Lord Jerald, Elane’s father, is the leading member of the Haven delegation. Like her, he has vibrant red hair and glowing skin. He seems younger than his years, softened by his natural ability to manipulate light. If he knows his daughter is in the back of the room, he doesn’t show it.

“Your Majesty.” Salin Iral inclines his head just enough to be polite.

Father does not bend. Only his eyes move, flickering between the ambassadors. “My lords. My ladies. Welcome to the kingdom of the Rift.”

“We thank you for your hospitality,” Jerald offers.

I can almost hear my father grind his teeth. He despises wasted time, and such pleasantries are certainly that. “Well, you traveled all this way. I hope it is to uphold your pledge.”

“We pledged to support you in coalition, to supplant Maven,” Salin says. “Not this.”

Father sighs. “Maven has been supplanted in the Rift. And with your allegiance, that can spread.”

“With you as king. One dictator for another.” Mutters break out among the crowd, but we remain silent as Salin spits his nonsense.

Next to me, Mother leans forward. “It’s hardly fair to compare my husband to that addled prince who has no business sitting his father’s throne.”

“I won’t stand by and let you seize a crown that is not yours,” Salin growls back.

Mother clucks her tongue. “You mean a crown you didn’t think to seize yourself? Pity the Panther was murdered. She would have planned for this, at least.” She continues stroking the glossy predator at her side. It growls low in its throat, baring fangs.

“The fact remains, my lord,” Father cuts in, “while Maven is floundering, his armies and resources vastly outnumber our own. Especially now that the Lakelanders have bound themselves to him. But together, we can defend. Strike out in force. Wait for more of his kingdom to crumble. Wait for the Scarlet Guard—”

“The Scarlet Guard.” Jerald spits on our beautiful floor. His face colors with a gray flush. “You mean Montfort. The true power behind those wretched terrorists. Another kingdom.”

“Technically—” Tolly begins, but Jerald presses on.

“I’m beginning to think you care not for Norta, but only for your title and your crown. On keeping whatever you piece you can while greater beasts devour our nation,” Jerald snaps. In the crowd, Elane flinches and shuts her eyes. No one speaks to my father this way.

The panther snarls again, matching Mother’s rising temper. Father just sits back against his throne, watching the open threat ripple through the Sunset Stretch.

After a long, trembling moment, Jerald sinks to a knee. “My apologies, Your Majesty. I misspoke. I did not intend . . .” He trails off under the king’s watchful eye, the words dying on his fleshy lips.

“The Scarlet Guard will never take hold here. No matter what radicals may be backing them.” Father speaks resolutely. “Reds are inferior, beneath us. That is the work of biology. Life itself knows we are their masters. Why else are we Silver? Why else are we their gods, if not to rule them?”

The Samos cousins cheer. “Kings of steel!” echoes through the chamber again.

“If newbloods want to throw their lot in with insects, let them. If they want to turn their backs on our way of life, let them. And when they return to fight us, to fight nature, kill them.”

The cheer grows, spreading from our house to Laris. Even a few in the delegations clap or nod along. I doubt they’ve ever heard Volo Samos speak this much—he’s been saving his voice and his words for the moments that matter. This is certainly that.

Only Salin remains still. His dark eyes, rimmed with black liner, stand out sharply. “Is that why your daughter let a terrorist go free? Why she slaughtered four Silvers of a noble house to do so?”

“Four Arvens sworn to Maven.” My voice snaps like a whip crack. The Iral lord turns his gaze on me and I feel electrified, almost rising in my seat. These are my first words as a princess, my first words spoken with a voice that is truly my own. “Four soldiers who would take everything you are if their wretched king asked. Do you mourn them, my lord?”

Salin scowls in disgust. “I mourn the loss of a valuable hostage, nothing more. And obviously I question your decision, Princess.”

Another drop of derision in your voice and I’ll cut out your tongue.

“The decision was mine,” Father says evenly. “Like you said, the Barrow girl was a valuable hostage. We took her from Maven.” And loosed her on the Square, like a beast from its cage. I wonder how many of Maven’s soldiers she took with her that day. Enough to fulfill Father’s plan at least, to cover our own escape.

“And now she’s in the wind!” Salin implores. His temper slips, inch by inch.

Father shows no signs of interest and states the obvious. “She is in Piedmont, of course. And I assure you, Barrow was more dangerous under Maven’s command than she’ll ever be under theirs. Our concern should be eliminating Maven, not radicals destined to fail.”

Salin blanches. “Fail? They hold Corvium. They control a vast amount of Piedmont, using a Silver prince as a puppet. If that is failure—”

“They seek to make equal that which is not fundamentally equal.” My mother speaks coldly, and her words ring true. “It is foolish, like balancing an impossible equation. And it will end in bloodshed. But it will end. Piedmont will rise up. Norta will throw back Red devils. The world will keep turning.”