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P rincess Mareleau Harvallis thought her face would crack from the effort it took not to guffaw at the ridiculous spectacle she’d just forced herself to endure. Nine poems she’d pretended to tolerate from nine princes she’d wanted only to sneer at. Thankfully, she could rely on what she liked to think of as her magic trick . It was a way to present a carefully curated outer composure no matter how she stewed inside. Only once did it crack, and that was when Prince Teryn, her fiancé, read his awful poem. She’d wanted to glower at him but instead, she’d grinned, knowing she’d soon be free of their engagement. She’d been trying for years to sever it, but this time she was finally close to getting her way.

With the poems read, it was now time to choose her three champions for the Heart’s Hunt. Mareleau and her parents left the balcony and strode into the foyer. The low heels of her silk shoes clacked against the white marble floors as she made her way to the tea table and took a seat across from her mother. Their wide skirts fanned out around the table in an array of silk, fur, and lace. Her corset kept her back straight as she leaned forward and took up a freshly poured cup of tea. Her father, meanwhile, took a seat in his favorite wingback chair, a glass of brandy quickly placed in his hand by a servant.

“I’ll choose first,” King Verdian said, then took a hearty sip of his drink.

Mareleau brought her teacup to her lips to stop herself from releasing an irritated groan. Unfortunately, Mareleau’s parents had insisted they choose two of the three champions. She already knew who her father would pick before the words left his mouth.

“Prince Teryn.”

“Of course you choose him,” she said, setting her cup back down. “Even though you know I don’t want to marry him.”

“You’re already engaged to the man,” he said, tone barbed. “You have been for three years despite your every attempt to get out of the arrangement.”

She planted a pleasant smile over her lips. “Don’t forget to mention your every attempt to try and sell me to the next highest bidder.”

“And yours to undermine my decisions.” He burned her with a sharp look. Despite his powdered wig and elegant white-and-gold silk coat, King Verdian was anything but the pretty monarch he appeared to be. He was fierce. Cold. Calculating.

Probably where Mareleau inherited the same traits herself.

Her father shook his head. “Your marriage to Prince Teryn will give us access to their trade with Brushwold. Additionally, once you inherit my throne, Selay and Menah can merge as one kingdom. Even though this marriage sets you up as the future queen of what could become the greatest seat of power in southern Risa, I’ve tried to find you an alternate match. All to stop your incessant whining about how much you despise Teryn Alante. So don’t act like I’ve done anything but the best for you. You’re too spoiled, Mareleau.”

“Spoiled.” She scoffed. “Is it spoiled to not want to marry a man from a kingdom that was recently embroiled in a divorce scandal?”

Her father took another drink, unfazed. “You fought me on this engagement long before that came to light.”

She opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. He was right. She’d wanted out of her engagement to Teryn the moment she’d learned of it. Not that Teryn had done anything to deserve her scorn. His only crime was not being his half brother, Larylis.

The same was true for Larylis, she supposed. He too suffered from not being his brother. Had he been a prince and not the illegitimate progeny of the king and his mistress, he’d have been an acceptable match for a princess. She would have loved him regardless, of course. She couldn’t have cared less about his unfavorable parentage and could even forgive his kingdom’s scandal. What mattered was that Larylis was a liar. When it came to acting on pretty words, he’d failed her. Abandoned her. Broke her heart until there was nothing left but brambles and thorns in her hollow cavity of a chest.

Were she a crueler woman, she’d marry Teryn out of spite, if only for the chance at wounding her former paramour. Then again, perhaps he didn’t care. She’d seen Larylis in the audience today. While she couldn’t handle meeting his eyes for fear of shattering her composure, she’d stolen a few covert glances. She’d seen him smiling with Teryn, laughing, encouraging. As if watching his brother marry the woman he’d once professed to love was nothing.

Nothing.

“Come now, my darlings,” her mother said from the other side of the tea table. “Let’s not talk of scandals.”

“Then speak some sense into her, Helena.” Verdian stood from the divan and threw back the rest of his drink. “She doesn't know what's for her own good. She doesn't want to marry Teryn. She doesn't want to marry King Dimetreus. She doesn’t want to marry Prince Augustine. She doesn’t want to marry Prince Frederick.”

Fire burned through her blood at the mention of those names. She stood from her seat, her skirts bumping the table and sending the teacups rattling. “Oh, don't get me started on them! King Dimetreus is a widower?—”

“Of six years,” her father interjected.

“—who lives in a creepy kingdom where everyone dies. Prince Augustine was twice my age and had his hand up my skirt within minutes of our first meeting alone.” She said the last part through her teeth.

Verdian at least had the decency to blanch at that, but he quickly steeled his shock behind a stony mask. “And what of Prince Frederick?”

Mareleau took a few steadying breaths, knowing it was time to utilize her magic trick again. She forced her lips into a trembling frown, let her shoulders droop. Her voice came out small and quavering as she brought her hands to her chest. “You know he broke my heart, Papa.”

Prince Frederick was the most recent royal her parents had paraded her before. After she’d caught him dallying with her former lady’s maid, she’d bullied him into ending their engagement. It served to garner pity from her parents when she pretended to be hurt by his abrupt end to their courtship and softened their ire enough to put her current plan into motion.

Beltane. The Heart’s Hunt.

King Verdian huffed, but she could tell she’d drained some of the fight from him.

“We’re talking nonsense again,” Queen Helena said, rising gracefully from her seat to stand next to Mareleau. “Talk of the past isn’t worth our breath. We must speak of the present instead.”

“I said my piece,” the king grumbled. “I choose Prince Teryn as one of the three champions and I won’t change my mind. If the both of you want to dance about selecting the remaining two, have your way. I’d like to get this farce over with.” With that, he marched past them and left the foyer.

Queen Helena faced Mareleau with a glowing smile and took her hands. “Don’t fret, darling. Just because Teryn is one of the champions doesn't mean he'll win the Heart’s Hunt. It could very well be your choice or mine.”

Mareleau said nothing. If all went to plan, there wouldn’t be a winner.

The queen’s voice took on a serious tone. “However, if Teryn wins, you must honor that, just as we’ve promised to honor the winner as your betrothed. This was your idea, remember?”

She gave a reluctant nod. It had been her idea. After she’d claimed a broken heart following Prince Frederick’s rejection, she’d appealed to her mother’s romantic side, saying she needed to marry for love. It was almost too good to be true when the queen fell for Mareleau’s insistence that the Beltane festival held the perfect solution, that a poetry contest and the Heart’s Hunt would prove a suitor’s true love. Pathetic. But that was the kind of girl her parents thought she was. A starry-eyed fool who dreamed of storybook romance and epic declarations. That wasn’t her at all. She was practical. Sharp. While she’d once entertained notions of love, back before Larylis proved himself unworthy, she now wanted no husband at all.

As her parents’ only child, she was set to inherit the throne, something the king and queen thought possible only if she married a king or prince. Otherwise, her uncles would fight for the throne. While she understood the implications of having her right to rule contested, she railed against the assumption that a woman must have a man at her side to be a proper queen. It fueled her rage to no end, but royal succession was a game of well-placed maneuvers. A game she could play. For now. This time, she’d be the one moving the pieces.

“Fine,” Mareleau said, forcing her face into an agreeable smile. “Who is your choice of champion, Mother?”

Queen Helena clapped her hands in front of her chest, crystal blue eyes—the same shade as Mareleau’s—alight with excitement. “I choose Prince Helios of Norun. He’s wealthy, handsome, and…dare I say a perfect match?”

Mareleau nodded along, pretending she had even the slightest inkling whom her mother was referring to. She’d done her best to ignore the visiting princes all week and learn as little about them as she could. That often included their names. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you’re right.”

The queen beamed at that. “I knew you’d think so. Do you recall his poem? It was quite moving. I particularly liked the part where he compared you to the Goddess of the Sea.”

Had he known her, he would have chosen the Goddess of War. Or better yet, the Goddess of Death. But Mareleau kept that to herself. “Yes, that was lovely, wasn’t it?”

Queen Helena released a dreamy sigh, eyes distant for a moment. Then, with a shake of her head, she said, “Now, who do you choose, darling? If I haven’t already stolen your choice.” She said the last part with a wink.

Mareleau opened her mouth, realizing she’d made a grave error in her attempts to keep the princes at a distance. She had no one to select as champion. Not that it mattered. These princes were all the same, bandying about words like love to a stranger they knew nothing about save for the fact that she was pretty and had a dowry that rivaled their own kingdoms’ wealth. With a simpering smile, she said, “Uh, Prince Thomas, I think it was?”

Her mother’s expression hardened. Mareleau knew there hadn’t been a Prince Thomas, but she couldn’t resist sparking her mother’s ire just a little. “Mareleau Harvallis, don’t you dare tell me you aren’t taking this seriously. It was your plan?—”

“Pardon, Your Majesty,” said a small voice. Lurel, Mareleau’s fifteen-year-old cousin and newly appointed lady’s maid, approached. Mareleau hadn’t noticed when the girl had entered the foyer, but her other three lady’s maids followed in her wake, clustered together as they gossiped behind their hands. The three girls stopped their chatter to curtsy for Mareleau and the queen, then went right back to it. Lurel dipped low, bowing her head far longer than necessary. Showoff. When she stood, she lingered, smiling and wringing her hands awkwardly.

Mareleau gave her a pointed look. “What is it?”

“Oh, yes!” Lurel blushed. “I was going to say, could the princess be referring to Prince Lexington of Tomas?”

Mareleau quirked a questioning brow.

“When you said Prince Thomas.”

Queen Helena’s mouth fell open with a light laugh, her previous irritation gone in a flash. “Darling, is that who you meant?”

“How silly of me,” Mareleau said with a forced chuckle. “Yes, that’s him. Of course it’s him. Prince Lexington of Tomas.” She said the name slowly, enunciating each word, certain she hadn’t heard it uttered even once this week.

Her mother furrowed her brow. “Odd. He doesn’t seem your type. And the only line I remember from his poem was, You are graceful like a deer and smart like a fox .”

It took all her restraint not to snort a laugh. She kept her expression serious as she said, “Oh, he’s exactly my type.”

Suspicion flashed in Queen Helena’s eyes, but she only said, “Very well. Are you ready to award your champions and announce the object of the Heart’s Hunt?”

“I am.”

“And you have selected an object for the Hunt, correct?”

“I have.”

Another suspicious look. “What have you chosen?”

Mareleau did her best to keep her malicious grin at bay. “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

After the queen left to find the king, Lurel spoke again, her voice rich with excitement. “Oh, I can’t wait to find out what the object is. Will you give me a clue?”

Mareleau’s eyes dipped to the pair of white earrings dangling from her cousin’s ears. They were delicately pointed at one end and rounded on the other, with just the hint of a spiral pattern. Mareleau had been bitten with envy the moment she’d spotted them. She’d asked Lurel about them and learned the earrings were a gift from Lurel’s father, Lord Kevan. And if Lurel was to be believed, they’d been carved from a piece of bone.

A rare piece of bone.

One belonging to what was a presumed-extinct fae creature.

And if her uncle was to be believed as well, he’d seen it with his own eyes on a hunt up north.

Mareleau’s lips pulled into a smirk. “You, cousin. You’re the hint.”

Half an hour later, Mareleau stood back on the balcony with her mother and father. The nine princes once again surrounded the marble courtyard, their upturned faces alight with hope. A hope she’d soon crush.

The Master of Ceremonies addressed the audience from below. He thanked their guests and the royal families in attendance, then announced the three champions.

Prince Teryn Alante of Menah.

Prince Helios Dorsus of Norun.

Prince Lexington Quill of Tomas.

Mareleau was particularly curious to learn who she’d chosen as champion and was rewarded with a chubby young man with ruddy cheeks and messy blond hair. His elegant silk coat was buttoned askew and his white neckcloth was tied all wrong. As he made his way to the center of the courtyard next to the other two champions, he looked about as thrilled as he'd be at a funeral. That made two of them. She reined in the laughter that bubbled in her throat and settled on trying to appear moderately pleased instead.

The queen stepped closer to Mareleau and whispered in her ear, “Are you certain that’s the young man you intended to select?”

Mareleau glanced over her shoulder at her mother. “Of course it is.” She caught her father’s grunt of disapproval from the other side of her, which made her smile grow wider.

The crowd applauded, and the Master of Ceremonies called for an encore of the poems. Mareleau made no effort to listen—because why torture herself a second time?—and instead compared her three champions. Prince Lexington was the shortest of the three and the only one who wasn’t smiling. Prince Helios was the tallest, standing about two inches over Teryn. The former was a brute of a man with a barrel chest, tanned arms roped with muscle, and a smug confidence that made Mareleau want to take him down a peg. His hair was bronze and cropped close to his scalp, the planes of his face hard, his jaw shadowed with stubble. If she were to guess, he was at least five years her senior.

Teryn, on the other hand, was just a year older than she was. She knew this because he and Larylis were the same age, both born by their separate mothers the same year. Despite only sharing a father, they looked almost similar enough to be twins. Both were annoyingly handsome with their father’s green eyes, sharp cheekbones, and dark hair. Teryn’s tresses were shorter on the sides and wavy on top, lightly touched with gold, while Larylis’ hair was overlong, curling at the nape of his neck, and glinting copper when touched by light. Larylis was the leaner of the two, although both were tall and broad of shoulder.

Larylis suddenly met her eyes from across the courtyard, making her breath catch in her throat. Her heart hammered as she averted her gaze. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring. It took a few moments longer than she cared to admit to gather her composure, but by the time the last of the three poems were read, she’d replaced her cold countenance.

The Master of Ceremonies congratulated the three champions, then gestured toward the balcony. She knew what came next. His voice took on a dramatic tone. “It is now time for Princess Mareleau to announce the object of her Heart’s Hunt.”

The crowd went quiet and all eyes focused on her. Despite her outward confidence, sweat began to bead at her neck. She hated attention. Hated crowds. But she knew what had to be done. Better yet, she was glad to do it.

Tapping into her make-believe magic, she took a deep breath, doing her best to settle her nerves. She lifted her chin, her chest, standing tall as she focused her intent on shaping an outer persona that radiated poise. Demanded respect. Inspired awe.

She knew her so-called magic trick wasn’t really magic at all. It was only a matter of controlling her demeanor in a way that shifted the perceptions of those around her. Still, people always seemed to respond the way she wanted. Sometimes it curried favor. Garnered sympathy. Won her friends. Other times it brewed hate and discord. The latter was how she’d escaped so many prior engagements. As she took in the audience before her, she saw reflected back that which she intended now. She saw awe, respect, desire, admiration.

She had command of the crowd.

Stepping closer to the rail, she placed her hands on the balustrade and projected her voice out over the garden. “My three champions have been chosen for their love for me,” she said with a false smile. “In one week, the three of you will embark on a dangerous mission in search of my heart's desire.”

Her mother gasped behind her. “One week? The Hunt was supposed to start tonight,” she whispered furiously, but Mareleau ignored her.

“The champion who returns first with what I demand will prove he loves me most and will, in turn, receive my hand in marriage. What I ask for is rare and will put its seeker in grave danger. You must accomplish the Heart’s Hunt without the aid of hired help, professional hunters, or the accompaniment of servants and guards. He who has the determination and skill to persevere is the one worth my hand. Listen carefully to what I ask, for you must bring me exactly what I demand.”

“Mareleau,” King Verdian drew out her name in a whisper laced with warning, but she ignored that too.

“For the Heart’s Hunt, you must find me three unicorns. From the first unicorn, I require a horn. From the second, its pelt. And the third will be my pet. No item shall be purchased or traded for. It must be freshly harvested by your own hand. I wish you three the best of luck, and may the worthiest man win.”

Stunned silence followed. She assessed the faces of the crowd. Some looked mortified while others bore half smiles, as if they expected her to laugh and take it all back.

She put their hopes to rest with a wave as she said, “Goodnight, and thank you for joining us for Beltane.” With a triumphant grin, she turned on her heel, only to find her father’s fingers winding around her upper arm.

“Unicorns, Mareleau? Is this all a game to you?” His face burned beet red.

She blinked back at him with an innocent expression. “Of course not. I told you, I’m only marrying for love and this will prove which man loves me most.” Lies. Delicious lies.

“I’m of the same mind as your father,” Queen Helena said, voice quavering with suppressed anger. “This is ridiculous, not to mention offensive to our guests. You cannot send three suitors on a fruitless quest for creatures that don’t exist.”

That was precisely the point, of course. Send the three men on a mission that had no expiration, only an impossible goal. And she had the perfect person to blame for her absurd request.

“Oh, they exist. Just ask Uncle Kevan.” With that, she brushed past her parents into the foyer. There, she found her cousin staring wide-eyed at the three royals. Mareleau gave a light flick to the girl’s dangling unicorn-horn earring, sending it swaying back and forth. “Lurel will tell you all about it.”

Her parents burst into a heated argument, which was Mareleau’s cue to make a hasty exit. Mirth bubbled in her chest with every step she took, but she swallowed it down. Only when she reached the quiet halls outside the foyer did she finally let herself erupt with victorious laughter.