room fell silent. Leila inspected the painting up close, extending Her hand to touch it but stopping short. She couldn’t, no, that felt wrong. Instead Her eyes danced over the piece: a vibrant sky spotted with soft clouds, tall green trees, thatched cottages. In its center stood a woman with icy eyes, strawberry blonde locks, and light pouring from Her body—a woman Leila knew well, if only by Her reflection.

“What is it called?”

Hylas read over his scroll. “Mother.”

A pang shot through Her. Flowers with long white petals and spots of pink were painted at Her mother’s feet, and Leila smiled at the sight. “Lilies.”

“It says here they were Your mother’s—”

“Favorite. Yes, they were.” Her eyes didn’t leave the canvas, taking in the sea of brilliant hues. She rarely saw these colors in people. Only in paintings.

“For Your gratitude?” Hylas said.

A painting by Petros Elia. The Petros Elia.

“Your Holiness—”

“Tell him it’s beautiful,” Leila said. “Tell him I said it’s truly beautiful.”

“As You wish.”

“Tell him I extend My deepest gratitude. Tell him it moves Me. Tell him I love it.”

“As You—”

“I love it. Make sure to emphasize that. He needs to know unequivocally.”

“He heard You,” Brontes barked.

Leila shot him a glare, turning back to Hylas. “Emphasize it. Don’t forget.”

“She’s finished.” Brontes flagged the guards. “Take it away.”

Her stomach sank as the guards marched off with Her painting.

“This concludes the presentation of the gifts.” Hylas bowed. “Gratitude to everyone for honoring Her Holiness.”

“And what of the Sovereign?” Delphi said. “Is there no gift for his daughter on Her most anticipated of birthdays?”

Brontes didn’t waver, his one eye locked on Leila. “My gift arrives tonight. Expect it at Your chamber, Your Holiness.”

The feast continued in all its reverential glory, but Leila had grown tired of it. Once Her father’s gaze left Hers, She slipped away, taking in a full breath. Freedom—but not quite. Making certain She was alone, She glanced over Her shoulder before allowing the most freeing vision to overtake Her.

The watchtower.

Light pierced Her eyes, fading to harsh grey stone and a vast black sky.

Leila leaned against the sill and stared out into the night. The watchtower was Her most treasured sanctuary. The conditions were haggard, but She didn’t care about the crumbling walls, the dust on the floor. She came for the evening air, the solitude, and more than anything the view. The entire realm lay before Her, its towns lit with specks of light, its rolling hills sprinkled with cottages. A meager escape from the confines of Her palace.

Thessen. She strained Her eyes, focusing on the hillside, but predictably, nothing happened. The town. The village. The well. She tried to see Herself there, to summon Her light, but She remained in Her tower same as always.

“Are You trying to leave?”

Delphi sauntered up to Leila’s side, gazing out at the realm with Her. Sighing, Leila dragged Her fingertip along the rough stone. “I try every night. My power is constantly evolving, who’s to say it won’t work one day?”

“No progress?”

“The farthest I’ve gotten is the wall.”

“Still can’t travel to places You’ve never been before, I take it?”

Leila growled. “Such a pain. What good are gifts if they come with limitations?”

“I think Your shadow walking serves You well. Certainly gives You a strategic advantage, since Brontes knows nothing of it. Our little secret, yes?”

Leila mustered a smile. “I like that you call it that. Shadow walking. Makes it sound mysterious.”

Her eyes made their way back to the realm, and Her smile died.

“One day You’ll be able to leave,” Delphi said. “We both will. When it’s safe.”

“I can’t remember the last time I felt safe.”

“You will walk the streets of Thessen, and the people will weep in adoration.”

Leila said nothing, tracing Her finger along the sill, drawing invisible circles.

“Everything will be rectified. This tournament doesn’t mark Your end, it marks Your beginning.” Delphi came in closer. “Everything will work out as it should.”

“I should’ve made moves sooner,” Leila muttered. “I should’ve disarmed the Senate years ago.”

“No one can blame You for being reluctant.”

“But now it’s all happening. And there’s so much left to do.”

“Leila, You were a child when You learned of Your father’s treachery. Girls of the same age were playing with dolls, yet You began studying politics, training to protect Yourself.” Delphi leaned in closer. “Today is not Your coming of age. You and I know full well You became a woman long ago. You are strong, You are capable, but more than anything, You are prepared.”

Leila didn’t waver, and Delphi’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing? Even after all that? I thought I was quite eloquent. I’m giving You my best material, You know.”

“It’s funny. I’m The Savior, yet I haven’t saved much of anyone, have I?”

“Andreas broke his arm, and You mended it in just two days. Eos, she had that terrible cyst, and Rosealie, when she struggled with childbirth.”

“Ah yes, the palace staff. I’ve helped those within the walls of this fortress, and no one else.”

“You bless the land every day,” Delphi maintained. “The whole of Thessen reaps Your harvests. You’ve told me time and again a sickness lingers beneath our soil, yet You alone keep it at bay. People are well because of You.”

“Because of Me, The Savior locked in a cage.”

“Leila—”

“I’ve saved nothing,” Leila said. “And I’m starting to lose track of the men I’ve killed.”

“Is that what this is about? You hate Yourself for circumstances beyond Your control?”

“Nothing is supposed to be beyond My control,” Leila grumbled.

“You’re doing what You can with what’s been given to You. You’re a warrior. A survivor.”

“A killer. I kill people, Delphi.”

“You rid the realm of corruption, as The Savior should. You protect Your people whether they know it or not.” Delphi glowered. “I swear, first You’re upset for not making moves sooner, now You call Yourself a killer. If You’re going to condemn Yourself, at least pick one or the other.”

A heavy silence wedged between them, and Delphi sighed. “Apologies. You’re frustrated. I understand…”

“It’s all right,” Leila muttered. “I’d just like to be alone, that’s all.”

“I know. But You’ve been summoned.”

“By who?”

“Romulus.” Delphi nodded at the stairwell. “He’s waiting in the east wing.”

“Alone?”

“Of course.”

Leila rolled Her eyes. “Fucking hell.”

The east wing. Delphi disappeared behind rays of white, and in her place stood a marble bust on a pedestal. The east wing materialized around Leila—cream walls, amber-brown tiles, and Romulus lingering a ways away.

He walked through the space, gesturing for Her to follow, and Leila quickly reached his side. Glancing across the corridor, he spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t secure the Proctorship.”

“You failed?”

“Brontes went another way.”

“Which way?”

He hesitated. “Simon.”

“Simon’s to be the Proctor?” Romulus nodded, and Leila growled. “I’ll correct this. The work never ends, not even on My birthday.”

Romulus veered down another passage, while Leila continued along the stretch of sameness. Conflicted emotions battled in Her gut, but She forced them down, trying instead to see only Brontes’s glare and their unspoken war.

To Simon’s chamber.

“Your Holiness?”

Leila spun around, meeting a golden mane and dumbfounded gaze. “Good God, Asher, you scared the shit out of Me.”

Asher was considerably more clothed than the last time She saw him, decorated in silver armor with a spear in hand, but his eyes were lit with the same vacant awe. “Apologies, Your Holiness, I didn’t intend to startle You, nor to force such language from Your tongue.”

“Oh yes, these virtuous lips of Mine burn at the taste of foul words,” Leila scoffed.

“Really? Is that so?”

Rolling Her eyes, Leila continued on Her way. “Good night, Asher.”

“Wait.” He stepped forward. “Your Holiness, I was actually looking for You.”

“You were?”

“I waited at Your chamber for some time, but You never showed,” he said.

“For what purpose?”

“Your birthday gift. From the Sovereign.”

“Oh.” She folded Her arms. “Well, go on then. Hand it over.”

“It’s me. I’m the birthday gift.”

“…You’re My birthday gift.”

“That’s right.”

She eyed him up and down. “I don’t…understand…”

“From this night forward, I’m to be Your personal guard.” He held his chin high. “Each evening I will stand watch outside Your chamber. Should anyone try to disturb You or God forbid seek You harm, they will be met by my vow and my spear.”

Leila faltered. “You’re My personal guard?”

“Yes.” Asher smiled.

“So I’ll be seeing your face…in front of My chamber…every night.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Groaning, Leila rubbed Her temples. “God.”

“Is something wrong, Your Holiness?”

“Oh, not at all. Today’s My twentieth birthday, and My father has gifted Me a nanny.”

“It’s for Your protection,” Asher said. “The tournament begins soon. Eventually the competitors will be within these walls. The Sovereign’s concerned for Your safety.”

“I’m sure he is. And let Me guess, you’re to report My whereabouts to him?”

“Exactly.” Asher nodded at the corridor ahead. “Are You headed to Your chamber now?”

Leila spoke through gritted teeth. “Of course. I can’t think of any other place I’d be headed at this hour.”

Asher held out his arm. “I’ll walk You.”

Reluctantly, Leila linked Her arm with his and trudged along at his side. His skin against Hers was soft, warm, and a little repellent, as visions of him entangled in Cosima’s sheets swam through Her mind. Her gold chamber door appeared before them, and Asher grinned as if he was pleased with himself.

Yes, Asher, you walked Me to My chamber. Such a heroic feat, how ever did you manage?

He turned to Her, displaying the door. “Here we are.”

Leila forced a smile. “Well then, I suppose you can report to My concerned father that I’m turning in tonight. All this celebrating has left Me worn.”

“Of course, Your Holiness. Pleasant evening, and happy birthday.”

Her smile faded. “It’s Leila, you know. My name. It’s Leila.”

“It’s a lovely name, Your Holiness.”

Another vacant gaze, but Leila didn’t hold it for long, taking to Her chamber. With a huff, She peeled off Her jewelry, Her crown, until She stood unencumbered. Ready. Her mothers watched from Her wardrobe.

“It’s My birthday,” Leila whispered.

Their sad gazes spoke for them, adding a sting to go with Her sickness.

“Please forgive Me.”

She closed Her eyes, and Her body filled with heat.

Simon’s chamber.

When Her eyes opened, She was in another room entirely, and a gangly man stood paces away.

Simon gasped. “Your Holiness.”

Leila squared Her shoulders, staring long and hard at the Senator—the man abetting Her end. She pulled Her blade from the sheath on Her thigh.

“Have a seat.”