Chapter 1

The fire took seven years from Liriel’s mind.

That was how the court physicians explained it: the curse had trapped her memories in a loop, leaving her to relive the winter she was seven. She could still learn, still choose, and still understand the hurt in another person’s face. But when the silver bells rang, the old terror came back, and she reached for the role that made her feel safe.

Our family decided the cure was to give her that role forever.

Mother became the Gentle Queen. Father, the Silver Knight. Caerwyn, the prince who guarded the throne. And I was made to wear iron weights around my ankles and play the wicked, limping servant who envied the little princess.

Every Midwinter Feast, every royal visit, every family portrait: the same play. The court called it the Hearth Rite. My parents called it kindness.

I called it my childhood.

Thalion was the first person who took the weights off without being asked. He found me behind the old chapel after the rite, my ankles raw beneath my stockings. He knelt in the snow and unfastened the iron bands.

“Elowen,” he said, anger shaking his voice, “from now on, I’ll be good only to you.”

I believed him.

Seven years later, I brought him home as my betrothed. Liriel saw the green-gold circlet he had brought for me and reached for it.

“Can I be the princess tonight?”

No one answered her. They looked at me.

I wanted Thalion to say no. Instead, he lowered his eyes and took the toy sword Caerwyn offered him.

“It’s only one more rehearsal,” he murmured. “Let’s keep the peace.”

The next day, before the high court and the allied houses, I stood in my wedding gown while Liriel clutched the train.

“I want to be the bride,” she cried.

Caerwyn shoved a pointed black cap into my hands. “You’ve played the cruel servant all these years. One more day won’t kill you.”

Mother held out the iron ankle weights. “Do you want to bring on another episode in front of the whole court?”

Father pressed Liriel to his chest. “There can only be one princess in this family. Be sensible.”

I looked to Thalion. He took the black cap and placed it on my head himself.

“Just for today,” he said. “You know you’re the one I’m marrying.”

Something in me went very still.

I removed the betrothal ring and held it out to Liriel. “A princess needs a royal jewel.”

Her fingers closed over it.

The herald, uncertain, asked which daughter would walk the vow path. Thalion released my hand. “Let Liriel try. It’s just a ceremony.”

So I sat below the dais in the servant’s cap while my sister wore the gown I had designed and the white irises I had grown in my Aelwen’s garden. My mother wept as the court scribes recorded Liriel’s “first royal procession.” Caerwyn placed her hand in Thalion’s.

When Liriel kissed his cheek, Thalion did not move away. He only brushed her hair back.

“Little princess,” he said fondly, “we’re rehearsing. Your sister will be upset if we make this too real.”

I smiled. “I hope you’ll be happy together. Thalion always did prefer someone easy to fool.”

Liriel’s face crumpled. She snatched up her bouquet and hurled it at me. A crystal pin cut my brow.

“Thalion can only marry me!”

Everyone ran to her. Thalion took one step toward me, then stopped when Liriel gripped his sleeve.

“Don’t be scared,” he soothed her. “I’m here.”

My blood ran down my temple. The man who had promised never to let me be wronged had chosen the same side as my family.