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One week later I stood at the rail of the Gilded Lily, my hands white-knuckled on the polished wood. Salt spray kissed my face, stinging my cracked lips, and the wind tried to steal my hair from its pins. I closed my eyes against the sickening motion of the ship. I felt as if I were riding an unbroken stallion and coming out the worse for it. Each wave was a fresh surge of nausea, twisting my gut into knots.

The galleon plunged, sending my stomach swooping towards my chest. I bent over the rail and retched again. Nothing came out except unappealing noises. I’d already voided my stomach into the sea enough times that my abdominal muscles ached. Some opportunity this was starting out to be.

Julieta, standing carefully upwind of me, rubbed comforting circles on my back. “Only three more days to Arnhelm, my lady. At least you’re not having a flare.”

I released an eloquent groan.

I knew why the Council of Nine had chosen to send me by ship: the massive galleon, one of the ships that made up Damaria’s fleet, was impressive. Every inch of the Gilded Lily ’s considerable length was built to catch the eye: gleaming bulwarks; crisp sails bearing a massive rendition of Damaria’s blue ninefold star; the Adept-forged cannons set along the gun deck. The ship was a message, and not a subtle one. Gildenheim had threatened war; Damaria reciprocated with peace offerings, but they were offerings set with sharp teeth. An armed conflict would cost our neighbor dearly.

I had liked the idea of an ocean voyage. Unlike Tatiana, I’d never ventured far enough from home to merit one before, but nautical adventures featured heavily in the romantic tales that my sister and I had devoured as children—stories of warriors defending villages from vicious monsters with dauntless blades, of curses broken with true love’s kiss, of brave adventurers with enchanted boots that crossed seven leagues in a single stride. I’d spent enough time in a carriage to know I loathed the way they jolted my stomach—especially when I was in the midst of a flare—and the journey was too long for horseback, my preferred means of travel, to be practical. A ship had seemed an appealing alternative—at least in theory.

In practice, apparently, I was violently seasick. Thank the Virtue of Mercy my future husband was not aboard; the sight of his betrothed puking over the rail for hours was not exactly the show of strength the Council, or my parents, desired. Nor, for that matter, how I wanted to meet Aric. I somehow doubted my intended would be charmed by vomiting.

The ship rolled. I bent over the rail again, retching.

Something wet and slimy slapped me across the face.

I leaped back with a yelp, stumbling as the deck rolled beneath my feet. Julieta grabbed me with one arm, a knife appearing in her other hand to fend off an attack. Regaining my balance, I looked around, baffled. There was no sign of an assailant.

“My lady?” Julieta asked.

I touched a hand to my cheek. My fingers came away wet and salty. “I believe the sea just slapped me in the face.”

Julieta’s brow furrowed. Then she snorted and sheathed her dagger, pointing to the deck. “Your attacker, your Grace.”

I looked down and yelped again. A rainbow-sheened creature the length of my palm was flapping across the wet boards. At first glance, it was a fish. Except I had never seen a fish with a set of feathered wings and a pointed beak.

“What is that ?” I demanded.

“I believe, my lady, that would be a birdfish.”

My brows lifted towards my hairline. “Those still exist? I thought they were extinct.”

Curiosity overcoming my nausea, I pulled out a handkerchief and stooped. The birdfish jackknifed across the deck, tail flapping feebly. Gingerly, mindful not to crush its wings, I caught it in the handkerchief to examine it.

The birdfish stared back at me, eyes bulging, beak opening and closing soundlessly. Its wings fluttered against the handkerchief. Up close, they were not feathered as I’d thought, but sheathed in iridescent, plume-like scales coated by protective slime.

I’d heard of such unnatural creatures—as examples in a cautionary tale. An illustration of why magic’s uses should be limited to unliving metal and stone. The birdfish was strangely lovely, but a shimmer of apprehension ran through me. The folktales sprang to my memory again, bristling with legendary beasts: firedrakes that spat bilious green flame; wyrdwolves that hunted the souls of the dying; trees that walked on their roots beneath the full moon, wandering in search of human flesh. If the birdfish was real, what more dangerous beings might exist in a country with unregulated magic?

“Your Grace. May I have a word?”

A woman’s low voice spoke behind me, close enough that I flinched in surprise. Not Julieta. Absorbed in examining the birdfish, I hadn’t been aware of her approach. I drew a bracing breath and turned to face the newcomer, keeping one hand on the rail for support.

My hand tightened on the wood as I laid eyes on the speaker: a woman of Damarian heritage near my own age, her olive skin tanned by hours of martial practice under the peninsula’s constant sun. The wind plucked at her dark curls as if it cherished them for its own. Hands folded behind her back in a soldier’s wide-legged stance, she watched me with a caution I had planted in her myself.

Virtue of Serenity. Of all the people I wanted to talk to between bouts of vomiting up my guts, Catalina Espada, the captain of my appointed retinue of guards and formerly my closest friend, was exceptionally low on the list.

I forced a polite smile onto my face, ignoring the guilt doing its best to contort my mouth in the opposite direction.

“If it’s quick,” I conceded. “I’m somewhat preoccupied.”

Catalina’s eyes flitted from my face to my hand, just as the birdfish gave a vigorous twitch. “With your… fish?”

Heat rose to my cheeks. Sink me to the depths—I’d forgotten I was holding it. I looked a fool, addressing her with a winged fish in hand.

I thrust the handkerchief-wrapped birdfish at Julieta. “Um. If you would…”

She took it from me as naturally as if I’d passed her a glass of water. “I’ll put it back over the rail, my lady.”

Julieta turned away, her steps enviably steady despite the heaving deck. I looked back at Catalina, my heart sinking towards my long-suffering stomach as I realized I’d unintentionally granted her a private audience. By all the Virtues, I was not prepared for this. I hadn’t spent the last ten years avoiding looking her in the eye only to have an intimate conversation en route to my wedding. In truth, I’d thought I was leaving her behind for good—I’d never expected her to volunteer for this mission, much less to captain the retinue of guards that would attend me in my new home. She deserved better.

Through my sleeve, I touched the outlines of the dagger strapped to my wrist—a new precaution, though one I’d readily agreed to. Maybe Catalina just wanted to talk about our security measures. We’d been over them extensively before setting sail, and every night since as well. But when it came to my safety, Catalina was clearly… dedicated.

Better to get this over with.

“Well?” I asked, working to keep all inflection from my voice. “You have your word.”

Catalina glanced after Julieta, who was now out of earshot and showed no intention of rescuing me from this conversation, drown her. My captain of the guard rocked from toe to heel, a nervous gesture I recognized from countless hours spent training together. Nita, our fencing instructor, would have smacked her. Not that Nita had trained her in years. Now Catalina trained with the palace guards, and I went to my daily weapons practice alone.

“May I speak freely, your Grace?” Catalina asked.

“If you must.”

She shifted her weight again. “I wanted to talk to you about…” Her eyes searched the deck as if she hoped to find the right words inscribed on the planks.

“Yes?” I prompted. The ship surged, and I fought down another wave of bile.

“About your marriage,” Catalina said, in a tone that suggested each syllable pained her like acid.

My stomach roiled. Please let her mean the security measures. “We’ve already discussed this. I trust your precautions. I’ll be safe enough with the plans we’ve put in—”

“I don’t mean the plans.” Any other one of my guards would have been appalled at cutting me off, but Catalina didn’t stop or apologize. She carried on without pause as if dragged full tilt by a team of horses. “No amount of planning will ensure your safety if the threat is the man you’re marrying.”

I swallowed back nausea that wasn’t entirely due to the ship’s motion. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bianca, I’m not oblivious to the rumors. People are saying he killed his own mother to ascend the throne. That he’s cold and arrogant—everyone’s beneath him, he hardly talks to anyone if he can avoid it. I’m concerned for you. As the captain of your guard.” Her eyes finally lifted to mine, and a flicker of their old warmth showed beneath the ice glazing their surface. “And as… a friend.”

I kept my face impassive. The rumors weren’t reassuring, but my betrothed wasn’t the only partner in this match who generated gossip; I knew how whispers spread. And while Catalina might be correct, she overlooked the relevant point.

“My marital happiness has nothing to do with this arrangement.” Years of practice at hiding my thoughts kept my face untroubled and my tone even. “My wedding to King Aric is a political arrangement to ease tensions between Gildenheim and Damaria.”

“And that’s why I’m concerned for you.” Catalina’s gaze darkened. “Did you agree to this marriage? Or did House Liliana?”

I looked away from her, afraid of what she might think she read in my expression. Sunlight speared between scattered clouds and shimmered on the waves, leaving a bright afterimage across my gaze.

“I’m not being forced. This is my choice, Cata.”

A muscle in her jaw flickered at the childhood nickname. Curse my careless tongue. Now more than ever, I needed to maintain the distance I’d so carefully laid out.

“Are you certain?” Her voice dropped, low enough that I could barely hear it. “This wouldn’t be the first time you were forced into something you called a choice.”

Against my will, memories sped past like leaves caught on a strong breeze. Lingering glances before weapons training. The brush of a hand against mine as we passed in the hallway. A kiss beneath the ripe fruits of an apricot tree, sweetness on my tongue. Those sensations were a decade old, but they had been my firsts. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t purge them from my memory.

But those feelings were only a flame that had flared briefly and died out years before. Despite what Catalina believed, it had been my choice to end things between us. It was for the best. I’d laid those embers to rest and done my best to forget they’d ever burned, and Catalina had done the same. The last I’d heard, she was betrothed to a court tailor—a good woman. One who wouldn’t cast her aside when politics required it.

Not that I’d been paying attention to Catalina’s personal affairs, of course.

“You’re mistaken,” I said stiffly.

“I know we’ve both moved on. I’m not speaking from a place of jealousy.” Catalina looked up at me, her gaze snaring mine. “But I know that what you believe and what you say you believe haven’t always aligned, Bianca. If you’re being forced into this marriage—if this isn’t truly your choice—”

I raised my hand sharply, cutting her off. Like the good soldier she was, Catalina fell silent.

“You’re overreacting, Captain Espada.” I did my best to banish all emotion from my voice. My mother would have been proud for once. “I’m marrying the man, not joining his kitchen staff.”

Catalina’s fingers closed around the hilt of her rapier. “If you don’t want this marriage… I could help you. I volunteered for this voyage to protect you— you, not House Liliana. There are other countries. Other continents, even.”

And in all of them, Damaria’s ships made port. Besides, there was the treaty to think of. Didn’t Catalina realize what would happen if war broke out? While the concept of Damaria at war felt as distant as the bottom of the sea—something I knew was real but couldn’t truly picture—I’d read enough history to know its cost. War, even one we could win, meant sacrifice, and commoners like her— soldiers like her—would be the first to fall.

I put the ring of Adept-forged steel into my voice, cutting off any further protests. “I’ve agreed to this marriage. My decision is final. We won’t speak of this again.”

Catalina’s mouth flattened into a narrow line. I could see her disagreement, her hesitation. But her current concerns were only proof that I’d been right to cut things off when we were younger—I would always have hurt her. At least now she grappled with worry for my safety rather than heartbreak.

“Please leave,” I said, my words gentler this time. “Nothing you say is going to change my mind. Discussing this further will only make it worse for us both.”

Catalina gathered herself. Returned her shoulders to the upright posture of a soldier.

“I understand, your Grace.” She bowed politely, the space between us suddenly leagues wider. “I’ll speak no more of this matter. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I turned my gaze away from the disapproval clouding her eyes. “Send Julieta back to me, please.”

Catalina bowed again and turned away, her steps rigid. A soldier’s gait, dutifully battling the ocean’s churning.

I turned back to the open sea, so I didn’t have to watch her go. And then vomited again, retching out the bile I’d been keeping at bay during our conversation.

Empty, I hung over the rail. The sun dazzled from the sea into my eyes, half blinding me. In the distance a school of birdfish flashed in and out of the waves, each leap a miniature rainbow.

But I was in no state to appreciate the ocean’s beauty. Weari ness hung heavy on me, as if the ship’s anchor had been slung over my shoulders. I wiped my mouth, the acid taste of my own stomach contents stinging my palate. I was in the public eye. I needed to appear strong, even if on the inside my bones had turned to eggshells. Bracing myself against the rail, I forced my shoulders to square instead of slumping as they wanted to.

At least the seasickness was understandable—something I didn’t have to hide. Julieta was right. It could have been worse. But not by much. Even without the galleon’s roll, my own thoughts would have made me nauseated.

My parents. My sister. Now Catalina, who apparently could still cut me even through the walls I’d built between us. Each said they supported me while questioning all my decisions. I knew they wanted the best for me, but I wished they trusted me to decide what that meant for myself.

I was almost twenty-six, a woman grown. I wasn’t a child, deluding myself with the glitter of a golden crown, unaware of the sharpness beneath its bright gleam. I knew what this decision entailed. And I had made it anyway.

A husband or a war. The choice was simple.

I touched the hidden dagger again, tracing the outlines of its sheath.

Perhaps Catalina was right about my future husband’s character. I knew hardly anything of the man; no one had expected him to ascend the throne before reaching the age of thirty, so he hadn’t been the subject of intense surveillance, and he’d largely hidden himself from the public eye. His father had died young, and his mother, the widowed queen, had been in excellent health until her sudden demise—or at least, so our ambassador reported. A monarchy that used blood for magic, if the rumors Tatiana had told me were correct, must be a ruthless lineage. Perhaps Aric really had killed his mother to gain the throne.

The thought sent a shiver down my back, but I brushed it aside. There was no guarantee that the rumors were true—or that they weren’t an exaggeration of something far more benign. Even if Aric and I weren’t ultimately a good match, this marriage was still an opportunity to unfold my life from the rigid shape it had always hewed. Already I’d seen more of the world in the past few days than I had in my entire lifetime—complete with birdfishes to the face. Perhaps my future husband would be equally surprising.

In any case, whoever my betrothed proved to be, I would learn soon enough, and I would match him. Blade for blade. Move for move. Perhaps even heart for heart—though I knew better than to count on the last.

It didn’t matter. Noble marriages were built on necessity, not love. And this was the right choice. The only one.

I had to see it through.