Chapter 1
Virelle
The hem of the silk dress ends just above my knees—scandalously short by court standards, but perfect in my opinion. As I smooth the fabric, I feel the slight roughness where the seamstress tried to repair the burn marks on the left sleeve.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the tall mirror and notice how the morning light catches the red in my hair, making it flicker like flames. My eyes burn with the same crimson glow—a constant reminder of who I am and what I carry within me.
A soft knock interrupts my moment of contentment. I don’t turn away from the mirror when I ask to be let in, but watch as the door opens behind my reflection. The maid enters with a silver tray, steam rising from it, presumably from the morning tea I never ordered but always get.
Her gaze first falls on me in the mirror, then wanders down to examine my choice of clothing. I watch as she expresses her disapproval, suppressed by the strict rules that govern every interaction within these walls, through a slightly distorted expression around her mouth.
She knows as well as I do that the dress is inappropriate. It’s too short, too tight, and shows too much of what a future crown princess should not show.
But she says nothing. She never does.
I turn to her and let my smile intensify just enough to acknowledge the unspoken between us. “Good morning, Hilda.”
With her, it almost feels familiar, even though the names of the many maids here blur into a jumble.
“Good morning, Lady Virelle.” Her voice is as neutral as her expression, which has returned. “I hope you slept well?”
“Well enough.” I watch her carefully arrange the tea service, positioning each cup and saucer exactly as protocol dictates. “I was hoping to do something today, though. The weather seems ideal for a ride.”
Something flits across her face—so briefly that I may have imagined it. “I’m afraid His Highness Prince Alaric is busy this morning. He and Lady Alice met in the east courtyard earlier.”
Perfect. I keep my expression in check, even though a wave of satisfaction washes over me like warm honey. “How dedicated they both are! I admire Alice’s dedication to her studies.” The words taste sweet and are sincere in their own way. I do admire her—sweet, earnest Alice with her golden eyes and pure intentions. She will make a much better wife for Alaric than I ever could, once I’ve maneuvered them toward their inevitable end.
The maid’s fingers pause for a heartbeat. “You’re not... concerned about the time they’re spending together?”
“Concerned? Hardly. They make an impressive couple, don’t you think? So radiant and noble.” I walk to the window and look out at the courtyard, where I can see two fencers in the distance. “Besides, I was hoping to visit Lysholm today. It’s been too long since I’ve seen old friends.”
I don’t have to turn around to know that her lips are pressed into a thin line of moral condemnation. The silence between us is heavy, heavy with everything she wants to say but can’t.
A lady of my standing should not simply go up to unmarried young men, no matter how innocent the intention may seem. The very thought of it is improper, scandalous, a violation of the strict rules that govern our every move in this place.
But I’m not like most women, we both know that. I’m not the one who chose this life—let alone wants to stay here.
“Martin has made progress,” I continue, trying to keep my voice light. “In his last letter, he wrote about fascinating new discoveries in his botanical research. It’s about rare medicinal herbs that only grow under certain soil conditions.”
Of course, that’s a lie. Martin didn’t write—corresponding with him would be far too risky—but the maid doesn’t know that. She only knows what proper ladies should and shouldn’t do, and visiting childhood friends clearly falls into the “shouldn’t” category.
When I turn back to her, I notice that her hands are now completely still.
“It can’t hurt to maintain old friendships. We’ve known each other since childhood, after all.”
“Of course not, Lady Virelle.” The words come forced from her lips, filtered through what she is allowed to say to someone of my rank and what she is not. “It’s just that... Perhaps it would be better if you concentrated on your studies of magic. Especially after... the incident.”
Ah. There it is. I’ve been waiting for someone to mention the fire. I had expected it to come from one of the masters rather than the household staff, though. In places like this, news spreads quickly. It is whispered from servant to servant until eventually everyone in the castle knows exactly what happened in the training rooms of the Noxvellum Academy.
“Incident?” I raise my eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Is that what you call it?”
She shifts her weight uncomfortably from side to side, the silver tray trembling slightly in her hands. “The... fire, Lady Virelle. I’m told it took considerable effort to bring it under control.”
“Oh, that.” I wave it off as if it were something mundane, like spilled tea. “The masters at Noxvellum have always underestimated my abilities. Yesterday, they proved their misjudgment once again.” I step closer and notice how she tries not to back away. “Fire magic is not meant to be extinguished, you know. It is meant to burn.”
The temperature in the room seems to rise slightly, but maybe I’m just imagining it. Or maybe not. The line between intention and manifestation grows thinner every day, with every lesson and every carefully controlled experiment in which I push the boundaries just far enough to make it worthwhile.
“I’m sure they only want what’s best for you,” she says cautiously. “Magic of your... intensity... requires careful guidance. Discipline.”
Discipline. The word tastes like ash in the air between us. As if discipline could contain what flows through my veins, as if proper behavior and rigorous training could tame the fire that has always burned inside me. They tried that in Noxvellum, all those serious masters with their theories and restrictions. Now I’ve shown them how well their discipline works.
“The masters are concerned about control,” I say in a gentle voice. “They seem to believe that the desire to see something burn and the actual act of lighting it are two completely different intentions.” I smile and see in the mirror behind me the faint reflection of the flame dancing in my eyes. “They will learn better.”
She doesn’t answer, but I see her swallow hard. The tray in her hands is shaking more noticeably now, and I realize I’ve gone too far. I don’t need to completely scare the poor thing—she’s just doing her job, delivering messages and moral judgments alike.
“But you’re right about one thing,” I continue, my tone returning to normal. “My magical training is important. Far too important to be interrupted by unnecessary restrictions or... misunderstandings about my abilities.”
Relief flashes across her face, though she tries to hide it. “Of course, . I’m sure the masters will adjust their approach accordingly.”
“I’m sure they will.” I turn back to the window and watch the distant figures in the courtyard continuing their dance of steel and strategy. “Now, about the ride to Lysholm...”
Her relief disappears as quickly as it came. “Actually, I’m afraid the stables aren’t available today. All the horses have been taken out for training by the grooms. Because of the fighting at the borders.“
I freeze. This is news to me, and highly unwelcome news at that. My carefully laid plans for the day—plans of freedom from these walls, even if only for a day—crumble to ashes.
”All of them?” My voice remains calm, though something cold settles in my stomach.
“Yes, Lady Virelle. However...” She hesitates, and I can literally feel her torn between passing on unwelcome information and maintaining the façade that everything is completely normal. “Prince Zain is already at the training ground. Perhaps you would like to join him for his morning training?”
Zain. Of course. Alaric’s stepbrother with dark hair and gray eyes that never miss a thing. With his sword magic, he makes steel sing in harmonies that only he can hear. He is the only person in this castle who shares my opinion—albeit for different reasons.
Prince Alaric deserves someone else.
I close my eyes briefly and feel the familiar heat building behind my ribs—it is frustration incarnate, looking for an outlet. When I open my eyes again, the maid has taken a step back, even though I haven’t moved.
“How thoughtful,” I say finally. “Prince Zain is so devoted to his art.”
“He would certainly help you with your training,” she ventures, sensing that she is on safer ground. “Master Henrik mentioned that regular practice is essential to control magical... instability.”
Unpredictability. Another word that smacks of restraint, of fear cloaked in academic terms. As if what I carry within me is an unfortunate condition that needs to be controlled, rather than a power to be harnessed.
But she’s not entirely wrong. The demonstration in Noxvellum may have made my point, but it also drew attention to me that I can’t afford right now. If I want to navigate the increasingly complex web of court politics, royal marriages, and personal feuds that surround me, I need to appear controlled. Well-trained.
Properly tamed.
I turn away from the window with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. Training sounds like just what I need today.”
The relief on her face is almost comical. “Should I inform Prince Alaric that you’re going to train?”
“Oh, don’t bother.” I walk past her toward the door and notice how she automatically steps aside to make room for me. “I think I’ll go see him later.”
As I reach for the doorknob, her voice stops me. “Lady Virelle? You know your duties to the crown, to your betrothal...”
I pause with my hand on the cool metal and feel the weight of her words like chains around my shoulders. Duty. Service. All the beautiful words used to describe a gilded cage.
“I know,” I say without turning around. “Service to the crown is the highest calling.”
The lie burns on my tongue, but some lies are necessary. Some masks must be worn until the moment comes to take them off.
