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Mara peered out the bottom half of her windows that weren’t stained, looking out beyond the castle walls. She could just make out the crashing waves of the ocean where Evrardin had carried her a week ago and a blush rose to her cheeks. She half expected to see him walking up the hill, covered in soot and bruised, just as he was the first time she caught him strolling back to the castle at night. But he never appeared.

She tried to suppress the feeling of disappointment—which was easy to do because it was rapidly replaced with vexation. She hated herself for hoping this had meant he cared for her—even though it simply made him a decent person for making sure she didn’t burn from the inside out, but it had felt like more than that. He had disobeyed Cas’ directive. He had tried to comfort her when he brought her to the Hallowed Cistern, and then again, offering pacifying words when he led her to the king and queen.

Still, Evrardin eluded her, not showing up to visit once. She had no idea where he was off to. He was often plastered to the prince’s hip like a sore that wouldn’t go away, but he was nowhere to be seen. And Acastus was never much help.

You care for him. And you thought him capable of the same.

She ground her teeth together, straining her jaw, remembering the shrill and threat laced in Acastus’ speech. Maybe she did come to care for Evrardin—she had no choice, he was the face she saw the most trapped in this castle. She had no one else. But even with that excuse, her body sank at the idea that he didn't feel the slightest bit of fondness for her in return.

Mara’s face scrunched into a frown, her eyes underlined with purple circles, her hair falling flat against her head.

She was dressed in a simple gown, its cream skirt embroidered with white and gold threads that created ornate patterns up onto her bodice. The sleeves were soft gossamer, making her look like a specter as she roamed the halls—emphasized by her blanched appearance. She was on her way to the study Aevum had shown her, hoping to find the tiny prince to talk to. But at the very least, she’d be able to shove her head in the books and pretend like nothing in her life was going south, so to speak.

A guard she didn’t know the name of but had seen before strolled by her side, his face permanently stained in a scowl. His beard was thin and patchy, covering the pock marks along his cheeks. When she glanced away from him, she noticed an influx of people treading the halls, all headed in the same direction.

“What’s happening?” Mara said aloud, not directed at anyone in particular.

Her guard spoke without looking her way. “There is to be a public execution in decree of the Solar Sect.”

Mara’s made a face of distaste. The chaos and entertainment an execution brought wasn’t just a threat to the farmers and peasants, it was a spectacle for the nobles. She watched in astonishment as highborns raced through the castle, bits of laughter and gossip echoing the halls. They seemed more excitable than usual.

“Who?” she asked.

She froze when she heard a group of girls skim past her. “It’s the first killing ordinance of the prince!”

“How kingly of him,” the girl giggled.

“That means he’ll be there. He’ll want to watch his decree!” one of them said with an air of hope.

The girls giggled and squealed, yearning for a glimpse of the Sun Prince. Mara looked at them with disgust, though she couldn’t blame them for how they acted. They were raised to know no different. Even she might have felt like this if it had been happening in Venmore. A thrill to break up the boring days she tended. She winced at the thought.

“The prince ordered this?”

The guard didn’t respond. Mara huffed in annoyance then hurried on, following the crowd to the Old God’s Cathedral.

When she arrived, the seats were all but overflowing, newcomers having to stand, but they didn’t seem to mind. Holding such a rally in the Old God’s Cathedral was a charade meant just for the Sun Court. People talked amongst themselves with excitement. And somehow, pretending like this was some holy act of their goddess, it set right their sins for celebrating the death of another person.

No one noticed her as she waded through the bodies, trying to get a better view of the dais. Her guard begrudgingly shoved people out of the way to follow close behind her.

Then she saw him. For the first time in days.

Evrardin.

He was standing tall beside the prince, his armor polished gold, reflecting the light in soft rose and poppy hues. His hair was neater than usual, but only slightly, and pulled away from his face. He looked off blankly into the crowd, almost like his body was set in stone, his soul somewhere else entirely.

As Mara got closer, she thought she saw glassiness coating his eyes. A sudden feeling of immense dread and doom sank in her chest.

She went to step toward the dais, to go up to the prince, but the guard grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. Evrardin’s eyes darted to Mara in an instant, then quickly settled back on an arbitrary spot in the distance.

“The prince is requesting you stay put,” the guard said flatly.

Mara looked at him and then back at the dais. She tucked herself off into the corner, not wanting to gawk, but knowing she had to watch. The prince stepped out from the gathering of his court to approach the scaffold, a smile on his face, the audience falling quiet.

“Conspiring to kill the prince is an act of treason, if not an act of war.” Acastus spoke to the crowd with a bravado that displayed how righteous he thought himself. “And of course, punishable by death!” The crowd erupted into murmurs of praise and excitement, a few people even clapping. His voice sounded so oddly unlike himself.

Cas glanced behind him and gestured forward, silently commanding his guards to carry the victim out, condemned to an inescapable fate. An older man made it into her sight and all time seemed to freeze.

Mara’s jaw fell slack. Her knees weakening, her eyes expanding to moons. Crowrot. This was the execution of Crowrot.

Her hands clenched into fists and her eyes darted around the room, this had to be a mistake. Crowrot conspiring to overthrow the prince? That sounded as unlikely as it was for her to joyfully wake before noon.

Crowrot let the two guards drag him forward without struggle, his outfit the same as the one she saw him in last night. His face calm like the sedentary water at the bottom of a fountain, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at Evrardin.

“No!” Mara called, but it was snuffed out by the rambunctious crowd. The guard behind her tightened his hold on her shoulder, making sure she didn’t try and run forward. The guards kicked the back of Crowrot’s legs, forcing him to bend and collapse to the floor. His hands were tied behind his back, not even allowed the dignity to at least face his death as a free man.

Tears obscured Mara’s view, everyone becoming a blurry mess before her. “No, no, no,” she mumbled to herself like a chant, shaking her head. She felt nauseous as the crowd shouted profanities at Crowrot, bespeaking to see his head chopped from his shoulders. How could they be so heartless?

Mara wanted to do something, to be a hero from one of her fairy tales, but what could she do as a tiny princess? The prince had a wild look in his eyes—he wanted this to be a show. He was out for blood. He was giving the court what they wanted, uncaring if the punishment was just. There would be no stopping this. Mara prayed that the ceiling would cave in, giving Crowrot a chance to run for his life.

“I’ve been too lenient with you. My father should have killed you all those years ago.” He scowled at the old man. “Any final words, Gravedoctor?” the prince asked, bending over slightly to be at eye level.

Crowrot gave him a warm smile, one that he had reserved for Mara the day before. She hadn’t a clue how he could act so calm in the face of death. Crowrot’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

The prince bared his teeth, but something wavered behind his eyes. He shook his head before looking over to the right at Evrardin. “Evrardin, if you will.”

Mara noticed there was no vocational executioner. No towering figure in a black cloak, his eyes shielded from view.

Evrardin’s head snapped toward Acastus. “You can’t be serious,” he said astonished, panic rising in his throat.

“Do I honestly look like I’m in a jesting mood?”

Evrardin’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. His eyes danced over the crowd, watching helplessly at the way they applauded the prince, egging on Crowrot’s inevitable demise. Then his eyes unwillingly, but inevitably, found her. Darkness shrouded his features. Her tears never stopped rolling, her face surely stained and her eyes red. He looked at her like he was begging her for something, but she didn’t know what.

“I can’t.”

“I’m ordering you to execute this traitor.”

Evrardin’s throat bobbed as he looked back at Crowrot. He slowly approached him. Crowrot looked up at Evrardin with a bit of reverence and kinship in his eyes. Mara suspected the captain and gravedoctor had been closer than she once assumed.

Mara could only read their lips now, her ears ringing. “It’s okay, m’boy.”

Evrardin took in a deep breath, Crowrot’s approval doing nothing to comfort him. He unsheathed his sword, the iron glistening in the air. “Do it,” Crowrot demanded, his features becoming stern. “Do it!”

Evrardin stood up taller before mumbling “I’m sorry.”

As the piercing slice of his sword hit the chopping block, Mara shut her eyes, an uncontrollable sob retching in her throat. Her tears slowed, the clamorous crowd numbing her senses as she stumbled backward, caught by the guard—but not her guard.