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“I heard what a show you’ve been putting on,” Esmée says, her dimples deepening.

“I admit I had hoped to make a reunion of this,” says Princess Aesir.

“I was younger, then, barely seventeen, but I so adored the way you two performed together.” She lets out a breathy sigh, throwing her hands against her heart.

“Like fated doves. And it seems I was not the only one to feel this way, because when I proposed the idea to the other courts, they agreed she would be an honored guest.”

Then she pivots a glance my way, mouth curling. Copelan follows it, then scrubs a hand over his face. He mutters a quick introduction: her name, my name. Esmée doesn’t recognize me. She wouldn’t; we only danced together at the Melune for a few weeks, and even then, I had been in the background.

I wonder where she’s been in the years since. She tips her head in greeting, and though her gaze isn’t unkind, I feel small enough to sink through the cracks in the walkway.

They talk. She tells him about the job she took in Brisendale in a boutique theater near Kurst, the capital, and all the while I stand there, awkwardly, trying not to read their expressions.

But I can’t help it. They look at each other like they were lovers.

Like they were ripped apart, and now, all their feelings have slipped back through time.

I sense the princess’s gaze once more. Then she claps once, loudly, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Oh, I have the most fabulous idea. Why don’t you two perform together for us? My, what a treat that would be after all this time!”

Esmée bites back a smile, but Copelan does not. His cheeks spread, but then he shakes his head and scrubs his hair. Meanwhile the princess ticks off her ideas.

I stop listening, watching Princess Aesir.

I tell myself she couldn’t have planned this for me, but then I remember the time I’d seen her sitting with Illian that night, talking for hours.

I’ve found them together several times since, both watching me whenever I stepped in the room.

Then, after the Razami dance where Copelan kissed me, she’d pulled him away.

So then, if you’re not lovers, she’d said, that means you’re free for the taking, no?

It’s as if she tried to lure him from my side. And when she failed to keep his attention, she found the one person who could. She then convinced all the other courts to break the rules and let that person in.

It would almost be extraordinary if it did not send shivers up my spine.

You can keep your pup for now, if you manage to hang on to him.

Somehow, Illian knew where to find Esmée and must have had the princess collect her.

If only she had been his Jewel instead.

After dinner, where I barely managed to keep down a slice of cheese and a sliver of bread, I take a walk.

My mind is spinning out of control like a runaway wheel.

Nothing adds up. What does Illian want? Why does he waste his time with trivial matters such as Esmée?

All he has to do is order me to avoid Copelan and I would have to listen. So why go to the trouble?

Why care so much about what I do, when I have no choice but to obey him?

Then I recall the girl he had dressed like me, what he did to her in the night.

His tongue, tasting her flesh.

My name, a prayer on his lips.

The image is imprinted onto my memory with the permanence of a stain.

I shake my head and press on. I still need inspiration. I could still be kicked from the Gathering if I don’t play my part, as meaningless as performing seems right now.

I enter the Dome Hall and slip onto the veranda.

I sit, squeezing my legs between the balusters, allowing my feet to dangle in the air.

Rainfall drapes over the ocean in the distance, a few flashes of light contouring the clouds.

I watch it, letting the wind pull curls from my braid.

Below, commotion bustles about a pavilion, but I’m so high above it, I can’t hear.

So I focus my thoughts, leafing through what I know of Serai: mellow mountains; dry, cracked earth. Big walls. Ahead of me, the sun inches through the clouds and mist, and threads of color light the sky in a brilliant arc. I breathe out.

Color. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Emilia once told me that it was Serain artists who first designated the significance of color and its meanings, and even now, creators from around the world strive to mimic the vibrancy and elegance of their palettes.

An idea knits itself together in my mind as I study the rainbow before me, memorizing which color laps over the next.

I think of what I can sew, the dyes I can use.

I think of their fashion, the way they bespeak rank and emotion.

While the Sovereign Lord’s robes were dark, void of color, his court is swathed in vibrant hues—rouge draped in orange and gold for energy and stimulation, blue scalloped with violet and emerald for peace and harmony.

Carefully selected analogous hues, paired together with purpose and a discerning eye.

I leap up. I have to find Copelan. It’s a stretch, but if we start right away, we might manage. It’s the perfect idea to follow last week. Not too risky, nothing risqué. It’ll be eloquent, soft. I hasten back inside.

Copelan idles near the stage inside the Dome Hall, almost as if I’d summoned him. He’s surrounded by performers. Even so, I race to him, barely containing my excitement.

When he notices me, he excuses himself and pulls me into a private alcove that opens into a small, covered veranda. Bougainvillea crawls along the walls, festooning the balustrade and columns, one of which I lean against as I compose myself.

A salt-kissed breeze sweeps in to ruffle our clothes. Courtiers flit by on a passing walkway, fragments of alarmed conversation drifting past us.

“I was about to look for you,” he begins.

“I have an idea,” I cut in. It feels like a victory to say those words again. Despite everything, the creativity is like a rush. A breath of air when my lungs felt starved for it.

I lay out my ideas in a string of breaths.

He watches me, his expression inscrutable. It is my first inclination that something is wrong. And finally, when I finish, he scrubs his hair. “I appreciate that, Vasalie. I really do.”

I blink at him. “But?”

“But I’ve decided to give you that night off. You won’t have to perform the signature dance. You may enjoy the evening as a member of the audience.”

My brows knit. “I don’t understand. Just this afternoon—”

“I know,” he says. “But you can relax now. I’m sure you need it.”

Perhaps, but I don’t care for someone else dictating what I can or cannot do. That, and it feels like a deflection. “Will you perform alone, then?”

Copelan’s gaze slips from mine, and I realize, then, what he intends. It’s like a blow to the chest. “Esmée,” I say.

“Try not to take it personally. You and I will still perform the next signature dance in just over a week.” And then, noting my expression, he says, “It wasn’t my choice, Vas. It was a request from Princess Aesir.”

You can keep your pup for now, if you manage to hang on to him.

I swallow, my fingers curling into fists. “And you agreed?” I shouldn’t be angry; it isn’t his fault. But I can’t help it. For once, I want someone to deny Illian something he wants.

“Of course I did, Vas. She’s a Crown. ”

“One of many. And you’re the Master of Revels.

You don’t answer to her alone. You could have told her others requested that it be us.

You and me.” I know it’s irrational. It’s jealousy, and I have no right.

I denied him. I turned him away. But when he held me earlier, I hadn’t realized just how much I needed that comfort.

I need it still. I need those arms, need to be held. I need to dance with him, because it’s the only thing holding me together.

My heart is pounding, throbbing.

I am losing him.

“My hands are tied, Vasalie,” Copelan says. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, my composure disintegrating, especially as I remember the way he beheld her. He doesn’t look at me like that. Not with that particular type of yearning, something that runs deeper than infatuation, deeper than lust. “You want this,” I say. “I can see it.”

“So what if I do?” he throws at me, irritation surfacing. “Esmée is a friend.”

Or more.

“At least answer me this,” I say. “King Illian. He was the one who took her away, wasn’t he?”

“I can hardly fault him for seeing her talent,” he says, though I don’t miss the grimace he tries to hide.

“Do you really think Esmée’s arrival is mere coincidence?” The words—they’re spilling between my teeth before I can catch them. “And what about that cosseted, self-imposing princess? Haven’t you ever stopped to wonder what her intentions might be?”

“Vasalie,” Copelan warns. “You forget yourself.”

“Answer the question!”

“I don’t form opinions on the Crowns,” he snaps. “It isn’t my place, nor is it yours. Now, can I rely on you for the rest of the Gathering? If not, tell me now, so I can send you far, far away.”

“I’d really prefer that you didn’t,” says a voice, deep and cool. Authoritative.

Copelan tenses.

Anton, surrounded by courtiers, pauses in the walkway next to us. “Is there a problem here, Master Reveler?” he asks. I wonder how much he heard.

“No, Your Majesty,” Copelan responds, barely keeping the strain from his voice. “We were working out arrangements for the next few days.”

“Master Reveler,” Anton says, slanting a glance toward him, “if you please, I would like a moment alone with Miss Moran. And I urge you to withhold your accusations,” he adds.

“She has done nothing wrong; I merely seek to ask a favor, which she can relay to you as she wishes. It is nothing you need to concern yourself with otherwise.”

It takes Copelan a moment to register that he’s been dismissed. He nods tightly, utters a quick, “Yes, Your Majesty,” then trudges down the hall.

I watch him disappear, wondering if he’ll scold me for this later. The thought alone sends a spike of panic through my heart.

Anton puts his hand on the small of my back, nudging me toward the balustrade, until we’re looking out over the ocean, a jut of rocks piling along the side of the palace beneath us. “Breathe, Vasalie,” he says.

I wet my lips. “A favor, Sire?”

He folds his arms together, sunlight catching on his golden cuffs and the sun-warmed tones of his skin. “I merely thought to break up whatever that was.”

That—referring to Copelan and me.

I run my finger along the strand of bougainvillea lassoing the baluster, then press my palms flat, a swirl of dizziness spiraling my thoughts. “It was nothing, truly.”

“Oh, certainly.” He leans against the rail, elbows propped, his dark hair tousled by the wind. “That couldn’t have been a bout I witnessed. Your brand of foreplay, then?”

“I—” Anger blazes across my cheeks. “You are foul to imply such a thing!”

“I am wonderful. A joy. A gift to mankind.” He slides me a devilish grin. “But I find myself unable to resist getting a rise out of you.”

“Let me get this straight,” I say, folding my arms. “You play a hero, swoop in to save me from the terrible, awful Copelan, and then proceed to badger me yourself?”

“Yes, but you enjoy my badgering. I am heaps more pleasant.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that your Master of Revels is broodier than a souls-damned thundercloud. And Illian is an absolute brute. Try spending time with someone who makes you feel good for a change.”

“And you’re suggesting that’s you?”

He pushes off the railing, straightens a button on his lapel. “I have many talents and appeals, Vasalie, should you care to find out.”

Words desert me at that. And before I can find them, he affords me a last smile, bowing his head. “A pleasure, as always.”

Then he’s gone.