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“Princess Remalla.” The new stranger nods to me slowly, glancing down at my sword between us.

It’s pointed between his legs, and if it makes him uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it.

“I am Chancellor Hallick. The Overking’s advisor.

” Black eyes glitter beneath thick brows and lashes, his oiled hair held back with a silver band.

A heavy beard and carefully twisted mustache hide much of his face, my least favorite as it hides the truth of a man more easily than when clean-shaven.

Though he’s dressed as finely as the rest, I sense a hardness in him that is familiar enough, if unwelcome.

Too much the ilk of my mother for my liking. “I wish to speak with you.”

I hesitate, but I know better than to refuse. If I’m right, and I am, Hallick’s traits in common with the queen of Heald require obedience. Besides, I have to speak to someone of authority sometime, and if he can give me some possible exit strategy, he might be worth talking to.

Hope has no home here, but I give it one anyway and open the door. Chancellor Hallick oozes through to my chamber, the way he moves making my skin crawl. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and I realize the hardness I sensed was not my mother’s at all. She is a loud and powerful weapon.

He is a snake. He feels oily, untrustworthy, like something that slithers in the shadows. He is the very embodiment of the courtly intrigue my aunt warned me about, lies and controls hidden in plain sight.

“Princess Remalla,” he says my name again, one of the only people I haven’t had to correct when it comes to my title, so I allow him to remain, though I’m watchful now.

And I’m glad I let him in for other reasons.

Here is an enemy I understand or, at least, recognize.

If he knows I’ve pegged him for the reptile he is, he doesn’t show it, his voice a low purr.

“A trying day, I’m sure. Come, let us speak.

” He glides toward the seating area, seemingly unfazed by my still-present armor.

Hallick sits, patting the cushion next to him on the small sofa. I choose to stand, arms crossed, and wait.

That smile only deepens. “Caution is understandable,” he says.

“And warranted, highness.” His words are a silken web, weaving around my anger.

“Our Overking is wise, though this tradition of the ‘Royal Selection’, well.” He tuts softly.

“Certainly, an insult to the likes of the heir of Heald.” What a relief to have him here, to see and embrace a threat I’ve encountered before.

Not him specifically, but his like. I’ve observed more than enough parleys my mother has agreed to, watched her manage the sleek and cultured political representatives of kings and queens who come to negotiate treaties, to lie and cheat and manipulate.

Send them scurrying in terror from her laughter at their attempts to win her over.

He will never know the gratitude I feel for the balance his visit brings me, and is no doubt thinking he’s swaying me when I feel myself smile as he goes on.

“You understand, however, that this selection process, one the Overking himself endured many years ago at his father’s insistence, ensures the strongest possible union for Protoris.

” I don’t answer, letting him keep the air full with his chatter.

“I can assure you, your mother, Queen Jhanette, understands the true nature of this arrangement, and has agreed to it for the greater glory of Heald.” That much I believe, yes.

And the conversation in my mother’s tent the night she informed me is coming into clarity, all the things she didn’t say. The things my aunt tried to.

Hallick goes on, and I try not to sigh, barely hearing him as he paints a picture of immense power, of my future influence, if only I play this game correctly.

He appeals to my honor, my duty, my family’s legacy.

He reminds me of the consequences of refusal, the “unfortunate misunderstandings” that could arise between Heald and Protoris were I to reject this process outright.

His words are a slow, steady tide, wearing down my energy if not my resistance. I only hear the thinly veiled threats, the insidious manipulation behind every word, despite his artful delivery. But more than that, I hear the chilling confirmation of what Amber already told me.

Mother did know. Knew all along. Was sent to the capital at my age, to stand before the current Overking. Only to be rejected and sent away.

No wonder she’s bitter.

So, why allow me to go through this same thing, too? Aunt spoke up and I didn’t understand, but Mother did. I can’t believe it’s cruelty. Does she honestly believe what Amber has told me? Is the Overprince turning his back on all the other choices?

Do I really stand a chance to be his bride?

Wait. Is that why Hallick is here? The sudden insight has me smiling again.

Hallick’s voice tapers off when I do, the Chancellor pausing, then falling still.

I haven’t moved or changed expression since he began until now, and though my smile is a reaction, it’s not the one he’s expecting, surely.

He must now see that he’s no more reached me than one of the statues outside my window in the fancy garden courtyard now falling dark as the sun sets over the city.

If anything, I now have his measure completely. He thinks to gain my ear and my trust because he thinks I’ll be the next Overqueen, does he? I should feel encouraged.

I’m just disgusted.

It’s quiet as he observes me with his serpent-like eyes.

My anger is still a hot ember, but buried deep enough that I’m thinking clearly again.

The cold ash of resignation has settled over it.

I am trapped, yes. I cannot leave. Not yet.

Hallick’s attempt to woo me means there’s more odds for me than against.

But a seed of an idea has planted itself, and I’m going to water and feed it because it gives me comfort.

There is a chance that Amber is wrong and that if I wait this out…

I could go home legitimately once the Overprince’s choice is made. And should he try to choose me as the ambassador and Hallick clearly think he will?

Maybe I can make him regret it. Choose another.

I laugh at the thought. Hallick, unprepared, jumps a little, rises to his feet. Fear passes over his face, though he hides it well. But not from me.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” I say with real warmth, for he’s given me an avenue of consideration I hadn’t allowed myself until now. Mother’s taught me too well and might live to regret her lifelong instruction in the art of manipulation and strategy. “Is there anything else?”

“Dinner, highness,” he says. “In an hour. I trust you’ll be ready.”

He turns and sweeps toward the door as I feel my whole being finally settle. I have my orders, and I’ve assessed my situation. Now I have a strategy turned into a plan. All that’s left is to act on it.

And perhaps unwarranted, I have to hope my mother, for all her deceit, truly knows what she is doing.

In the meantime, I have to find a way to navigate this treacherous landscape, to survive it. Even if that means ensuring the Overprince never, ever chooses me as his bride.

“I understand, Chancellor,” I say, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I will participate. In this game and dinner.”

Hallick’s smile widens as he pauses, clearly surprised by my agreement.

He flashes perfectly white teeth as he stands in the open door.

“Excellent, Princess Remalla. A wise decision. Your mother raised you well.” He nods, a final, oily gesture, and then slips out of the room as silently as he entered.

I stand there, alone again, the silence of the room pressing in on me.

The heavy velvet curtains, the polished furniture, the sweet smell of bouquets of flowers that I don’t have names for—it all feels like a smothering weight.

I am not sure what to do next. My usual instincts, honed for battle, are useless here. My mind feels numb, exhausted.

Then, a second soft, this time tentative, knock sounds on my door.

The sound echoes in the heavy silence of my new quarters. What now? I take a breath, push away the resentment that rises, and pull open the way to whoever it is who has come to call.

The princess of Sarn smiles instantly, dimples at the ready, radiating a warmth that I struggle to quantify.

She’s both inviting and slightly unsettling, and unlike the Chancellor, much harder to read.

I can’t argue that she’s utterly exquisite, however, now that I’m in a state of mind to appreciate her.

She’s a wisp of a thing, draped in a gown of shimmering pale blue silk that seems to glow in the dimming light.

Her hair is spun gold, a cascade of perfect blonde curls framing a face of delicate beauty.

Her eyes are an astonishing, icy blue, clear as mountain springs, and her pale complexion is flawless.

She looks like a porcelain doll, fragile and perfect.

The scent of sweet lavender drifts from her.

“Forgive my intrusion,” she says, her voice a soft, melodic chime. “I am Vae, first daughter of Sarn. I understand you weren’t informed of why we… well, I thought perhaps you might be feeling a little overwhelmed.” Her smile is gentle, disarmingly kind.