The envoy made Ardenthal wait for two days. Not openly. Not crudely. He did nothing that could have been held against him. That was exactly what made him harder to endure. He visited the storehouses, spoke with the Master of Stores about provisions, had an administrator explain the development of the fields to him, and inquired in the North Wing after the wounded men from Kronwacht who had been brought back with Ardenthal’s own. He asked questions that sounded like interest and accepted answers that others gave him because they believed courtesy was not yet betrayal. Alina saw him several times from a distance. Sometimes in the courtyard, sometimes in the corridor before the small hall, once at the edge of the stables, where he stopped to watch one of his riders have his horse saddled. Veyren did not have to do much to change the space around him. People straightened when he passed. Voices became cleaner. Even those who disliked him began to speak more clearly, as if their posture had to withstand him. That, Alina understood, was power. Not only commands, not only soldiers, not only contracts. Power was also the ability to make others behave differently under observation. On the first day of waiting, Veyren spoke for a long time with the Master of Stores. They stood in the shadow of the arcades, both in polite posture, both close enough to one another that no one could overhear them by chance. The Master of Stores nodded several times. Not submissively, but attentively. Veyren hardly spoke with his hands, and yet each of his movements seemed to place a point. Alina saw it from the writing room while she read a letter aloud to an old man for his sister. She forced herself not to look out the window longer than could be explained. Sanna noticed anyway. “He is feeding him,” she said without lifting her head. The old man before Alina heard badly and did not notice the remark. Alina set the letter aside. “With what?” “With sentences that later sound like his own thoughts.” Alina looked out briefly again. The Master of Stores was now saying something, and Veyren listened, inclining his head as though he had just heard a clever observation. “The Master of Stores is not stupid,” Alina said. “No. That is precisely why he is dangerous to convince.” The old man asked to hear the last sentence again, and Alina continued reading, but her thoughts remained caught beneath the arcade. On the second day of waiting, Veyren had the fields shown to him from above. Not from the West Tower, for that place belonged too much to Alina, even if no one had said it aloud. Instead, he was led onto the southern battlement, from which one could see the southern fields, the river, and the first roofs of the town. Alina did not go with them. Neither did Seraphina. Later Mara, who by chance had not by chance been on duty there, told them that Veyren had looked out over the fields for a long time and asked how many harvests Ardenthal would need to feed itself independently again. The administrator had answered that perhaps two good years would suffice, more likely three. Veyren had then said that three years were a short time for a kingdom, but a long time for a land standing alone. When Mara reported that, Seraphina had gone silent. Alina had not needed to ask why. The sentence had not been about fields. On the evening of that same day, Alina did not go to the stables. She saw Matthis on the other side of the courtyard when the horses were being led back. He did not lift his gaze. Perhaps out of caution. Perhaps because he had not seen her. Perhaps because he knew, just as she did, that in these days Veyren was not only inspecting rooms, but measuring distances. She missed that glance, although only a few days earlier she would not even have been allowed to name it. That angered her. Not Matthis. Herself. Later she sat in the writing room and wrote to a woman in Westwood whose son was still missing, and realized that she had pressed the name into the parchment too firmly three times. Sanna took the quill from her hand without saying anything, dipped it anew, and gave it back. On the third morning, the invitation came. Not to Alina alone, but to the court. King Arvid, Queen Seraphina, the princess, the inner council, and Count Veyren were to gather in the small hall to discuss the further strengthening of friendship between Ardenthal and Kronwacht. The wording was so smooth it almost slipped through the fingers. Alina read it in the writing room while Sanna sat opposite her copying a list of family messages still outstanding. “This is it,” Sanna said. Alina folded the parchment. “Yes.” “Do you know what he will demand?” “Seraphina believes she does.” “And you?” Alina looked toward the door. Outside, Rena was carrying a basket of fresh cloths toward the North Wing. A man from the riverside village sat on the bench, waiting for someone to read his letter aloud to him once more. Life went on, even when a sentence on parchment tried to change the ground beneath it. “I believe it is worse if they call it friendship.” Sanna laid down the quill. “Shall I come with you?” “Into the council?” “Not into the room. Nearby.” Alina looked at her. “Why?” “Because afterward someone will need to know what you cannot say at once.” That was an answer Alina could not refuse. So she nodded. “Stay in the corridor.” The small hall had been prepared when Alina entered. Not festively, but carefully. The table was free of unnecessary things. No bread, no wine, no fruit. Only water, writing materials, a sealed document bound in dark blue ribbon, and the faces of those who knew that courtesy sometimes lasted longer than threat. Arvid sat at the head of the table. His cane stood beside his chair, openly visible this time. Perhaps he had stopped hiding it. Perhaps Seraphina had forced him to. His face was paler than the day before, but his eyes were awake. Seraphina sat to his right, Alina to his left, not lower down as in an ordinary meeting. That was Arvid’s decision. The council noticed it. Veyren noticed it as well. The Master of Stores sat before a wax tablet. He had already made notes, though no one had officially spoken yet. The priest looked composed, but his fingers lay too firmly folded together. Two further council members had assumed that cautious expression men liked to wear when they hoped no one would force them into a position before the proper moment. Veyren bowed after everyone had taken their seats. “Majesty. Majesty. Your Highness. My lords.” Arvid inclined his head. “Count Veyren. You requested this conversation.” “Not I alone, Majesty. I speak in the name of Donald, King of Kronwacht.” The name lay heavier in the room than before. Alina heard one of the councilmen hold his breath and immediately master it again. Veyren did not loosen the dark blue ribbon at once. He laid his hand on the document as though he wanted to give the room time to recognize its importance. “My lord heard with great joy of your return. With concern, however, he sees how heavily Ardenthal is marked. Two hunger years, a war, losses, wounded men, a weakened king, and a young princess whose courage is spoken of far beyond the borders of this valley.” Alina remained silent. She did not feel Seraphina’s gaze on her, but near her. “Kronwacht helped Ardenthal in a hard hour,” Veyren continued. “Not out of self interest, but from the understanding that smaller realms may flourish under the protection of greater friendships.” Arvid’s hand lay flat on the table. “Ardenthal has not forgotten that help.” “No one doubts it. Nor does my lord doubt that Ardenthal takes its duties seriously. Yet treaties alone do not hold trust when the world grows more uncertain. Paper is necessary, but paper remains cold.” Alina thought of the writing room. Of farewell letters. Of death lists. Of contracts that had sent men into war. Paper was never cold when people stood inside it. It was only treated that way by some. Veyren opened the ribbon and unfolded the document. “King Donald therefore wishes to strengthen the friendship between Kronwacht and Ardenthal through a union that goes beyond debt, aid, and military duty. A union that shows Ardenthal is not merely a debtor, but a partner. That trust becomes visible not only in grain stores, treaties, and army lists, but in the house of kings itself.” The priest lowered his gaze to his folded hands. The Master of Stores did not look surprised. That made Alina angrier than anything else. Arvid’s face remained calm, but his fingers moved almost imperceptibly on the table. “Speak clearly, Count,” Seraphina said. Veyren bowed slightly to her. “King Donald proposes a marriage. Princess Alina of Ardenthal is to be joined to Prince Elric of Kronwacht, my lord’s second son. Such a union would bring honor to both realms. Kronwacht would offer Ardenthal lasting security, preferred trade, protection of its borders, and the visible elevation of Ardenthal from the state of mere obligation into the state of true kinship.” The word marriage should have been loud. Instead it was frighteningly quiet. Perhaps that was because no one spoke at once. Alina had known it could come. Seraphina had hinted at it, Arvid had not denied it, and yet before now the knowledge had been a shadow. Now it had a name. Elric. A man she did not know. A son of Donald. A foreign body waiting for her inside a contract. The Master of Stores cleared his throat first. “That is a significant proposal.” Alina turned her head toward him. Significant. Not outrageous. Not dangerous. Not unacceptable. Significant. The priest spoke more carefully. “A union of this kind could secure peace, if entered into with mutual respect.” Seraphina looked at him. “And if not?” He did not evade her gaze, but his voice grew quieter. “Then it would be a trial.” “For whom?” Alina asked. Now everyone looked at her. Veyren still held the document in his hand. “Your Highness?” Alina laid her hands on the table so no one would see how tightly they wanted to close into one another. “For whom would this union be a trial? For Kronwacht? For Ardenthal? For my father? For the council? Or for me?” Veyren’s face remained courteous. “For all who carry responsibility.” “That is an answer that means no one.” “On the contrary. It includes everyone.” “No,” Alina said calmly. “It hides the one person whose life you have just placed inside a proposal.” The Master of Stores began, “Your Highness, no one is placing your life in anything. A royal marriage has always also been a political instrument.” Alina looked at him. “Is that meant to make it better?” “It is meant to place it in order.” “I am already in order. Princess, daughter, subject of this land, human being. You do not have to put me inside an alliance first so I have a place.” Arvid did not say her name. He let her speak. That was perhaps the hardest thing he could do in that moment. Veyren laid the document on the table, as though to show that no violence lay in his hand. “Your Highness, no one denies your dignity. It is precisely that dignity which makes this proposal possible. Prince Elric is educated, of high rank, politically experienced, and dear to my lord. Kronwacht offers you not captivity, but a place of great importance.” Alina looked at the dark blue ribbon. “A place in Kronwacht.” “A place between two realms.” “A place far from Ardenthal.” “A place that protects Ardenthal.” She lifted her gaze. “From whom?” Veyren was silent for a moment. Not long. Just long enough. “From uncertainty.” “Uncertainty wears no crown.” Seraphina breathed out slowly. The sentence was dangerous. Alina knew it. She did not take it back. Veyren’s smile remained, but something beneath it hardened. “You are very direct.” “You are very indirect. Someone has to balance it.” The Master of Stores leaned forward. “We should not devalue the proposal through sharpness. The question we must ask soberly is this: what would refusal cost?” There it was. Not whether Alina wanted this. Not who Elric was. Not what Donald truly sought. Cost. Arvid looked at the Master of Stores. “And what would acceptance cost?” That counterquestion made the room quieter. The Master of Stores did not answer at once. “That is harder to quantify.” “Then practice,” Seraphina said. One of the other councilmen, a man named Cerdan who had hardly spoken so far, cleared his throat. “Majesty, we must not pretend the proposal is only a grasp at us. Such a union could indeed bring protection. Kronwacht would find it harder to turn against a land joined to its house by blood.” “Or easier to reach into its affairs,” Alina said. Cerdan inclined his head. “That is possible. But the question remains which danger is greater.” The priest now spoke again, more slowly than before. “A marriage against the will of the bride brings no peace before God and no peace within the house.” Alina looked at him in surprise. So did the Master of Stores. But the priest raised his hand before relief could form. “Yet royal birth carries duties that do not always align with personal desire. If a union prevents suffering, one must at least examine whether that suffering is smaller than the suffering refusal could create.” There it was again. The scale. Pain against pain, duty against body, protection against self. No one said openly that Alina should go. Precisely because of that, everyone could pretend she was not yet being pushed. Veyren raised his hand in appeasement. “Majesties, Your Highness, my lords, I have not come to force a decision today. My lord is generous enough to give Ardenthal time to appreciate the honor of this proposal.” “How generous,” Alina said. Arvid’s voice became firmer now. “We will give no answer before we have deliberated.” Veyren inclined his head. “Of course.” “And we do not deliberate to the sound of unspoken threats.” “Majesty, Kronwacht does not threaten its friends.” Arvid looked at him. “Then Kronwacht will have no reason to feel struck when friends ask questions.” Veyren bowed more deeply than before. “My lord expects no submission. He expects foresight.” “So do we,” Seraphina said. “Then we are closer to one another than it may seem in this moment.” Alina felt nausea, not strong enough to become visible, but clear enough that she had to keep her hands flat on the table. She wanted to stand. She wanted to take the document and tear it apart. She wanted to laugh because all of this was being spoken so neatly, while the truth beneath it smelled of possession. Instead she asked, “Count Veyren, are you speaking of a marriage or of a pledge?” This time the room reacted. One of the councilmen drew in a sharp breath. The priest briefly closed his eyes. The Master of Stores looked as though she had thrown something valuable onto the floor. Veyren, however, became completely still. “I speak of an honor.” “That was not my question.” “Then I speak of a union that protects Ardenthal and shows Kronwacht that this valley does not merely take when it hungers and hesitate when it is asked to give.” The mask remained courteous, but behind it the core appeared for the first time. Alina looked at him and knew that everyone in the room had heard it too. Arvid’s face hardened. “Enough.” The word was not loud, but it carried. “Count Veyren, you have delivered Donald’s proposal. We will examine it. You will receive an answer when there is an answer.” “My lord will appreciate your care.” “I hope so, for his sake.” Veyren did not gather the document back up. He pushed it across the table until it lay before Arvid. “A copy for your deliberation.” Then he bowed and stepped back. “I stand ready should you have questions about Prince Elric, Kronwacht’s assurances, or my lord’s hopes.” Alina almost said that she had questions about Donald’s hopes, but probably none that Veyren would answer honestly. She remained silent. When the envoy left the room, the door stayed open a moment too long. In the corridor stood Sanna, her gaze lowered and a stack of parchment in her hands, as though she had a reason to be there. Alina saw her only briefly. Sanna did not lift her eyes. She had heard enough. The door closed. After that, the small hall was not emptier. It was only more honest. The Master of Stores began at once. “We must consider the economic consequences.” Seraphina slowly turned her head toward him. “Of course. A daughter is offered, and you begin with numbers.” “Majesty, precisely because the matter is difficult, we must not consider it only emotionally.” “Emotionally,” Alina repeated. “What a dangerous word for the question of whether I am to leave my life.” The Master of Stores looked at her. “Your Highness, with all respect, your life has never been only your own. Not in your position.” “That is what people always say when they wish to take something from someone.” Cerdan leaned forward. “Your Highness, no one wishes to take anything from you. The question is whether your position can give something that protects thousands.” “Then say it that way,” Alina answered. “Do not say honor when you mean price. Do not say union when you mean being given away. Do not say protection when you mean obedience.” The priest spoke more softly. “Duty is not only loss.” “No,” Alina said. “But loss is often called duty when someone else is meant to carry it.” Arvid raised his hand again, this time more heavily. “We will not continue deliberations while the envoy is still walking down the corridor.” “Majesty,” the Master of Stores began. “No,” Arvid said. “Not today. You will prepare in writing the possible consequences of acceptance and refusal. Not only provisions, not only contracts, not only trade. Everything. Political, economic, military, and human. If you cannot fill the last word, ask someone who still knows what it means.” The Master of Stores lowered his head. “As you command.” The council members left the room one after another. The priest remained standing for a moment as though he wanted to say something to Alina. Then he decided against it. Perhaps that was his wisest contribution of the day. When only Arvid, Seraphina, and Alina remained, Arvid reached for the dark blue document and pulled it toward him. His hand trembled slightly. Not from weakness alone. Alina saw it and wished she had not. “I did not want this,” he said. It was not a kingly sentence. Perhaps that was why it struck so deeply. Alina still stood at the table. “But you knew it could come.” Arvid closed his hand around the document. “Yes.” “Since when?” Seraphina did not answer for him. Arvid had to do it himself. “Since Kronwacht began to speak no longer of debt, but of closeness.” “And you did not tell me.” “I did not want to make a judgment out of a possibility.” “Now it is one.” “Not yet.” Alina did not laugh, although something in her reached for it. “No. Of course not. It is only an honor.” Arvid closed his eyes. “Alina.” “What do you want to hear from me?” The question was sharper than she had planned, but it was real. “That I understand why this matters? I do. That I know what Kronwacht has done for us? I know. That Ardenthal is weak? That Donald is dangerous? That the council is already beginning to calculate me into grain, borders, and trade routes? I know all of that. It only makes none of it better.” Seraphina stepped closer. “No one is demanding an answer today.” “No. Today they only demand that I begin to see myself as a possibility.” Arvid looked up at her. In his face lay pain, and for the first time Alina did not know whether she granted him that pain or wanted to carry it from the room. Both were true. That made it unbearable. “I ask for time,” he said. “Not to persuade you. To understand what roads there are.” Alina looked at him for a long time. “And if there is none that lets me remain here?” Arvid did not answer. Neither did Seraphina. With that, the most honest answer had fallen without anyone speaking it. Alina nodded. “Then search thoroughly.” She left before her voice broke. In the corridor, Sanna was waiting. Not directly before the door, but a little farther away at a window overlooking the courtyard. “You heard it,” Alina said. “Enough.” “Then do not say anything clever.” Sanna looked at her. “I had nothing clever.” That helped more than any clever word could have. Alina stood beside her. Below, the courtyard moved. A rider from Kronwacht led his horse to the trough. Two children were sent away by a court lady because they had strayed too near the guest wing. Matthis was not by the stables. Alina searched for him anyway. “It will travel quickly,” Sanna said. “Rumors?” “Yes.” “Then do not let them travel alone.” “What do you mean?” Sanna held the stack of parchment more firmly. “When no one knows what is true, every fear takes the shape that suits it best. You do not have to say everything. But some truth must be faster than Veyren’s courtesy.” Alina looked at her. “Today?” “No. Today you must breathe.” “Everyone says that.” “Then perhaps, for once, someone is right.” Alina briefly closed her eyes. Breathing was harder than it should have been. Beneath her, the courtyard went on. Above her hung a proposal that was not yet a chain and already had weight. In the afternoon, the courtyard still knew nothing precise, and precisely because of that it knew too much. No one cried the news aloud. No one stood on the well wall and announced that Kronwacht had proposed a royal marriage. Yet the voices changed. In the corridor before the small hall two court servants spoke more softly than necessary. In the kitchen a conversation fell silent when Alina entered, although no one there claimed to have been speaking about her. In the North Wing one of the lightly wounded women asked whether the guests from Kronwacht would stay long, and she looked not at Irma but at Alina. The rumors had no fixed shape yet, but they were already searching for a body to carry them. Alina worked on. Not because she was calm, but because standing still would have been more unbearable. She went into the writing room, sat at the table, and accepted the next letter, although her hands felt as if they still belonged in the small hall on the wood before Veyren’s document. A woman from Dorfhain wanted to have a letter written to her married daughter saying that the father had returned but could not sleep at night. Alina wrote the words, read them aloud, and heard the woman ask for the sentence about the nights to be removed. “She should not worry,” she said. Alina looked at her. “She will worry when she sees him.” “Then only later.” “And until then she believes something false.” The woman pressed her hands together. “Is that always bad?” Alina held the quill above the parchment and realized that the question was larger than the woman knew. Was false calm better than true danger? Was an unspoken proposal less real as long as one did not name it? Was a life freer if the chain was shown only after it had been closed? “Not always,” she said at last. “But sometimes worry comes too late.” The woman was silent, then nodded. “Then leave it.” Alina left it. Sanna sat at the other table and said nothing. Only after the woman had gone did she lay down her quill. “You write very straight today.” “What does that mean?” “That you are not softening sentences.” Alina looked at the parchment before her. “Perhaps I am not good at softening right now.” “Perhaps today that is not a mistake.” Through the open window came a sound from the courtyard. Hoofbeats, voices, a brief call. Alina did not lift her gaze, yet she knew Sanna noticed. “He will find out,” Sanna said. “Matthis?” “Yes.” “Perhaps not today.” Sanna looked at her. Alina breathed out. “Yes. Today.” “Do you want to tell him yourself?” The question was simple, but it opened a room Alina did not want to enter and yet had long since entered. If she told him, she made him part of it. If he heard it from others, she left him alone with a truth that concerned him without belonging to him. “I do not know.” “Then hurry with knowing.” “That sounds harsh.” “It is harsh. But rumors are faster when people hesitate.” Late in the afternoon Alina went to the North Wing because Arvid had sent for her. He was now sitting upright in a chair by the window, which Irma probably allowed only because she stood nearby and looked as though she could order him back to bed at any moment. Seraphina was not there. On the small table beside Arvid lay Veyren’s document, folded but not sealed. Alina stopped before him. “You wanted to speak with me.” “Yes.” Arvid gestured to the chair opposite. “Please sit.” That please was not courtly. It was tired. Alina sat. For a while Arvid looked out the window, down into the courtyard, where Kronwacht’s riders were moving their horses. “When the hunger years came,” he began, “I thought the worst decision was the first one. Accepting grain. Accepting money. Accepting seed. Putting my signature beneath it and hoping the price would not become higher than the dying before the gates.” Alina listened. She had known of those days, but mostly through their results. Lists, rations, empty stores, names of the dead, contracts in the map room. Rarely from his mouth. “The second decision was harder,” Arvid said. “Because by then I knew that help never returns without a hand. Not always at once. Not always wickedly. But it returns and asks whether one remembers.” “And you remembered.” “I had to.” “Now I am supposed to remember.” He looked at her. “Yes.” The sentence hurt because he did not evade. “I am not telling you to accept this marriage.” “Not yet.” Arvid accepted the blow. “Not yet.” Alina closed her fingers around the fabric of her dress. “That is more honest than I expected.” “I have lost too much time trying to protect you through incomplete answers.” “And now?” “Now I am trying to show you the whole weight without forcing it on you as a decision before we know what roads remain open.” She looked to the document. “What roads could those be?” “Delay. Counterproposals. Other securities. Trade concessions. A closer military pledge without marriage. Perhaps a connection with another line, less direct, less binding.” “You already sound like the council.” Arvid’s face did not harden. It grew sadder. “I am king. Sometimes reason sounds like betrayal before it becomes one.” Alina had to lower her eyes, because in that moment she could not hate him. It would have been easier if he had sacrificed her without suffering. Easier, but not true. “And if Donald wants nothing else?” she asked. “Then he will show us how much friendship is truly worth.” “You have already seen that.” “Perhaps. But a king may not only know what he sees. He must be able to prove why he acts after seeing it.” Alina stood and went to the window. Below in the courtyard, Matthis led a horse across the yard. He walked slowly because the animal was still limping. One of Kronwacht’s riders spoke to him. Matthis answered briefly, neither submissive nor challenging. Arvid followed her gaze. Alina noticed too late. “He is one of the reasons this demand strikes you harder,” Arvid said. Alina turned toward him. “If you use his name to make the marriage easier for me, I will leave.” “I am not doing that.” “Then why?” “Because I am not blind.” The sentence was calm. Not harsh. Precisely because of that it struck. Alina said nothing. Arvid continued. “I do not know what is between you. Perhaps you do not know it yourself. But I see that something is there, and I also see that others can see it if they are clever or malicious enough.” “Veyren.” “Yes.” “And the council?” “Not all of them yet. Some perhaps. More soon, if you become careless.” She laughed softly, but without joy. “That sounds like a father’s warning and a king’s warning at the same time.” “It is both.” “Which one matters more?” Arvid’s gaze remained on her. “The father’s wants to protect you. The king’s does not know whether he can.” Alina wanted to say something sharp, but the sentence left her no place to cut. “Matthis has demanded nothing,” she said. “I know.” “He did not tell me to flee.” “That speaks well of him.” “He has not even told me to refuse.” “That speaks even better of him.” Alina turned back to the window. Matthis had disappeared by now. “Then do not speak of him as though he were a mistake.” “I am not.” “Then what?” “I speak of him as someone who can be wounded if others wish to strike you.” Alina remained silent for a long time. When she answered, her voice was quieter. “I know.” “Good.” “No,” she said. “Not good. Only true.” Arvid nodded. “Yes. Only true.” When Alina left the North Wing, Veyren stood at the end of the corridor. Not by chance, even if his posture claimed chance. One of his scribes stood beside him with a folder in his hands. Veyren bowed. “Your Highness.” “Count Veyren.” “I hope your father finds strength.” “He has more of it than some expect.” “That pleases me.” His gaze rested on her a moment too long. “I also hope you do not perceive my king’s proposal as a burden before you have considered its greatness.” “Burdens do not become lighter simply because they are large.” “Sometimes size makes them worthier.” “For whom?” Veyren smiled. “You like to ask the question that pulls the fine cloth from the table.” “Then place less beneath it that must be hidden.” The scribe beside him looked down at his folder. Veyren remained composed. “Prince Elric is not a bad man.” “That is a low beginning for a life.” “He is educated, patient, and of calm nature. He leads no excesses, has no cruel inclinations, and possesses Donald’s trust.” “You describe a horse someone wishes me to buy.” “I describe a prince who would be suitable for a princess.” “You do not know me well enough to know what is suitable for me.” Now his smile lost some of its warmth for the first time. “Perhaps not. But Kronwacht knows the situation of Ardenthal very well.” “I do not doubt that.” “Then you know my lord does not merely take. He orders. He protects what fits itself into larger order.” “And what does not fit?” “It usually seeks protection only late.” Alina held his gaze. The threat was still dressed in courtesy, but it had no longer hidden itself completely. “Then give my regards to your king,” she said. “Tell him Ardenthal has learned to act late when early silence becomes dangerous.” Veyren bowed. “I will tell him that you possess remarkable clarity.” “Tell him I am listening.” She passed him before he could answer. In the courtyard the news had arrived by now. Not completely, but enough. Alina felt it before anyone looked at her. A court lady lowered her eyes too quickly. Two servants fell silent by the well. One of the younger men from the North Wing, who was walking without help for the first time, looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and horror. To him she was the princess who had brought him back. Now perhaps she was the princess who would be given away so no one would have to go again. That was how it would begin. Not with malice. With calculations that sounded like reason. By the stables the stable boy stood red faced. Matthis was beside him, and Orven, the man from the previous day, leaned against a post. As Alina came closer, she heard just enough of Orven’s voice. “A princess does not marry stable smell. That was true even before Kronwacht.” The stable boy stared at the ground. Matthis stood very still. “Say that again,” he said. Orven raised his hands. “I am only saying what everyone will say soon. If she goes west, the glances across the courtyard are over. Maybe that is better for you.” Alina stopped. This time she was too near to pretend she had not heard. Orven noticed her first. The color left his face. “Your Highness.” Matthis did not turn around at once. Perhaps he first had to put his face in order. Then he looked at her. There was no shame in his gaze. That was good. Pain, yes. Anger too. But no shame. Alina turned to Orven. “You speak very freely about things that do not belong to you.” “I did not mean to…” “Yes,” Alina said. “You did. You simply did not mean for me to hear it.” Orven lowered his head. “Forgive me.” “Not me.” The man glanced briefly toward Matthis, then back to the ground. “Matthis.” It was not a true apology. But it was a kneeling before the situation. Matthis said nothing. Orven left. The stable boy disappeared with a bucket, although the bucket was empty. Alina and Matthis remained standing in the open area before the stables, far too visible and yet alone for a moment because everyone else had decided not to look. “You heard it,” Matthis said. “Yes.” “Which version?” “Enough.” He nodded. “Then I do not have to say it.” “Yes, you do.” He looked at her. “Why?” “Because I do not want to hear it only from other mouths.” Matthis breathed out slowly. “They say Kronwacht wants to marry you.” “Not Kronwacht. Prince Elric.” “That does not make it better.” “No.” “Is it decided?” “No.” “But possible.” “Yes.” That yes stood between them, plain and heavy. Matthis looked over the courtyard, not because there was anything there, but because he needed a place where his eyes could set down the truth. “I imagined many things in the camp,” he said. “Not this.” “Neither did I.” “That is not entirely true.” Alina swallowed. “No. Not entirely.” “You knew something like this could come.” “Since Veyren arrived.” “And before?” “Perhaps I did not want to know it.” Matthis looked back at her. “What will you do?” There was the question. No flight. No vow. No grasp for a solution that would save two people for a night and set a land burning in the morning. Only this question. What will you do? Alina had no answer large enough. She thought of Arvid’s pale face, Seraphina’s warnings, Donald’s document, Elric, whose name had suddenly entered her life without the man himself setting foot in Ardenthal. She thought of Matthis’s hand in hers, of Orven’s sentence, of the doors that were not open simply because she walked through them. “Not what they expect,” she said at last. Matthis held her gaze. “And what do they expect?” “That I first fear for Ardenthal. Then feel guilt. Then reason. And eventually obedience.” “And you?” “I fear for Ardenthal. I feel guilt. I understand the reason.” She stepped half a pace closer, not enough for other eyes, but enough for her voice to sink lower. “But I am not their seal.” Matthis looked at her, and this time something in his gaze almost took her breath away. Not joy. Not hope. More the startled recognition that she had just drawn a line whose price was not yet visible. “Then they will try to remind you what you are,” he said. “Yes.” “Princess.” “Daughter.” “Duty.” “Debtor.” Matthis shook his head. “No. Not that last.” “Yes. To them.” “Then they are lying.” The force in his voice was quiet, but it was there. Alina felt how much she wanted to touch him. Not secretly, playfully, not from desire alone, but so this anger would not stand between them without a place to go. She did not. The courtyard was too open. Veyren too clever. The council too ready. “Not tonight in the stables,” she said. Matthis understood at once. “Too dangerous.” “Too obvious.” “At the river?” She shook her head. “They will see there too.” “Then where?” Alina did not know. That was perhaps the most honest answer. “I will let you know.” “Through Sanna?” “If she does not slap us both first.” For the first time that day, his face softened. “Would she do that?” “She would claim it was strategically necessary.” Matthis looked down at his hands. “Alina.” The sound of her name made it harder to remain calm. “Yes?” “If you need distance, say it. Not as princess. Not to protect the land. Say it to me.” She looked at him for a long time. “Do you want distance?” “No.” “Then do not demand it from me before I choose it myself.” He nodded slowly. “Good.” A call from the stables interrupted them. Matthis had to go. This time he did not bow. That would have been too much. He only said, “Your Highness,” and the address was once more a cloak for everyone else. “Matthis,” she answered. He went back to the horses, and Alina remained a moment longer before taking the path to the castle. In the corridor Sanna was waiting, not by chance. “And?” she asked. “He knows.” “From you?” “Also.” “Good.” Alina looked at her. “Nothing about this is good.” “Yes, it is. Some bad things become worse when one has to carry them alone.” Sanna walked beside her. “Seraphina is looking for you.” “Of course.” “She looked as though she had just stopped someone from doing something foolish.” “My father?” “The Master of Stores.” “Pity.” “For whom?” “Perhaps for my father.” Sanna looked at her from the side. “You are making jokes.” “No. I am avoiding screaming.” “Then it was a good joke.” In the small room below the West Tower, Seraphina was waiting. A copy of Veyren’s proposal lay on the table. Beside it stood two cups, both untouched. Alina remained in the doorway. “I spoke with Matthis.” Seraphina nodded as though she had expected nothing else. “And?” “He did not suggest fleeing.” “Then he is wiser than some nobles.” “He asked what I will do.” “And what did you say?” Alina stepped inside. “Not what they expect.” Seraphina looked at her for a long time. “That is a good sentence for a beginning. It is not yet enough for a decision.” “I know.” “Good. Then we begin by finding out what decisions exist at all.” Alina sat down. For the first time since the small hall, sitting did not feel like surrender, but like preparation. Seraphina pushed the copy toward her. “Read carefully. Not the beautiful lines. The conditions.” Alina took the parchment. The handwriting was clean, the phrasing polite, the trap carefully built. Protection of the borders. Preferred trade. Cancellation of part of the open obligations. Recognition of Ardenthal as a close partner of Kronwacht. Alina’s residence in Kronwacht after the marriage. Joint counsel in matters of succession should children come from the union. The first child was to bear a name from Donald’s house. Envoys from Kronwacht were to be permanently present in Ardenthal in an advisory capacity in order to accompany the new bond appropriately. She read that sentence twice, because the first time it sounded too courteous to be saying what it said. Permanent presence. Counsel. Accompaniment. Other words for eyes in one’s own house. “They want a seat in our rooms,” Alina said. “Yes.” She read on. Should Arvid die without a male heir, Kronwacht was to assist in the securing of the succession in an advisory and protective capacity. Alina felt the room grow colder, though the window was closed. “They do not only want my marriage.” “No,” Seraphina said. “They want the question of what comes after your father.” “And if I had children?” “Then they would be bridges.” “Hostages.” Seraphina was silent. That was answer enough. Alina did not set the parchment aside. She forced herself to keep reading. In return Donald offered cancellation of part of the open debts, preferred trade, military assurance against attacks from the east, and the sending of builders to improve roads and storehouses. It all sounded useful. It all sounded saving. That was the worst of it. “The council will see this,” Alina said. “Yes.” “They will say one cannot simply reject so many advantages.” “Yes.” “And my father?” “Your father will see that every advantage has a hook. But he will also see how many people could hang upon those advantages.” Alina looked at the line about debts. Hunger years. Empty stores. Dead people. She understood the hook, and she understood the bait. Precisely because of that she did not feel free. “If I refuse, they will say I denied roads, trade, and safety out of defiance.” “Some will say that.” “If I accept, they will say I saved Ardenthal.” “Some will say that too.” “And you?” Seraphina looked at her. “I will say that a rescue which delivers the owner through the gate along with it must be examined very carefully.” Alina leaned back. Her eyes burned. Not from tears. From exhaustion, anger, and the violence of clean writing. “Elric hardly appears in this document.” “No.” “That is remarkable for a man I am supposed to marry.” “It says a great deal about what this is about.” Alina looked again at the parchment. Elric was a name inside a political construction. Perhaps he was kind. Perhaps cruel. Perhaps indifferent. It barely mattered. That was the degrading part. Not even her possible bridegroom was truly the center of the matter. She was a road. He was a road. Donald wanted the bridge. “I do not want to marry him,” she said. It was the first time she had spoken it so plainly. Seraphina did not answer at once. “I know.” “Not only because of Matthis.” “I know that too.” “But also because of him.” “Yes.” Alina waited for a warning. For caution. For a sentence about danger. Instead Seraphina said, “Then at least do not lie to yourself about it.” That struck differently than the warnings before. Alina looked at her. “And if truth is not enough?” “Then it is not enough. But without it, you begin already in the chain.” Outside it grew dark. Torches were being lit below in the courtyard. In the stables people kept working as if the day had only been another day. In the North Wing Arvid was struggling with his body and with a document that wished to write his daughter away politely. Kronwacht waited, generous, patient, and certain enough not to need to close the chain at once. Alina read the conditions again. This time not as shock, but as opponent. Not as judgment, but as design. If she wanted to discover how to escape a chain, she first had to understand where every link lay.