I should be proud as well. I’m not. My thoughts are haunted by the memory of the girl cowering beneath her father.

And the tear-streaked cheeks of the girl hiding in the woods.

I have made no mention of her to anyone. Not even to Parrish. His manner seems unchanged, to the point where I started to believe that I imagined the whole thing. But that night I saw him exchange a quiet word with Sorra, and for a brief moment, her eyes shifted to me and then away.

I do not know what that means.

Nolla Verin pokes me with her embroidery needle, and I jump.

“I need you at your best, Sister,” she says.

I keep my eyes on the veiled window of the carriage. “You don’t need me at all. I can wait with the horses.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Mother should have left me at home,” I continue. After what I’ve seen, I would have preferred it. Despite the sting of our mother’s choice, there’s a touch of freedom to no longer worrying about becoming queen. The weather is cooler on the other side of the mountain, and I could have spent these days lounging in bed with a book. I could have gone for a ride along the lakeside instead of being faced with death and destruction.

These thoughts feel selfish suddenly. Cowardly. The girl and her father still would have died. I just wouldn’t have known about it.

“Please, Lia Mara.”

A new note hangs in my sister’s voice, and it draws my attention. For all her cavalier comments, a bit of uncertainty hides in the depths of her eyes.

“You are nervous,” I say.

She shrugs a bit and glances down at the square of fabric in her lap. Over the course of our journey, embroidered flowers and jewels of every color have filled the fabric to form a circle. “He is still our enemy.” She pauses. “He already has a woman he loves.”

“Nolla Verin.” I study her. My sister is sharp-featured and beautiful, but it is her carefree confidence that turns heads everywhere she goes. “Are you afraid of being rejected?”

“Not me.” She stabs her needle through the fabric. “I am afraid of our proposal being rejected. Mother will be forced to send our armies through the mountain pass to raze cities and take control of this land.”

I stare at her, mouth nearly agape. It is the first time she has ever expressed dismay at military action. A small burst of hope flares in my chest.

She looks at me. “You are so surprised. Did you not think I would fear failing in front of Mother?”

I close my mouth. I should have known better. Nolla Verin does not concern herself with the loss of lives. She is concerned about disappointing our mother.

I need to remove the sour look from my face before she sees it. “I have the utmost faith in you, Sister.”

Outside the carriage, the sound of bells peals out, loud and repetitive. Nolla Verin sits upright, stashing her embroidery in the compartment under her seat. I wonder if it is to be a gift for the prince. The thought does nothing to remove the bitter taste from my mouth.

“We have been spotted,” she says in a rush. “Mother says the bells all mean something. They sound bright, don’t they? Maybe this is a good omen.”

They don’t sound bright to me. They sound like a death knell. Maybe they mean the prince’s archers will set our carriage on fire.

“A good omen indeed,” I say, forcing a smile on my face.

The carriage jerks and shifts as the horses draw us onto new terrain. Cobblestones, from the feel of it. Nerves flutter in my belly despite myself. An hour ago, our guards hung our green-and-black banners and pennants from the carriages, adorning the horses with the trappings we’d kept hidden while traveling through Emberfall.

I want so badly to lean out the window to see the castle, but I would never hear the end of it. If Nolla Verin can sit across from me so prim and patient, I can do the same.

When the carriage rattles to a stop, we sit and wait. One of Mother’s guards announces us and requests an audience with the prince. One of his guards announces that we must wait for the prince to decide whether he will invite us into the castle.

That will not go over well with Mother.

Indeed, I am not surprised when I hear her voice announcing that we will not wait, and if the so-called Crown Prince of Emberfall will not meet with us, she will happily return to Syhl Shallow to bring down a force of reckoning upon his people.

A male voice says, “Karis Luran. Surely you can grant me the time to cross the halls of Ironrose before declaring war.”

This must be Prince Rhen. No one else would speak with such authority. He has a nice voice, a tone backed with iron but warm enough to invite conversation. I wonder what he looks like.

Across from me, Nolla Verin’s face has gone carefully neutral. Not bored, but not interested either. She sits back along her bench to wait.

Almost immediately, the carriage door is drawn open by Sorra. She moves with fluid precision, every movement reflecting the training and unity among our guards. Sunlight fills the carriage in a burst, blinding us for a moment.

As oldest daughter, I am to step from the carriage first. At one time I thought it a position of honor, but over the last few days I have begun to wonder if Mother was always setting the stage for the main event: my sister.

Today, I don’t mind. I am the first to see the castle built from cream-colored bricks, stretching high into the sky, gold and red pennants flying in the slight summer breeze. I am the first to see the wide marble steps leading up to the castle door, and the two dozen guards flanking our carriages. Each carries a sword and a dagger, gold and silver shining in the sunlight. Each breastplate sports a stamped crest of a lion and a rose over the heart.

I am the first to see the prince, tall and blond, as striking as my sister in his own way. His eyes give away nothing. He wears a dark-blue jacket that buckles across his chest, along with high boots. He, too, wears a sword at his hip, which takes me by surprise. Mother never wears a weapon. She says it would tell our people she does not trust them.

Beside the prince stands a pretty young woman with cream-colored skin and dark, curly hair, wearing a red gown that sweeps along the cobblestones as they approach our carriages. She walks with a limp, which makes me wonder if the hand placed against the prince’s elbow is for support or to show they are together. Unlike the prince, her face reveals everything: wide, concerned eyes, mouth tight with worry.

Our presence here unnerves her.

She and I are alike in that.

Mother’s voice rings out. “My elder daughter, Lia Mara.”

The prince offers me a nod, which I return, and then I step to the side so Nolla Verin can emerge from the carriage.

Every eye is on my sister, but I’ve seen that show a thousand times, so I watch the prince. I want to see if his eyes flicker with interest.

Either he is too practiced or too indifferent, because there is none. He watches my sister step out of the carriage with the same attention he might give a passing curiosity.

“My younger daughter, Nolla Verin,” says Mother. “Heir to the throne of Syhl Shallow.”

The prince offers her a nod, too, but the princess beside him glances from Nolla Verin to me.

“Your younger daughter is heir?” she says.

Mother purses her lips. She does not like being questioned. “In Syhl Shallow, an heir is not determined by birth order.” She looks at Rhen. “Would that your country’s laws allowed for the same, and you would not be facing conflict, boy.”