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“So it is pride you value more than our people’s lives?” Count Armand countered.

Caspian’s knuckles went white.

Bern stepped forward, blurting, “We can’t! If we turn Kit—Princess Thicket in, Lavender will—”

Bern’s father cut her off with an admonishing glance. Her jaw clenched but her head bowed and she fell silent. Duke Deveraux turned from his daughter and let his gaze sweep across the room. “Arguing amongst ourselves will not solve anything. Neither will giving into the Soumort Princess’ demands.”

Wings of hope fluttered in Thicket’s chest. Perhaps a small part of them still believed in her after all.

“We will never be at peace under her rule,” Count Beauregard agreed. “With Princess Thicket on the throne, we can guide her—help her lead Vindrya to greatness.”

The wings shriveled, fluttering limply into the base of her stomach. They wanted her not because they believed in her or wanted her as their queen, but because she was the lesser of two evils.

“Then what do you propose we do about the Soumort Princess’ ultimatum?” Count Armand demanded.

“If the Soumort Princess gave us one week,” General Cales said, “we could use that time to begin preparations to move our army into Sleeria and meet with Dymree’s forces. Then, right before the week’s end, deliver our response—and attack before the Soumort Princess has the opportunity.”

Count Armand’s lips pursed in thought and he eased back into his seat. Count Beauregard and Duke Deveraux glanced at each other, whispering deliberations quietly enough that Thicket couldn’t hear. Her fingers found their way to the peeling skin running the length of her nails. She tore at it, breath lodging around the rapid beat, beat, beat of her heart.

Duke Deveraux glanced up, meeting her eyes first, then the General’s. “That might just work.”

“But,” Thicket said, spotting a flaw, “how will that solve not being able to beat my sister’s army?” Thicket asked.

“It will not,” General Cales said.

Thicket frowned. “Then—”

“We do not have to beat the Soumort Princess’ army in order to win the war,” General Cales explained. “There is only one victory we need to claim in order to set our Kingdom free. And that is the battle against the Soumort Princess herself. Thankfully, we have a secret to winning.”

“You do?”

General Cales smiled. “You.”

“Me?”

The General nodded. “We may not be able to beat her army alone, but with Dymree’s strength I believe we can hold them off long enough to provide you with the opportunity to sneak inside and kill her. Once you do, her army will fall and Minloc will be ours.”

Kill.

The word reverberated through Thicket.

Kill.

Kill the Soumort Princess, the one responsible for a century of horrors.

Kill Lavender, her sister, the girl who combed her hair and helped her get ready for a ball.

Somehow, they sounded like two completely different people.

Behind her, Thicket felt Marcellus’ eyes land on her back.

“Do you approve, Your Highness?” Duke Deveraux asked, dragging her back from the race of her thoughts.

“Y-yes!” She cleared her throat. “Yes. That sounds like a very sound plan.”

“We will begin preparations then, Your Highness,” Duke Deveraux said. He turned his attention onto the rest of the Council. “Are there any other matters that need to be addressed?”

The meeting continued, though no one asked for her thoughts. She sat there, trying to still her shaking hands and let herself become invisible.