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Bent over, Mara slid on a pair of slippers as the door to her room opened. A familiar looming presence took a few steps in, catching his permanent grimace in her peripheral vision.

He kept good on his promise and finally returned, she’d give him that, but it was only to escort her to the council room.

Mara stood tall, turning to fully face him. Rings of worry underset her eyes, the rest of her bruising disguised by the full coverage dress she changed into.

Mara anxiously twirled the golden ring on her thumb, her hair intentionally worn down to cover the wound that now lined the side of her hairline. Her handmaidens cleaned the room around her in tense harmony, not wanting to look over at Mara. When they drew a bath for her to wash away the stinking water of the Hallowed Cistern and the sweat that doused her from the panic, she began to scream and fight against them without realizing. She knew the water that sat in her basin was not the same as the blessed and thick liquid that soaked her earlier, but her body reacted as if it was.

The tension in the room was palpable, but the captain didn’t comment on it. Instead, he gestured for her to follow him as he walked back out of her chambers and led her down the many halls of Kairth.

After several beats of silence, Mara broke first. “You lied.” Perhaps she was out of line for lashing out at him like this.

Evrardin refused to look at her.

“You lied,” she said again but with more merit, something heavy lingering in her words.

“I didn’t know,” he mustered, his voice far away from her. “You act as if I ever showed you I could be trusted before this.”

“Right,” she mumbled under her breath. Her hand quickly wiped her face.

They walked the rest of the way in a discomfiting silence.

“Maralena, my dear!” the king practically sang as she entered the council room, his voice echoing down the vast hall.

The space was grand and tall, the ceiling rising so far above her head that she wasn’t sure how they had managed to be painted in a way that told such intricate stories.

The king sat on his throne, its back carved with the sun, large slits in the chair in respect to sun rays, beams of light spiraling through the breaks from the large open windows behind him. Grand carved pillars lined the entire walk to the dais where the king was sitting, his son standing languidly beside him. A mulled-wine carpet with golden flecks shone in the abundant light that poured into the room. Up in the rafters, Mara could see almost every inch covered with a window, splayed open, and letting the cries of the birds and songs of the ocean seep into the room.

After the long trek, she curtsied before the king, bowing her head low, cringing at the soreness that traveled through her legs. The healer that came to her rooms earlier had promised to bring back a salve that would rid her of the deep-seated pain. She wondered if he had also meant the terrible visions that were continuously flashing in her mind, but she knew nothing could be that strong. Oddly, by the time he had arrived at her chambers, the visible cuts and marks had faded entirely, it was now just her joints that were sore and stiff.

“How are you, dear? Quite the scare you gave us back there.” The king’s voice was rich and smooth like his son’s, but with an air of joviality that Acastus’ lacked.

“Much better, Your Grace,” she said softly, hoping the king wouldn’t hear the ache in her words.

“The high priest has assured me that the bond had taken place, no need to fret on your part.”

Mara almost scoffed, in awe that the king thought Mara was truly worried that the bond between her and the prince didn’t succeed—a ritual the Glass Court was unfamiliar with. She couldn’t wrap her head around this. Everyone seemed to be acting like what had happened earlier was completely normal now. Just a small blip.

“I’m… pleased to hear,” she muttered.

The king smiled at her. “It’s always hard when varying houses attempt to bond together. It had been centuries since someone of the Glass Court bonded with someone of the Sun. Apologies for your discomfort, Princess.” He looked over at his son.

When Cas noticed his father’s curious glare, he rushed to Mara’s side, startling her. His leather-bound hands grabbed her bare ones as he looked at her longingly. “My love, how terrified I was. I am so glad you’re okay.”

Mara gulped at his sudden shift. His words seemed sincere on the surface, but the meat of them lacked any sort of genuineness. If he was genuinely concerned, she thought he might have followed her to her chambers after the ordeal. She couldn’t help but crave that comfort in someone caring for her.

One of his hands released hers and moved to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Mara prickled at the contact even though no skin of his touched her own. Her lips parted as he bent down close to her, his eyes taking in every inch of her face. “I suspect Hermes has taken good care of you,” he said so quietly only she could hear.

Mara gave a timid nod, recalling back to the healer who had been patient with her as he examined every inch of her body. “He assured me he’ll retrieve a stronger salve for the lingering aches.”

Cas’ eyebrow raised, the wicked thoughts brewing visibly in his eyes. “Shall you require assistance with that?”

Mara’s cheeks warmed, knowing they were undoubtedly turning pink.

Cas smiled, satisfied with the reaction he got from her. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead before releasing her and ascending the steps toward his father. “Hermes is the best healer in the eight kingdoms; I have no doubt you’ll be feeling well enough for tonight’s summer masquerade. Ready for dances and revels.” He looked down at her as he reached the top of the dais. “Maybe even more than that. It’s what we all need after such an awful event.”

She turned her gaze to Evrardin who stood slightly farther back. His jaw tightened, his eyes refusing to meet her own. He looked angry. Likely upset by the fact that the prince was being so kind to her, even if only an act.

“Now that my father knows you’re all right, I wanted to speak with you, sweet one.” Cas held out a hand, waiting as Mara climbed the stairs to place hers in his palm. He escorted her out behind the throne, slipping into a narrow hall that poured into the back gardens, the rest of the court carrying on their discussion without their presence.

The chill left her skin as the sun caressed her. Streamers and flags decorated the gardens, the golden color of Solstrale, with large suns embroidered into the cloth. The servants of the castle scattered the yard, hustling in and out of the building, preparing for the masquerade.

Mara had been excited for a chance to celebrate the events in the heart of Kairth, the city of the sun goddess. And now, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her room—which didn’t feel like her room at all—and read. The thought that she finally had a chance to get in some overdue words with the prince rattled her with buzzing adrenaline.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” he asked her, his voice as soft as a cloud while he gazed at the gardens, Mara’s arm hooked with his.

“It’s beautiful,” Mara said truthfully. Servants darted by, narrowly avoiding them as Cas began to walk her on the tanned dirt path.

“My Prince,” Mara began. Acastus’ eyes stayed glazed over as he admired the decor for tonight’s celebrations. “I… Well, I’m not sure if…” Her throat began to close. She knew that deep down, whatever was going on with the prince, she was just a fly caught in his web. She was merely a means to an end. And she had no place to question what that end might be. Why couldn’t she spew whatever she was thinking as she did with Evrardin?

Cas shifted to study her while she choked on her words. “Mara.” His voice sported an air of concern.

Mara met his silver eyes, color immediately flushing her cheeks from the way he looked at her: like she mattered to him. She cursed herself at her irrational thoughts. He clearly held no true fondness for her—he made that much clear in the Old God’s Cathedral.

She took a breath. “Why am I here?”

“In the gardens? I thought you privy to the abundance of blooming flora.”

She shook her head, looking back at her feet as they walked, a cool breeze shifting her dress. “In Kairth, I mean. Why did you compete for my hand? Truly.”

The prince sighed. “So, I take it you’re not convinced your stunning beauty won me over? Made me fall to my knees in desperation.” His lips tipped up with a wistful smile.

She shook her head.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the dilapidated state of the castle.”

Mara glanced at him.

“Affairs amongst the Sun Court and the rest of the seven kingdoms have been strained for years. Ever since the Fae King stripped us of so much, taking back gifts they had no right withdrawing.” He pushed his hair back in uncertainty. “The fae who built this castle from the ground up have long forgotten to uphold their end of our treaty, letting their enchantments fade and the people of Kairth are suffering for it. My father chooses to do nothing. He thinks constant repairs will work against fae magick. Without Trana to let her powers travel through the Sun Court, I fear we will succumb to the despair of war and famine. The once fertile lands grow dry. Children are dying. Women aren’t able to conceive. Solstrale is being shunned by all the northern kingdoms. They chose Faerie over us.

“Though, I can’t really blame them. My father and grandfather have tricked and played the fae as fools in their reign. And now their people are reaping their consequences.”

Mara desperately wanted to view Cas in a new light as he talked about the mistreatment of his people—but she found it difficult.

“And where do I come in?”

“You, my dear princess”—Cas pulled her closer to him in an act of endearment—“are what allowed me to be named Crown Prince. My father is no longer fit to rule, but he refused to name me his heir without a wife.”

She wasn’t sure why she felt a pang of hurt at his words “But why me ? Out of all the ladies you could have chosen. Wouldn't someone from the Faelands have been a better choice? Tying your kingdoms together.”

“An itch for politics?” he teased, not ridiculing her for her naive thought about marriage, but earnestly jesting like one would do with a friend. “Why, I needed a glassfairer. If I’m to restore Trana’s connection with our court, I’ll need someone who can go between the realms.”

Mara tripped on nothing, stumbling forward, the only thing keeping her upright was Cas’ grip on her.

“B-But I-I can’t glassfaire. There hasn’t been someone with that ability in the Glass Court in ages,” Mara stuttered, a mirthless laugh escaping at the end of her sentence in disbelief.

Cas’ eyes remained soft as he smirked at her. “I know that’s how your mother died, Princess. Your father may have hidden the truth from everyone else, but I am not so easily fooled. And I’d appreciate it if we skipped this ”— he gestured a hand between their bodies—“back-and-forth. Do not lie to me. The art may have dwindled in your muddy bloodline, but with you bonded to the sun, your magick should blossom, unlocking any deep-rooted prowess you might possess.”

Mara’s face went hot, tears pricking the back of her eyes. She hadn’t been forced to talk about her mother’s death since it happened. She wanted to push the memories down, but images of her mother doused in blood, lying lifelessly on her chamber floor, flashed before her.

The rippling scream she had let out that day ghosted around her, making her reach up and place a hand on the front of her neck. She tried to control her breathing and shut out the image of a tiny Maralena running into her mother’s chambers, calling out for her, excited to show Mother something as silly as how she had braided her hair herself that day. Her mother knew better than to glassfaire with the ability so subdued within the Glass Court.

“I… I don’t know how. I—I never tried.”

Cas stopped before a bush of newly planted camellias and reached a hand to delicately brush the deep petals. “I have no doubt Khonsu runs through your veins. I’m certain you’ll learn how, given the chance to practice. It’s in your blood, Princess.”

Mara’s throat closed in. She shut her eyes and took a steady breath. None of the gods had been seen for centuries. Konshu’s gift of travel had dwindled just as all the other courts across the kingdoms’ proficiencies had.

When she opened her eyes, Cas faced her and extended the flower. Mara tentatively took it from him, their fingers brushing, the coolness of his leather glove sending a chill through her arm.

“Practice?”

He hummed, his hands clasping behind his back as he began to walk again, Mara hurrying to follow in pursuit.

“I’ve been told you frequent Kairth’s library.”

Mara nodded, though Cas didn’t look at her to see it.

“There are plenty of texts in there involving magick from all the kingdoms, including yours.”

Yours . Acastus still referred to Wrens Reach as her home. Not Solstrale.

“And you want me to…to try and…”

Cas made a noise in his throat as if getting irritated with her passive demeanor. “To figure out how to glassfaire. Yes. I suspect you’ll figure it out by our nuptials.”

“But that’s only a fortnight from now!” Mara’s words burst out of her before she could stop and think.

Cas smiled like he enjoyed it when something lit inside her. However, she knew this game all too well—he wouldn’t like it if that spark grew to a raging flame. “I believe in you,” he said toward her as they rounded back to the entrance.

Mara could feel the threat laced in his speech. The way his eyes narrowed in on her as if challenging her to talk back. The switch between genuine compassion to bitterness had given her whiplash.

“And those hands in the Veil,” she began.

“You’ve heard the stories of the lost Glass People,” he said flatly. She nodded. “You lingered too long on their soil, within the Veil. And they wanted you out.”

She hadn’t thought it was true, that the stories her mother would tell her about glassfairers lost in the Veil turning to evil entities were just that, stories .

Acastus spun to face her, his guards behind him, waiting. “I’ll see you at the masquerade tonight.” He took her hand in his and placed a kiss on the back of it. “That is, if you can uncover me,” he said with a cheeky smirk.

The blood had drained from Mara’s face, unable to appease the guards by acting with modest propriety. She let them lead her back to her room where a pot of the salve Hermes had promised sat on her nightstand.