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F or the third time that day, Cora strolled past the stairwell to the North Tower Library. Just like the first two times—and every time she’d come here the last two days—a sentry patrolled the entrance. The guard noticed her approach and offered a stiff bow. She nodded in reply before gritting her jaw and scurrying past. Once she was around the next corner, she paused and slumped against the wall. Damn. She’d hoped she could sneak back into the tower library, but she’d had no such luck.

She supposed she should feel grateful for the guards, if only for the fact that it meant Lord Kevan understood the threat the tower posed. But stationing sentries in the stairwell day and night was not a sustainable solution. Sooner or later, one of the guards would get lax. Leave their post. Someone would get too curious. Too brave. Or perhaps too skeptical. Whatever the case, so long as the tower remained as it was, someone could get hurt. Or worse.

Cora hadn’t let herself look around much when she’d come the morning after Lurel’s death. It wouldn’t have been safe. Not until she had the items she needed for a clearing ritual. Earth for grounding. Water for cleansing. Fire for transmutation. Air for dissipation. By the time she’d pilfered a few items from the kitchen, the guards had taken their posts. Cora had lost her chance to do her work unseen.

She glanced around the corner toward the stairwell and spotted the sentry’s armored shoulder peeking from the archway. Opening her senses, she caught strains of boredom mingling with discomfort. She wondered if there was anything she could do to inflate the latter emotion and trick him into leaving his post. But what good would that do? Cora needed ample time to do what she needed in the tower. It would take days. Weeks. Months perhaps.

It left her only one option; she’d have to propose her plan to Lord Kevan.

She grimaced at the thought. After their argument in the stairwell two mornings ago, she’d done her best to avoid him. Maybe he was avoiding her too. Still, until she and Dimetreus established firm trust with their new allies, the castle was essentially under Lord Kevan’s command. The guards listened to his orders. Followed his rules.

“Mother Goddess,” she cursed under her breath, leaning her head against the wall behind her. If only she could repeat the strange feat she’d accomplished at Centerpointe Rock. Then she could cross the distance from here to the tower room with no one else being the wiser. That is, if she’d truly done what it had felt like she’d done. Despite her growing doubt over the singular incident, she’d attempted to replicate her feat of spontaneous transportation a few times. She’d tried to will herself to the other side of her bedroom. To the forest. To…anywhere. But it hadn’t worked. She couldn’t determine what was missing.

In the past, her magic had grown each time she’d overcome a personal challenge regarding the Arts. It was a concept the Forest People were well acquainted with. When a witch would overcome a point of resistance along their path with the Arts, their magic and abilities would grow. Cora had experienced this a few times now, and it had always come from doing what had felt the most difficult in any given moment. So far, her challenge had always been to tune in to her Art. To get out of her head and trust her magic. To release her skepticism and believe she was capable of doing more than she dared dream of. Lately, though, the most difficult thing she’d had to do was publicly reject her relationship with magic. It would have been so much easier to run away. To flee to the woods and let her brother sort out his own problems. Didn’t that mean she was doing the right thing?

If so, her magic should be growing now. Instead, she felt like it was being smothered by a heavy weight in her chest. Sure, the base functioning of her clairsentient magic remained. She could open her senses, feel others’ emotions, and raise or drop her mental shields, but those were all things that had become inherent to her. She tried to remember what it was like to be the witch who had rendered her and Teryn invisible. Who had manipulated matter and opened a locked door. The witch who had crossed a distance in the blink of an eye and killed a sorcerer. She simply…couldn’t.

It reminded her of when her magic had become muted after getting captured by Morkai. Her anger over Teryn’s betrayal had smothered her connection to her Art. If that was happening again, why? Was it guilt over leaving the Forest People? Anger over having to pretend to be someone she wasn’t?

All she knew was that she’d felt somewhat like herself again when she’d faced Morkai’s deadly book and vowed to destroy all that was left of him. If she could perform a clearing ritual in the tower, she could connect to her magical side. To the witch she couldn’t be until her duty as a princess had been served.

“Your Highness, there you are.”

Cora startled at Master Arther’s voice. The steward came marching toward her, shoulders tense. She pushed away from the wall and took on a more regal bearing. “Greetings, Master Arther. I was just?—”

“They’re here, Highness,” he said, wringing his gloved hands. “The queen’s entourage. You must greet her and Lord Ulrich at once. His Majesty and Lord Kevan are already in the courtyard.”

Cora paled, her throat going dry. She’d been so focused on trying to get back into the tower that she’d forgotten the upcoming arrival of Queen Mareleau. The last thing she wanted to do was greet the prickly woman. “You’ll have to send her my sincere apologies. I’m not feeling well?—”

“The council meeting will commence as soon as Lord Ulrich exits his coach. You cannot leave the queen to such a cold welcome.”

Cora bit off all further argument. Queen Mareleau could have the iciest welcome for all she cared, but her brother’s first council meeting wasn’t something she intended to miss.

“Very well,” she said, “I shall greet Her Majesty.”

Relief smoothed the furrows in Master Arther’s brow, but it was short-lived. His eyes swept over her ensemble. “Are you going to greet her in that, Highness?”

Cora glanced down at the green wool riding habit she wore. It was one of her simplest outfits, and the easiest to don without assistance. Master Arther seemed to realize exactly that and took a sharp inhale. “Highness! Oh, dear. You must forgive me for neglecting my duties. I…I never…”

She knew what he was struggling to say. In the aftermath of Lurel’s demise, she hadn’t been appointed a new maid. Servants had come to call on her, but she preferred tending to herself. She wasn’t about to bring any attention to the quiet solitude she’d been granted the last couple of days.

“It’s all right, Master Arther,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m perfectly content to greet the queen in my riding habit.”

“I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it now,” he muttered and led the way toward the front of the castle, past the dining hall, and out to the courtyard. As soon as they exited the front doors, a flurry of activity erupted around them. Several coaches pulled before the stone steps of the entryway, followed by dozens of wagons and countless figures on horseback. Cora’s mental shields faltered beneath the weight of so many new faces, new energies, new emotions. She breathed deeply, strengthening the elements around her, and shifted her stance to root her energy into the stone under her feet.

Only then did she make her way to the bottom of the stairs to take her place next to her brother. He greeted her with a smile while Lord Kevan, who stood on the king’s opposite side, didn’t bother glancing her way at all. She wondered how he’d look at her once she brought up her plan…

“It will be nice for you to have a companion, don’t you think?” Dimetreus asked in that doting tone that echoed how he’d spoken to her as a child. “Queen Mareleau is your same age, I believe.”

Cora internally groaned. She’d almost forgotten the purpose for Mareleau’s visit. While most of the people were here to serve as the remainder of the king’s staff and council, the queen was to act as her companion and help Cora get acquainted with her role as princess. When Lord Kevan had relayed this information to her, she hadn’t dared argue, but that had mostly been due to shock over having learned that Teryn hadn’t married Mareleau. She could try to convince herself the queen might not be as bad as their first impression had suggested, but after everything Lurel had said about her…

Sympathy tugged Cora’s chest at the thought of her lady’s maid. While Cora had only known the girl for a short time, she was Mareleau’s cousin. Despite whatever tense relationship Lurel had suggested they’d had, they’d been family. Mareleau might be grieving.

“Ah, here comes Lord Ulrich,” Dimetreus whispered.

Cora’s eyes fell on the nearest coach from which a stout, middle-aged man exited. He bore some resemblance to Verdian and Kevan but was the shortest of the three and had the most unfortunate bowl cut. With a bored expression, he extended a hand to help the next passenger exit the coach. White silk gloves grasped his leather ones, which reminded Cora that she wasn’t wearing any. She hid her hands in the folds of her skirt, certain Mareleau would likely faint if she saw Cora’s tattooed palms.

The queen in question exited the rest of the way from the coach in a waterfall of pale blue silk patterned with chrysanthemums, followed by a blonde who appeared to be one of her maids. Mareleau’s wide skirts made Cora wonder how she’d even managed to fit inside the coach without smothering her traveling companions. It also negated the chance that the queen was deeply mourning her cousin’s death, for blue certainly wasn’t an appropriate color. Even Cora knew that, and she’d spent the last six years with the Forest People, who did not observe such traditions.

Then again…had the queen heard the news yet?

Ulrich escorted Mareleau up the stone steps to greet them. “King Dimetreus, Princess Aveline, may I present to you Queen Mareleau Alante.” His words lacked sincerity, much like Lord Kevan’s did whenever he spoke of Mareleau. Cora, her brother, and Kevan sank into obeisance.

“Gather the councilmen that have just arrived,” Kevan said to Master Arther before Cora had even risen from her curtsy, “and direct them to the council room. The rest of us will wait there for them.”

Arther rushed down the stairs while Kevan, Ulrich, and Dimetreus turned and marched inside. Cora felt a flicker of betrayal strike her heart at the sight of her brother’s retreating back. Hadn’t he thought of including her in the meeting?

Well, it didn’t matter. She was going to go regardless?—

An unwelcome figure blocked her view, mostly due to her ridiculously wide skirts and much taller height. Mareleau looked down at Cora with what was clearly a false smile. “Charming castle.”

“Thank you, Majesty. Now if you’ll excuse me?—”

“We met under less-than-ideal circumstances at Verlot Palace,” she said, tone placating, “but we can put that behind us, can’t we? I am determined for us to be cordial. Besides, you heard what my uncle said. I’m Mareleau Alante now, Queen of Menah, and Larylis is my husband.”

Cora bristled. She could hear the smug taunting in Mareleau’s voice, as if…as if Cora should envy her. Over Larylis! Her preoccupation with following her brother fled as her mind became consumed with how best to convey just how little she cared about the queen’s husband. Before she could sort out the most cutting retort, Mareleau spoke again.

“Congratulations are in order.”

Cora blinked back at her.

“To me,” Mareleau clarified. “You should have congratulated me on my coronation and my marriage. It would have been the appropriate response. We only have two weeks to school you in the proper behavior of a princess, so we’d best start now. Your curtsy must be improved upon. What you greeted me with was more like a half curtsy, not at all appropriate for meeting a queen. You should have dipped another six inches lower.”

Cora bit back a humorless laugh. This was what Mareleau had meant when she’d said she was determined for them to be cordial ? Fire heated her blood, and she let it rise, let it lift her chin and pull her to her full height despite being several inches shorter than the other woman. “That would be true, Majesty, if you were my queen. In that case, I’d have been required to lower in the appropriate twelve-inch curtsy, but since you are merely a visiting monarch from a neighboring kingdom, I need only demonstrate respect.”

Heat flushed Mareleau’s cheeks, and she pressed her lips into a tight line. She reached for the nape of her neck and twirled a wisp of hair around her finger before she abruptly folded her hands at her waist.

Cora extended her senses far enough to feel the queen’s flustered state.

“You are correct, Princess,” Mareleau said through her teeth. “I was merely doing my duty in helping you?—”

“I honestly don’t have time,” Cora said, finally managing to skirt around her. “There’s a council meeting about to begin.”

She marched inside but found Mareleau keeping pace with her. “You aren’t serious. They aren’t going to let us sit on the council.”

Cora halted and whirled toward the queen. “No, of course they aren’t going to let us sit on the council, for you do not belong to this kingdom. But I do, and I have every right to attend.”

Mareleau gave her a pandering grin. “If it were that simple, I’d have attended every meeting at Verlot Palace. You do realize those are my uncles leading your brother’s council, don’t you? Do you know how many times they’ve refused me?”

“Many times, I’m sure, but this isn’t Selay, nor is this Verlot Palace, and this isn’t your father’s council. I’m going to that meeting.”

She turned away from the queen, nearly colliding with Master Arther. He was leading half a dozen men down the hall, but upon seeing Cora and Mareleau, he paused and directed the men to continue toward the council room.

Cora made to follow in their wake, but Master Arther shadowed her steps. “Your Highness, perhaps now we can settle on new linens for the remainder of the bedchambers.”

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Approving linens. Of course that was all a princess was good for. With an exaggerated smile, she gestured toward Mareleau. “You know who would do a wonderful job at selecting linens? Her Majesty.”

Determined to let nothing more distract her, she marched away.

Master Arther called after her while Mareleau let out an affronted gasp. The last thing she heard before she reached the council room door was Mareleau’s purposefully too-loud voice. “Linens. What nerve. Very well. Show me the most hideous linens I can choose from.”