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“My uncle hates me now because if Constantinos passes, I would take the throne and I have military support to enforce it. But Constantinos has always known that after he announces his son as heir, he’ll become the next target.”

“He will?”

“It’s far more appealing to be regent and control a five-year-old than to extort an adult.”

Extort?

“If he can see my every move... if I can act unthreatening... He can’t overtly attack me in the palace. He’d have to be extremely cunning or Constantinos will finally have a chance to be rid of him. I’ll be safe enough. For a while.”

A rush of movement and the clop of hooves up the bridge has us spinning around. Nicostratus pulls me by the wrist behind him. A palace aklo slows his horse to a halt, another trailing, saddled, behind him.

“What is it?” Nicostratus asks, voice deep and commanding.

The aklo’s face is expressionless. He holds out a badge. “The king requests your presence.”

The grip on my wrist loosens. Nicostratus twists to me. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“When will we...”

“It may be more difficult in the coming year. I’ll send word.” He unhooks the beads at his belt and tucks them into my hand, pressing my fingers tight.

I squeeze them as he leaps astride the spare horse and looks at me one last time before he turns towards the palace.

Absentmindedly, I fasten the beads onto my belt and limp my way around narrow streets towards town, glimpsing the boats on the canals, lit with lanterns. In the distance, fireworks boom. Are we both captivated by them as he hurries towards his responsibilities? Is he thinking of me too?

I worry my bottom lip with my teeth.

He’s returning to the palace, to live. Will he be my next Veronica? Will I hope to hear from him and eventually give up, knowing we’ll forever be stuck on opposite sides of those giant stone walls? The beads at my belt feel heavier, their weight a silent reminder not to merely dream but to take action. If I don’t want this separation, I must earn a place in the palace.

The final examination is my chance.

Again, hooves clatter. It’s the wrong direction; it can’t possibly be—but...

I hold my breath.

The horse is first a shadow along cobbled stone, and then—

I throw a laugh towards the heavens. “Of course.”

The horse and its rider come to a tight stop, Quin a proud silhouette against moonlight. Only the readjustment of his reins hints at his surprise. The horse’s tail whooshes and Quin claps her neck. He eyes me approaching with a shake of my head.

His gaze sinks down and shoots to my face again. “What happened to your foot?”

“It’s nothing. I had a drink and rolled it.”

“You shouldn’t be walking.”

I grin. “Since when are you the vitalian?”

I hobble forward some more, and he growls. “How in all the kingdoms did you pass today? Stop!”

“It’s the lovelight festival, I can’t see much from here. I want to head up the hill and then I want pecan puffs. It’s all about priorities.”

“Wait.” Quin moves his horse to a tree at the side of the street and tosses the reins over a low-hanging branch, quietly chastising me with his eyes as I limp over. He unhooks his bad leg from the stirrup and sits upright, hands dancing delicately as he calls his magic. His gaze ticks upward to the sky.

The air whistles around us, stronger and stronger, and magically arranged gusts lift us into the air. I lurch upwards with it, one hand latching onto Quin’s sleeve. “Wait, Quin! A bit of warning next time.”

“You said you wanted to see.”