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“No,” she replies with a coy smile. “I could not be happier.”

“You can be both happy and nervous.”

“Are you nervous, Ruya?”

“Well…” Her friend steps back, examining her work. “I have never worked for a queen before.”

“I am your friend before I am your queen,” Honora says, taking her hands. “That comes before all else.”

Ruya smiles, her eyes crinkling, and wipes away a stray tear.

“A true love tale,” she says, her chest swelling with pride. “All of Mossgarde is here to see your wedding.”

Honora inhales deeply, settling the butterflies in her stomach.

“I am truly lucky, Ruya. To think, I nearly joined my grandparents in Coalsburgh…” Honora trails off wistfully. “I may never become Ascended in Mossgarde but I am happy with that.”

A comfortable life. The thought makes Honora smile.

“If you are happy, then you have madethe right choice. The king loves you more than anything, and soon, you will be a queen.”

“Yes. He loves me.” Honora turns to look at herself in the mirror. Her dress sleeves are long, running down to cover even her wrists. A dull ache in her chest reminds her of her promise to the king—she would not show her tattoos on their wedding day.Unsightly, he had said.They distract from your beauty. When she had protested, his eyes became sad.

If you loved me, you would do me this one favour. For just one day.

And she does love him. So much so that it hurts sometimes, a sick feeling in her stomach. She runs the pad of her thumb over her fingers, feeling the callouses there from making her wedding gown. She has bled for him already, and she will do so again.

Honora tugs down the sleeves of her dress and smiles at Ruya.

“I am ready.”

26 Years Ago

“How is she?” Vanya asks, concern etched into her face. By way of an answer, Ruya collapses to a sitting position on the side of her bed,hunched over.

The servants’ quarters are quiet, with only a handful of others either sleeping or murmuring quietly to each other. Ruya’s hands quake, her au’mana flickering weakly in the palm of her hands. Vanya wraps an arm around the other woman’s shoulders, squeezing her. When Ruya looks up, her eyes are ringed with dark.

“You are exhausted,” Vanya tells her, a deep crease between her brows.

“I cannot stop,” Ruya whispers back.

“You must rest.”

“I will,” she says wearily. “It is just…we are so high from Mossgarde, and the tunnel needs so much magic.”

She sinks forward again with her head in her hands. Vanya rubs her back, Ruya’s ophidtaut there.

“Honora is strong. She can fight—”

“He wants her pregnant.”

Vanya falls silent, her throat constricting.

“What?” she croaks out.

“I heard one of the guards,” Ruya says miserably. “He…if he succeeds, she cannot shapeshift. It is too dangerous for the baby.”

“She will be unable to fight back,” Vanya finishes quietly. “Has she said anything?”