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Ryn ripped the bedding off, tossing it into a heap. She crouched to peer under the bed, finding it hollow beneath. She turned for the curtains next, shaking them out. It took her fifteen minutes of searching to know for sure that not a single piece of her armour was in her room. The servants decorating her for the Tribute must have kept it.

Ryn went bounding through the hallway in her cape dress since she had nothing else to wear. She sailed down the stairs, searching right and left for a servant, and found herself in the room of mirrors behind the Throne Room where she’d originally been prepared for the Tribute.

She gazed at her many reflections in the mirrors, the only thing blue in this room of scarlet and brass costumes. Moments of the Tribute flashed before her eyes, moments where she’d been in trouble, and she couldn’t hear El’s voice, couldn’t find music in her sword, couldn’t have found her way out of the Rings without Xerxes’s help. Without El’s help. Her shoulders relaxed, and she paced, all the versions of herself moving in the mirrors along with her.

Who was she, really? She’d asked herself a hundred times since arriving. If she asked El, he would probably tell her she was Adassah Cahana, chosen for a purpose. Created intentionally, even though all her life she’d wondered why she was alive with Adriel blood in her veins, despised by her kingdom. Or maybe she really had fallen back into the ways of Estheryn Electus, the liar. Maybe that’s who she was since coming here. Just another maiden putting on a show.

The thought of El’s voice in her head made her want to reach out. She was so cold, like an empty shell on a cold mountaintop. Even food couldn’t fill her anymore.

She hesitated. Then she cleared her throat and whispered, “El—”

“Commander Adassah.” A silky, accented voice filled Ryn’s ears, and she turned to find the young white-haired woman folding her bony arms, the hem of her scarlet dress dragging along the floor. “There you are.”

Ryn shifted her weight. If looks could kill, she’d be gutted right now.

“What do you want?”

“The King is looking for you,” she stated in a cool tone. She swept aside so Ryn could pass, uncurling her three fingers with long black nails as she held her hand out toward the Throne Room.

Ryn kept her attention ahead as she walked past the woman’s gaze. Two slender fingers caught Ryn’s chin, and she halted. The woman wrenched Ryn’s face toward her, her claret mouth twisting into a snarl, black eyes wide as her nails dug into Ryn’s cheeks. “You might have fooled King Alecsander, Commander Adassah… but I was in the Outer Rings with you.” She angled her head, white hair sliding down her dress. “You can’t fool me.”

Ryn’s cheeks burned when the woman released her. She led the way around the curved hall toward the Throne Room, her white hair swaying behind her. Ryn rubbed her cheeks as she followed.

The Throne Room had been redecorated; strings of gold hung from the ceiling in an artistic net, red leaves intricately painted down the pillars, and the floors glistened with water where the servants were scrubbing it. In fact, apart from King Alecsander’s throne, Ryn realized everything was red and gold. Even the servants wore face paint in those colours, depicting flowers and glyphs.

Ryn followed the woman to the carpet where she bowed low before Alecsander’s still frame in his throne. Ryn didn’t bow. She glanced over at the platforms instead, finding Xerxes there with the rest of the Museum. A blond-haired boy slouched against the wall on the pedestal beside him. When the blond boy saw Ryn looking, he waved, and Ryn raised a brow.

“Thank you for delivering her, Sigilene.”

Prince Mansour’s voice dragged Ryn’s attention back. He wore the same scarlet robe loosely fastened at his waist, half his pale chest showing. His black hair was freshly styled around his rose gold coronet, gold-flickering eyes dancing like he knew a secret.

Across the room, Xerxes paced back and forth along the edge of his platform. He curled his chain around his finger as he watched, glaring at Prince Mansour.

A dozen servants came out from behind the throne carrying heavy chests spilling with gold, rubies, perfume bottles, and other treasures. They began setting the chests at Ryn’s feet, filling the red carpet.

“Congratulations on winning the Tribute.” Alecander’s voice crawled over Ryn’s flesh and she crossed her arms. More servants approached with rolling racks of garments; silks, organza, and chiffons, all red. A series of crimson veils hung among them, spread out for Ryn to see, some with gold coin-like metals dangling off the end, some full head veils, some half-face veils.

Ryn eyed it all. Then, to King Alecsander, she said, “When can I have my armour back?”

Prince Mansour exhaled a breath. “Forget the Gold Maiden,” he said, reaching her side. He smelled of wine and sour food. “The Gold Maiden was Per-Siana’s hero. Now you’re our soldier.” Ryn’s fingers dug into her arms. “Set aside your golden mask and wear our crimson veils. The King wishes for this to be your new identity.”

“And why would I do that?” Her cheeks felt naked without her mask. She would yell at whichever servant had hidden her armour. “I told you, I serve another King. Why would I put on a veil?”

“A veil is for a B’rei Mira bride.” Alecsander’s voice chilled the air. He dragged his hands together, all the rings on his fingers glittering as he folded them. “Marry my son, Commander Adassah. Be my warrior. Fight for me instead of your fallen kingdom and make my reputation great amongst all the world’s remaining empires. Do this and I will let your King go free.”

Ryn’s heel hit one of the chests of riches when she moved back. As she realized that Alecsander, unlike his son, had no idea her strength was gone. That he thought she was still the same Gold Maiden who took down his giant and alarmed him in the desert.

She inhaled when Prince Mansour tugged her arms free and took her hand, lifting it to his red lips and pecking her knuckles, his black-gold eyes staying wide on her the whole time. Ryn’s mouth hung open, and when she tried to tear her hand away, his nails dug in so hard she thought he’d tear her flesh open in front of everyone. She stared back, eyes asking one question: Why? Why hadn’t Prince Mansour told his father about her weakness?

The Prince lowered Ryn’s hand, his thumb running over her knuckles possessively. Ryn didn’t dare look to the platform where Xerxes’s chains had gone dead silent. Prince Mansour flashed a smile in answer to the question her mouth couldn’t ask, and Ryn couldn’t find the will to pull her hand away from the B’rei Mira Prince. Her enemy. Heva’s murderer. Because he would tell everyone the truth if she did.

Her fingers folded around his, his red-lipped smile growing wider.

It was a terrible time to think of what Geovani had said about Ryn taking a husband and having a child someday. This could not be it. She refused to imagine it could be this Prince… yet… to free Xerxes, how far would she go? Ryn tilted her head as she realized that everyone in this deal wanted something.

Alecsander wanted an unstoppable warrior to take down his enemies and spread his fame across the maps. He wanted power.

Prince Mansour wanted a weak, helpless wife he could rule over, instead of the sort of commanding wife Alecsander wanted him to have.