Riza just snorts and moves to my side. “Let me help you with your sleeve, my lady.” As I sit gracefully into my chair, she mutters just low enough for me to hear. “Hiding in the closet like a child and you a lady of four and twenty. For shame.

“No one asked you,” I mutter back as she pulls on the knots of my oversleeve, removing it from my gown. Nurse sits across from me, busy at work. My arm is bared, and I lay it out for my medication, not looking as Riza ties a tight band of golden cord around my upper arm.

I can’t look at the needles. They make me feel faint to see them shoved into my arm, so I always turn my head. I use this opportunity to glance over at the messenger, who’s gawking as my ladies prepare me for my daily medicine. “What?” I snap, knowing that I’m being unfair to him. “Haven’t you ever seen a potion administered before?”

He swallows hard, staring at my nurse.

I glance over just in time to see her lift up a large syringe and a needle as long as my finger. Oh gods, I had to go and look, didn’t I? I clench my jaw and keep my face focused on the messenger as my nurse taps my arm, looking for the vein. “You had a message for me, didn’t you?”

“Yes!” he blurts out, wincing just as the needle pricks my skin. His face goes pale and he fumbles with the letter, showing me the wax seal. “It’s from the Alabaster Citadel.”

“War foolishness, most likely,” Riza comments, holding my removed sleeve. “It’s all anyone wants to talk about now.”

She’s not wrong, yet why would someone send war correspondence to me? It should go to King Lionel, and if not him, then his advisors. Or my sister Erynne, who rules at Lionel’s side (or around him when she can). Truly, I’m too far down in the pecking order to be bothered with war updates. “Are you certain it’s for me?” I ask the messenger. “I’m Princess Candra, not Queen Erynne.”

“It is for Princess Candromeda. Others were sent to the queen and the king.”

Well, that’s not good. He holds it out for me to read, but I’m too busy getting my daily stabbing. Plus, I’m not much of a reader. That’s Riza. She handles all my correspondence. “Read it out to me.”

Looking uneasy, he breaks the wax seal and unfolds the thick parchment, scanning the contents. My arm burns and pinches with the influx of medicine into my veins, and then Nurse presses a towel on my arm to stop the bleeding. Done for this day, at least. “To Princess Meryliese’s family. The esteemed princess set sail upon the Northern Light as was commanded by King Lionel last month, with her destination the Tower of Balance. I regret to inform you that the Northern Light ran into a sandbar—” He chokes upon the words as Riza gasps and Nurse goes still. “—and the hull of the good ship was destroyed. There were no survivors. Please inform the king that we await news of the Vestalin line and advice as to whom shall take Royal Offering Meryliese’s place. Yours sincerely, the Archbishop of the Alabaster Citadel, First of his Line.”

I swallow hard. I’m speechless.

At my side, Riza begins to weep quietly even as Nurse rubs cream into my arm so I won’t get an infection. I have no tears. I don’t remember Meryliese. But only myself and Erynne are left in the line of Vestalin. And one of us has to be the sacrifice to the tower.

I suddenly want to hide in my closet again.

I hold my hand out for the message. The man hands it over to me and I stare at the important looking parchment, as if it somehow holds answers to the very real problem of my sister’s death. I want to feel something for Meryliese, but I don’t. I have vague memories of a toddler with ebony curls like Erynne’s and bright green eyes. I remember my mother’s relief upon hearing that Meryliese wasn’t cursed. I remember my mother waving her handkerchief bravely as the Alabaster Citadel sent monks and priestesses to come and take my sister away, and I remember Mother crumpling the moment they were out of sight. She’d cried for three days, and then dried her tears, never to cry over it again.

A Vestalin must always do her duty, she’d told me and Erynne. But her focus was on Erynne as she said the words, because I’m cursed and useless. I remember that, just like I remember Erynne’s brave smile.

Poor Erynne. She’s just as trapped to her destiny as Meryliese. I’ve been the only one with a modicum of freedom because of the curse that makes it impossible for me to carry on our bloodline. I’m too weak, too fragile for childbirth. With the curse in my blood, I must eat regular meals and avoid strenuous activity, lest the bad blood go straight to my heart. My sister Erynne has always been the important one. She spent her childhood preparing to marry a king while I spent mine trying to avoid my nurses for the inevitable needles. Erynne learned to speak four languages and how to ride a horse. I learned that I get headaches if I sit up too quickly after taking my medicine, and it’s best to take a brief nap afterwards. Erynne can read and write, draw and sing.

I read passably, but can barely scrawl my name. No one cares, because I’m the cursed one.

At least, no one has cared until today. But now that Meryliese is dead, I worry what this means for myself and Erynne. I stare at the letter in my hand and then crumple it and toss it aside. “You said this was delivered to the king and my sister a short time ago?”

“Aye, my lady.”

Dragon shite. That means they’re going to want to see me soon. I jump up from my chair and then immediately get dizzy, the concoction racing through my veins with painful heat. Immediately, I sit down again, pressing my fingertips to my brow as I break out into a cold sweat.

“My lady,” Nurse chides. “You know you must rest for a few minutes after your medicine.”

I nod absently, rubbing my brow. “Riza, I need to change to see the king.”

“Something elegant, my lady?”

“No, something garish. Pink, I think. And get the panniers.” I hate those things, but they do make quite an entrance. “And the yellow chemise that normally goes under the rust-colored gown. Let’s pair the two of those together.”

“That is…quite a choice, my lady,” Riza murmurs.

It’s a hideous choice, loud and obnoxious and wholly unbecoming of the Vestalin line, but that’s exactly the point. I mean to show the king in very small, subtle ways, that I’m not right for his plans. That Meryliese’s death means he should call off his war. That no Vestalin is suitable to go to the Tower of Balance and we’ll just have to figure something else out. “Get my jewelry, too,” I tell her. “And cosmetics.”

I aim to be as unpalatable as possible when I see my dear brother-in-law again, just to remind him once more that Candra Vestalin is a disappointment to all. That no one can depend on her to serve the gods, and that the entire matter should just be forgotten.

Chapter

Two

While I’m not the most diplomatic of princesses, I have to admit that I excel at petty court aggressions. Some people are good with lutes, I’m good at getting under King Lionel’s skin. He’s an absolute twat and doesn’t deserve to be on the throne, but such is fate. I flick a hand over my wide, heavily embroidered panniers, and adjust the puffy yellow sleeves of my chemise. They poke out between the cuffs like lemony tufts and look garishly bright on such a solemn occasion. Wholly inappropriate and absolutely perfect. Sitting by the window in my room, I toy with the jewel-encrusted belt at my waist and wait to be summoned.

I don’t have to wait too long. The king’s official messenger arrives and I pretend to be very interested in the embroidery upon my cuff as Riza harasses him on my behalf. When she finally lets him in, I feign surprise that the king wishes to see me. My sister has been married to Lionel for all of a year now, and other than official holidays in which he cannot avoid me, Lionel avoids my presence. It suits me quite fine, as I loathe the boor.