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Ryn took in his rich, fitted robe and the thin gold crown upon his dark hair. He was much younger than she’d expected, not the old troll she’d pictured—that was her first thought. But when he settled his gaze upon her… and then the corner of his mouth tugged upward…

She froze halfway down the carpet.

Ryn imagined him in a dirt-covered landscaping tunic, his hair a mess, his features dimmed by the night’s shadows.

A flush threatened to turn her cheeks to roses as warmth speared up her neck. She tried to tell herself her eyes were deceiving her. That this could not really be the same youngman she’d spilled her terrible plan of escape to. Whom she’d persuaded to lift her over the wall in an act of betrayal.

Ryn’s sandals were sticky against the floor when she resumed walking, each step a chore as she wondered how far behind her the silver arch was. As she wondered how difficult it would be to run for it, to make it through the halls and out the palace front entrance. She could be dead by midnight if she stayed. But the Folke guarded the doors, and the mosaic dress was so heavy, she’d have trouble walking out, let alone running. She pulled her parted lips closed, and she swallowed past her thick, dry throat.

“Maiden!” someone whispered. She tore her gaze off the King and landed it on an organizer beside the walkway. The organizer gave a small nod toward the other three Heartstealer maidens standing near the end of the navy carpet. Where she wassupposedto be standing.

Ryn’s legs quivered as she rushed to join them. She thought she might crumple to the floor and melt into it. The nobles’ heavy gazes were like hands squeezing her insides.

The organizers said several things to the room—things Ryn didn’t hear. Everything became a blur of sounds and colour. Her lungs were too tight to breathe properly.

Through the distortion of glassy glimmers from the overhead lanterns, the clapping nobles, and the faint smell of fermented fruit in the air, one single, crystal-clear thought entered Ryn’s mind.

The King had looked up when her name was called.

She hadn’t imagined it. The King had recognized her name.

Ryn’s eyes darted back up the dais, finding him. The King hadn’t moved a muscle. He sat with good posture on his throne now, facing the room with interest.

He was still looking at her.

Ryn’s gaze dropped back to the floor.

A slow procession of events followed where the maidens each took a turn gliding to a designated space before the King and his Intelligentsia and bowing as a form of formal greeting. Ryn twisted her fingers. Her lashes fluttered against a dizzy spell. She was sure she’d pass out when it was her turn.

The third maiden finished a bow and a fine curtsy. She, like the others, said one or two greetings to the King in a soft, sweet voice, introducing herself and stating her intentions to try and impress him in the trials. He never said anything back. Not to the first maiden, not to the second, not to the third either.

The third maiden turned and left down the navy carpet.

The organizer waved Ryn forward, and she dragged her feet in slow steps, one after the other, until she was in the spot directly before the King. It was then she realized she didn’t know how to perform a proper bow. She didn’t know how to curtsy, either, or say an appropriate greeting to royalty. And, Divinities, she’d been too distracted to overhear the other girls’ greetings to copy them.

People noticed she didn’t greet the King, didn’t look up at him. So, she cleared her throat quietly, and said, “Your Majesty—”

“Ugly, was it?” he cut her off, and her wide eyes flashed up to him after all. “Andheartless?”

Ryn’s lips peeled apart. Intelligentsia members tilted toward the King. She had no idea if they knew what he was referring to—if they’d learned of the names she’d called him to his face.

She took in a slow, shaky breath. “You must have me confused with someone else,” she rasped. “I don’t know what you speak of.”

The King stared at her for a moment. And then he laughed.

The entire room hushed, the Intelligentsia staring at the King with startled faces like they’d never heard him laugh before. Like Ryn had done something terrible by making him react at all. One sage leaned forward and whispered to the sage in front of him.

The King’s laugh was raspy and deep in contrast to his youthful appearance, and some of the nobles began giggling along with him. Ryn laced her fingers together tightly in front of her, strangling them. After a moment, the King’s laughter ceased, bringing the marvel to an end, and he sighed.

“Divinities,” he cursed.

The King suddenly stood from his throne and the nobles at Ryn’s back burst into shocked murmurs and gasps as he trotted down the glass stairs until he was in front of her. He eyed her rosy cheeks, her throat when she swallowed, her dress.

“And they sayI’mcrazy,” he said. He poked her forehead. “You must have the memory of a brick.”

Ryn’s mouth parted.

Abrick?!