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Alessandra never writes me. I barely write her—only when I wish to amuse myself by chastising her. She thinks me a puffed-up imbecile, which I find all the more entertaining. Alessandra has always been too obvious about what she wants and how she’ll go about getting it. Right now, she’s attempting to woo the Shadow King.

I chuckle quietly to myself. If he didn’t want me, then he’s certainly not going to want her. It’s not a matter of vanity. I may have gotten Mother’s looks, but that’s no matter. A pretty face will only get you so far. What’s most important is that I’m the better actress. I can pretend to be what men want. And what men want most, I’ve discovered, is someone they think they can control. So I pretend to be docile. I pretend to be obedient. When men think they can control you, they don’t watch you as closely. When they think you’re stupid, they’re not so careful about the things they’ll say in front of you.

But Alessandra? I could always tell what she was thinking. Although, I will admit that I hadn’t thought her capable of murder. When the truth about what happened to her first lover came out, I was caught by surprise. And even more shocking was the king’s immediate pardoning of her.

It’s my fault the two of us aren’t close. We’ve always been in competition for our father’s attention. His whole world was Mother, but when she died when I was twelve and Alessandra eleven, I knew his love would either transfer to Alessandra or to me. He only ever had enough room in his heart for one woman at a time, so I snatched it up before Alessandra even knew what was happening. She would have done the same if she could.

We live in a world where men decide everything. Where we live. When we receive money. Who we will marry. I knew my best chanceof achieving happiness was to wrap my father around my finger. It was her or me.

I chose me.

I feel a little guilty at times, but that won’t matter when I finally have what I want. When I’m rich and beholden to no man, I can do whatever I wish, including cultivating a relationship with my sister if I choose.

I unfold the letter and read its contents:

Dear Chrysantha,

I wanted to extend a personal invitation to my wedding. Kallias and I are marrying in six months’ time. My coronation is to be held the same day, right after the marriage ceremony.

You will attend, yes? Or are you too busy playing nursemaid to your wrinkled husband? Surely you can spare some time for the biggest day in your only sister’s life? Send your reply along speedily, and I shall save you a front-row seat to this trollop’s wedding to the Shadow King.

All my best,

Alessandra

There’s a thundering in my ears, and I don’t notice until it’s too late that I’ve crushed the letter within my grasp.

The king.

My little sister is wedding the damned king.

He didn’t want me, but he wants her.Her!The murderess.

All this time I’ve spent plotting, planning, trying to achieve something for myself. I’ve been molested, degraded, verbally assaulted day after day, and for what? Thus far, I have nothing to show for it.

Meanwhile, Alessandra has slept with so many men that I’ve lost count. I’ve called her much worse than a trollop in the past. It was my way of telling her to be cautious. She had to be careful with her reputation ifshe was to secure a good future for herself. And it made me feel better, when the jealousy over her finding companionship while I was fighting for survival on my own would nearly overcome me. Because I thought carrying on as she did would prevent me from marrying into wealth.

But somehow she won aking. She will become an actualqueen. She’ll have untold resources and money andeverything. No one will ever touch her, not when she’s wedded to the most powerful man in the world.

My temperature spikes, and red tinges the world.

She won.

How could she have won? She didn’t do anything! She didn’t earn it. She didn’t even know we were playing the same game and how, how, how, damn it?

During my frantic musings, I hadn’t realized I’d drawn closer to the bed. Pholios strikes like a snake, gripping my hip through my dress, and trying to pull me closer.

In my fury, I smack his hand away without thinking.

The duke and I both freeze.

“Did you just strike me?” he asks.

“I had an itch, Your Grace.”

He grunts and has the audacity to look offended, but I can tell a foul thought has taken root in his mind when he suddenly smiles.

“Come closer, wife, and I shall forgive it.”