They piled into Briar’s carriage, the windows open to allow for a breeze in what would otherwise be stifling heat, and off the caravan set, bound for Frankfurt.

In modest privacy with Briar and Phillip, Ben dug out sheets of paper from a satchel and handed them to her.

She leafed through them, her eyebrows going up. “You can read and write now as well?”

Ben snorted. “Phillip cannot work miracles. No, one of his stewards wrote, and I dictated.”

“But Ben has a remarkable memory.” Phillip shifted, his arm slung around Briar’s waist. She leaned into him, silently cursing that Ben had insisted on riding with them, but she fought to focus on these papers, not on the way Phillip was drawing circles on her hip.

“I merely pretended they were jousting credentials,” Ben said. He tapped the top paper. “The other candidates you will be up against in Frankfurt.”

Briar gaped up at him. “How do you know?”

Ben jutted his chin at Phillip. “Lorraine is not far from Frankfurt. While Phillip got the king settled, he sent me off with a steward to investigate who had arrived to put themselves forward, so we could have warning of who they are and what to expect.”

Briar threw a look at Phillip. “That is brilliant! Thank you.”

He shrugged away her awe. “I did feel bad for abandoning you.”

“Callously abandoning.”

“Callously abandoning. I had hoped this information would be pertinent and that your vassals had not already done something similar?”

“They have been, but not this extensively. Not until we are due to arrive, at least.” She thumbed through the pages. Each had a name, along with details beneath, where the candidates were from and who was in their households and even rumors surrounding them. “Ben, this is amazing. You gathered all this information?”

True pride welled in his eyes. He had changed these past few weeks, become more himself than Briar had ever seen. Still lighthearted and the first to a joke but focused, too, with a driven loyalty to his tasks that he had only ever shown toward Frieda before.

Frieda, you would be so proud of him.

He leaned back on the carriage seat in a victorious sprawl. “You are surprised I could charm servants and attendants? You wound me with your lack of faith.”

“So who am I up against?” Briar shifted through the papers, looking for the name she knew would be her first concern. “Matilda of Bavaria is the front-runner?”

“Shockingly, no,” Ben said. “She was not yet in Frankfurt, but expected, as you are. The Bavarian candidate is to be her daughter, apparently.”

“What?” The air briefly went out of Briar’s lungs. But quickly, answers connected: Matilda knew of her own reputation, warlike and violent. So she was offering up her daughter in her stead, an echo of Briar’s situation: all the strength and grandeur of her parent’s resources but the advantage of youth and a spotless record.

Had Matilda changed her tactic upon hearing of Briar’s candidacy? It was a shrewd move and showed Bavaria would be a real threat.

“Princess Clara,” Ben continued. He paused. “Please do not make me recite the full titles of all these people, I beg of you.”

Briar was relieved to give him a mischievous grin. “Could you recite their full titles?”

“I told you,” Phillip said. “He has a remarkable memory. I did take him first as squire merely to please you—”

“Ah!” Briar hit his stomach with the papers. “I knew it!”

“—but now I am of the mindset that this was the true reward fate had in mind for bringing you and me together.”

Briar feigned offense. “A competent squire? Not a wife?”

“Precisely.”

She elbowed him, and he grunted but smiled at her, the smile that locked onto hers and drew a long, slow pull of heat from her belly.

Ben coughed. Loudly. “I swear on the life of our new lustrous queen, I will fling myself from this carriage.”

Briar rolled her eyes. “Promises, promises.”

“Do you wish to hear of the candidates?”

“I can read of them, can’t I? What need do you serve anymore? Fling yourself out and leave me with my husband.”

Ben snatched the papers from her.

“Clara, of course, is expected to be a fierce contender,” Ben said. “Not much is known of her. Matilda has kept a tight grip on her daughter, but she is rumored to be Matilda’s equal in every way, cunning and astute. So you’ll need to watch out for that one.”

Briar considered wrestling Ben for the papers. Phillip tugged gently on her hip, and she sank back against his chest with an overdramatic sigh of surrender.

Ben cut her a sharp look, a mockery of Flora’s disdainful sneer. “Then there’s you, of course. Frankfurt is in a tizzy over you, Bri. The peasant bard who went to sleep and woke up a princess, then became a queen. I tried to tell everyone I could that you are hardly anything special and not to be taken in the least seriously—”

“A competent squire, you say?” Briar whispered at Phillip.

“—but they are quite intrigued by you and your past. Then there’s Landgrave Eckhardt of Hesse, as old as the stones they used to build the castle where everyone’s staying, and about as interesting, too. He’s nominated himself four times for emperor, which speaks to both his age and his ability to convince the Prince Electors that he is in any way a capable candidate. So, no real challenge there. But, if he does somehow win, it’s still a victory for you—doubtless he won’t hold the position long.”

“And you charmed the people of Frankfurt, you say?” Briar tried to hold back her laugh.

“Then there’s Duke Filibert of Lüneburg, whose best virtue is his penchant for drinking until he passes out and spares those around him his company. Followed by his brother, Count Palantine Gottlieb of Lothier, who was otherwise occupied my whole time in Frankfurt, the entire week, which is a remarkable amount of time to be occupied, given that said occupation was entirely spent in a brothel. That stamina alone may win him emperor.”

Now she was laughing, unable to help it. Oh, she had missed him. “Ben—”

“And then.” He launched forward, eyes sparkling. “King Johann of Mecklenburg. Eleven years old.”

Briar’s eyes popped wide, shock dampening her laugh. “Eleven?”

“Newly king and sent here as what I have to believe is merely a way for Mecklenburg to remind the empire that they still exist. He is not expected to win, but he insists that everyone address him as zauberer—sorcerer—not king, and that he is a wizard, specifically an evil one.”

Briar gave a small bark of surprise. “I’m sorry, say that again?”

Ben’s brightness had not dimmed, so it must have been in jest, or at least less unsettling than Briar imagined. At her back, Phillip was chuckling.

“From what I can tell of his attendants, he doesn’t have a lick of actual magic about him,” Ben said. “They all tolerate his antics with the exhausted burden of those not paid nearly enough to pretend their charge has taken their ability to speak with vowels, which, yes, was a spell he cast on his valet while I was there.”

Briar had her hand over her mouth, laughter rising again. “If I don’t win, I do hope it goes to him.”

“Obviously I hope you’re selected to be empress,” Ben said, “it’d be a great victory for Austria, huzzah huzzah and what have you, but if this child somehow does win, I would have an obscene amount of national pride. I mean, my God. Zauberer. He’s a terror and fully committed to this bit and if he asked me to join his household, I’d leave Phillip in an instant.” Ben batted his hand at the papers. “The remaining four candidates aren’t worth mentioning.”

“Meaning they are ordinary,” Phillip translated. He had adapted quickly to weeks spent with Ben.

“You are making this election sound far more entertaining than I had expected it would be,” Briar said, and with that admission, a massive weight lifted, a darkness that had been growing in her solitude these past weeks.

Ben grinned at her. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

She reached out and took his hand. Her other rested on Phillip’s knee, and she tightened her grip, holding them both.

“Thank you,” she said to them. The force of her gratitude made Ben sniff uncomfortably, but he squeezed her fingers.

Phillip placed his hand on hers. “Of course.”

She looked up at him. His eyes were clear and soft on hers, his face open and giving, and she truly did not know how she had endured the time he and Ben were away.

Phillip, ever keeping an eye on her.

Ben, with his jokes and dedication.

Whatever happened with the election, whatever trials she would face, she would not do so alone. Not now.

“I will not fling myself from the carriage, I’ve decided,” Ben cut in. “I will shift the topic to distract you both from making eyes at one another.”

Briar rolled her eyes. “Too late, Benedikt. You did insist on riding with us—”

“Phillip,” Ben cut in, “if animals could joust, which one do you think could unseat you?”

Phillip’s laugh was sudden and left Briar dizzy.

“He has been asking questions of this sort almost nonstop,” Phillip said through his laughter.

“I am not surprised,” Briar said. “He once asked whether it would be better if it rained beer or cider, and the resulting argument lasted two hours and ended with Frieda slapping him.”

She hadn’t meant to talk of her.

The moment her name slipped from Briar’s lips, she gave a panicked look at Ben and saw him flinch.

He covered it by rolling his eyes. “Do not change the subject, Bri. You lost that argument. You really should get over it.”

She could not help but feel he was saying it to them both. We really should get over it. She left. It’s done.

“Now, if animals could joust.” Ben’s voice was a little rushed. He flared his hand in the air. “A fox is too obvious. A badger, that’s where I’d put my money on one capable of unseating you, and I have given it some thought.”

“Of course you have.” Phillip pressed his thumb and finger into his eyes. “A badger? You think I would lose to a badger. Spare my pride that mental image. Not a boar at least? Or an ibex?”

“Why on earth would an ibex joust? That’s absurd. They have horns. They wouldn’t need a lance.”

“Oh, that’s absurd, yes, but not a badger with a lance?”

“Of course not. They’re wily, agile—don’t laugh, I did say if animals could joust, so not a normal-sized badger, but a human-sized badger, obviously—”

“Burn me alive,” Briar muttered. “This topic of conversation will stem fever.”

But Phillip was laughing, and Ben was back to being a sun of joy, and Briar leaned her head against Phillip’s shoulder and let this nonsense play out around her, her smile light and constant.

They arrived at a massive castle complex in the middle of Frankfurt when it was far too dark to see, but the grandness of the place was a dense, commanding presence that left Briar reeling. Her caravan began a flurry of unpacking. The following day would be a welcome banquet celebrating the candidates, all of whom had now gathered. It would mark the beginning of campaigning, the start of three weeks filled with trials, questions, observation, and more, all testing her mettle, poking and prodding her qualities before the Prince Electors cast their votes.

She would have to begin presenting her best self and making her presence and skills known to the Prince Electors. Self-assured. Thoughtful. Passionate. Envisions a peaceful future for the empire. Fearless. She would be able to put faces to the information Ben had gathered. Her head rang with all the names and details she had of people she had not met. Nine other candidates, seven Prince Electors, countless members of their households. She ached from the trip, and, in a good way: She ached from laughter, from the ridiculous conversations Ben had dragged them into during the ride.

Still, she was back with Phillip. Although travel-beaten and fending off a headache was not the way she’d imagined their first night together, as one of the castle’s keepers led them, the fairies, and the vassals to the wing reserved for the Austrian delegates, Briar kept her arm linked with Phillip’s.

“The king’s suite,” the keeper said, indicating a door. And across the hall from it: “The queen’s.”

Well, nearby. But before Briar could argue—

“We must review the subjects of import to the Prince Electors, Your Majesty,” one of her vassals said. “It will not take long. I have received new information upon arriving, and if it comes up at the feast tomorrow…”

Briar sighed. Was she relieved to have an excuse to put it off? But this wasn’t how she wanted it to go. With Phillip. This wasn’t worthy of them.

She looked up at him, and he gave her a tired, understanding smile.

“Do not keep her up too late,” he said to the vassal, without looking away from her.

“Of course, Your Majesty. Merely a quick review.”

Briar ignored the vassals, the fairies yawning and twittering. She ignored everyone and kissed her husband, because she had not for far too long, and she would have this.

It was too fast, and all it did was remind her of how much more she wanted with him.

“Try to sleep,” she whispered to him, though she knew it was unlikely to come for either of them.

Then she followed her vassals into the room. It was as lovely as her rooms at the Austrian castle, sumptuous and well appointed even in the low light from an already burning fireplace, but she hardly saw the finery, the touches of fresh flowers scenting the air.

She sat at a small table, two vassals diving into an explanation of how one Prince Elector, the Prince-Archbishop of Cologne, was prioritizing candidates who would commit to levying higher taxes, and it felt like a dream again.

She was here. In Frankfurt. In this stunning room, in this massive castle, presented as an equal to people who had been trained in leadership from birth.

Briar’s hands clenched in her lap, nails biting into her palms, and that sting of pain grounded her.

She was here, and she would be here, and she would do everything in her power to impress upon the Prince Electors her worthiness throughout the weeks of campaigning. Or, if she could not impress them, then she would do everything in her power to impress upon them the unworthiness of Bavaria. She would not let her country and empire fall into the hands of a warmongering murderer. She had the ability to protect her people, and so she would.

No helplessness.

Never again.

Not for any of them.

The vassals left not long after, and after she changed into a shift, and she was unconscious before she had even fully lain down.

Blissfully, she did not dream.

As Briar followed her vassals through the castle’s winding gray stone halls the following afternoon, her mind was in a fog. Phillip, his arm through hers, looked just as worn, and that was even worse, that she could not help him. Had not been able to help him, drawn away by duty again—and how often would that happen now? Their needs parted by the needs of Austria, and eventually, the Holy Roman Empire.

She held his arm firmly, as if to remind him she was not going anywhere, and he leaned in to press a quick kiss to her head, where Fauna had twisted her golden hair into an intricate weave of braids interspersed with golden picks. It matched the subdued golden hue of her gown, all of her set off in shades of yellow and sunset. That was the theme through her party—Phillip in golden brown, Ben too, the vassals and fairies. It unified them, made a striking declaration of their presence.

In the mirror that morning, she had fought hard to see herself in the visage of Queen Aurora in this fine gown, this elaborate hair. Dressed so outstandingly, who else but Aurora would be at this banquet?

But was it Aurora who was self-assured, passionate, fearless?

Was it Aurora who would succeed?

Briar’s group stopped at an open set of doors. Voices chattered beyond, the murmurs of dozens of people, and the scent of food made the air savory.

Trumpets blared. They were announced within, and Briar slammed her eyes shut.

“Together,” Phillip whispered to her.

She leaned into him. “Together.”

They entered, arm in arm, trailed by Ben, the fairies, the vassals.

The banquet room rivaled Stefan’s throne room. Towering ceilings capped the massive chamber, with huge iron windows allowing brilliant sunlight to stream through. That light caught the dozens of banners hanging from the high ceiling, one for every candidate’s home, one for every Prince Elector’s home as well, a fluttering display of the Holy Roman Empire’s reach. So many countries and provinces represented, and still dozens more that made up this empire.

It ripped Briar’s breath away. She knew the empire was large, but so many people called it home, and so did such a vast array of customs and cultures; how could one person rule it all?

She was standing in one of the ballads she sang, the lyrics come to life, tales of grand halls and highborn nobles and machinations grim and great.

The room itself was packed with bodies already, all chatting, some eating from the banquet table that spanned the length of the room. Unbidden, Briar was hit with another pang of how very much food there was: piles of treats and roasted meats and more, all just sitting there.

She could not overindulge. She was not Briar the peasant bard now.

She was the queen.

Her stomach, still, gave a hungry roil.

Köning swept in front of her. “Your Majesty, we will begin introductions. I see Duke Filibert of Lüneburg first?”

“Excellent,” Merryweather said. She shared a look with Flora and Fauna, all three of them nodding simultaneously. “We shall check in with your guards around the room.”

Briar looked quickly, noting soldiers in Austrian colors stationed at the far reaches alongside guards wearing colors for the other candidates. She had known, in an abstract way, that her guards would be here to watch over her, but she had not thought any threat would be present where all the candidates were gathered, and the Prince Electors, too, so very many people who all had their own security.

“Is there truly a danger here?” she asked.

Merryweather smiled at her. It was too big. Too cheerful. She patted Briar’s cheek. “It is best to be vigilant” was all she said.

So not a no.

Then Merryweather, Flora, and Fauna all split off, bobbing to various sides of the room. They snagged a few strange looks from those unfamiliar with magic, but most territories had some magic users, whether their own fairies or witches or more.

Briar could not stare after them long. Köning cleared his throat, and she was off, Phillip at her side, Ben at her back.

Briar met those Ben had made dossiers about, and his colorful descriptions from the carriage were all too accurate.

Two of the candidates, Filibert and his brother, Gottlieb, were both already a little drunk. Gottlieb made a crass comment about Briar’s beauty and Phillip likely would have started a war if Ben had not jumped in with a laughing comment about the strength of Frankfurt’s wine and defused the whole mess.

The older Eckhardt of Hesse was asleep, draped back in a chair, a plate of half-eaten ribs on a table next to him. Köning tried to rouse him. He snored, loudly.

The Prince Electors were far more responsive. Briar met four of them at once, clustered together, and she immediately felt a pit open in her belly. Self-assured. Fearless.

Those traits had to have been things her vassals fabricated to appease her.

No way could she possibly emulate any of that.

Her mouth was dry, and all she could see as four sets of eyes turned to her was the vast pressure of what she had to achieve.

Briar had to speak to them.

No, Aurora, right? Briar had no place here.

But luckily, the Prince Electors did not give her long to think.

“You grew up a peasant, is that true?” the Prince-Archbishop of Trier asked. He did not ask offensively—it was in shocked curiosity.

“Yes,” she said, facing him. “In Hausach. It’s a small town near the—”

“And you lived all that time with the curse?” one interrupted.

Smoothly, Briar looked at him. She let a beat pass, anticipating another interruption, and when none came, she smiled gracefully. “Well, it did not manifest until my sixteenth birthday. My time living in Hausach was idyllic, actually.” Thoughtfulness swept over her, and her smile became truer. “Idyllic and quaint. Certainly not always free of struggle, but it gave me a view of my country I would not have otherwise. Would that all of Austria—indeed, all of the empire—could be idyllic and quaint, and free of struggle. That is the goal we all work toward as leaders, is it not?”

The Electors shared a look, their faces showing what looked to be surprise at first, then satisfaction.

Briar exhaled slowly.

“This is your husband, is it?” another Elector cut in. “The Savior of Austria?”

Phillip’s whole body went rigid.

Briar squeezed his arm. “You may also know him as the Pain from Lorraine, if you are familiar with lists.”

Phillip cut her a quick look that was equal parts relief and I know what you’re doing.

That name earned a bark of laughter from the Margrave of Brandenburg. “A jouster! You will compete in the match next week, I take it?”

Phillip relaxed with a generous smile. “Of course. I must represent my wife to the best of my abilities.”

The group set off on discussions of the schedule, events and dances and more, all meant to celebrate the occasion—but to give time for the candidates to campaign as well.

As Köning expertly detached them from this conversation and pulled them into another, Briar leaned in close to Phillip.

“Do you think this is going well? I don’t know how to—”

“Briar.” Phillip freed his arm from hers to loop around her waist. “You have weeks yet of campaigning. Allow them to see you, too. Who you are will charm them more than rehearsed facts.”

She let herself have one restorative beat in his arms. “I will choose to see how sweet that was and not dwell on the fact that you value my personality above facts about taxes and territory disputes, when that should have been obvious, hmm? Of course I am more interesting than taxes.”

He pinched her side. Her cheeks flamed red and she tried to maintain her queenly composure as Phillip stifled a laugh.

“Far more interesting,” he said, and she nudged him.

Ben, who Briar had not realized had slipped away, came up to Phillip and handed him something.

“Ah, speaking of your interesting personality…” Phillip took it, nodded his thanks, and handed it to her.

It was food swiped from the banquet table. A piece of pastry, a knob of cheese.

Briar’s face lit up. She swept that joy to Phillip, who took it and smiled.

“I knew you would be unhappy not to at least try the food,” Phillip said. “I can have Ben squirrel away more later. But for now?”

She kissed his cheek and reached back to squeeze Ben’s arm. “I am spoiled.”

“Yes, you are,” Ben said with a cutting grin, and she batted him.

As she lifted the knob of cheese to her mouth, Flora appeared at her elbow, glaring first at Briar, then at Ben.

“I did not see you test the food before giving it to the queen,” she said accusingly.

Ben’s brows rose in sharp confusion. “Um—why?”

Flora rolled her eyes and cast her wand over the food in Briar’s hands. Satisfied, she nodded. “It is safe to eat. Continue.”

Then she was gone, flurrying back to the edge of the room.

Briar, Ben, and Phillip stared after her until Briar looked down at the food in her hands.

“She thinks it could have been poisoned?” Briar shot a hesitant look up at Phillip.

His lips parted, and his cheeks flushed red. “I—suppose so, yes.” The expression that came over him was dark with self-recrimination, and he touched her wrist. “I’m sorry. I did not think—but I should have. This is no frivolous party. It is a deadly game, all of it. Bavaria will not be an easy competitor, nor will they fight fairly. You don’t have to eat the—”

He started to take the food from her.

Briar yanked it against her chest. “No. This is mine.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed. “And she will eat it, because I was apparently supposed to risk my own life to test it, when Flora easily used magic to determine it wasn’t poisoned instead.” He gave Briar a flat look and shook his head. “She realizes that’s what she implied, right? That I should’ve died for something she can do with the flick of her wrist?”

Briar again looked at where Flora now stood talking to one of her guards. “I’m sure she didn’t mean…quite that,” she said, but it was stilted.

Köning regrouped them, and as they trailed him across the room, she ate as properly as she could. Oh, the cheese especially, a soft white savory concoction that she had never tasted before, but it was not dissimilar to a type made by Rolf’s wife at the tavern in Hausach. It sent a pang through her, of missing home, but she swallowed the last of the food and used that pang to become resolved. This was why she was here. To protect them. Because, somehow, miraculously, she had that power now.

“Queen Aurora, King Phillip,” Köning announced, gesturing to the next waiting group. “May I present King Johann of Mecklenburg.”

Briar immediately sprang to attention. Behind her, she could hear Ben quietly go, “He should have said Zauberer, just you wait.”

A little boy looked up from a circle of men grouped around him. He wore a heavy brocade cloak across his tiny frame, woven with a repeating pattern of the Mecklenburg coat of arms, a bull’s head in a crown. His dark brown hair sat in a limp wilt beneath a crown of dense gold, and that alongside the brocade made him look like he was trying very hard to appear regal.

He glared up at Köning. “Zauberer Johann,” he emphasized, his lip curling. “I will put a curse on your house. Locusts will swarm your bed. Your brain will shrivel into a dried apricot. Do not try me.”

“Told you,” Ben murmured.

Köning had gone momentarily stunned; clearly no one had prepared him for the intensity of Johann’s game.

Briar quickly stepped forward and gave a deep curtsy. “Zauberer Johann, you must forgive my lord. We did not wish to reveal your true identity to the masses. But if you are making yourself freely known, then we will address you as such.”

For the shortest moment, Johann looked positively overjoyed. That look vanished with a severe nod.

“It is wise to be cautious. I have enemies everywhere.”

“No doubt. I understand more than most the negative effects that follow users of magic.”

Johann’s eyes became full circles, making him look every bit the eleven-year-old he was. “You are Queen Aurora. The Aurora. The Aurora cursed by Maleficent!”

One of Johann’s attendants put a hand on his shoulder, tried to whisper him down off this topic, but Johann shrugged him away. Honestly, from anyone else, Briar wouldn’t have even entertained the subject—but something about Johann’s innocent joy had her beaming down at him and feeling, for the first time, like she could make light of it all.

“I am,” she said. “You must promise not to similarly curse me while we are here, won’t you? I do not know what Austria could offer you in return, but I would be most grateful if I had your allegiance and not your wrath.”

Johann chewed that. “Hmm. It is a lot to ask of a sorcerer, not to curse people.”

Briar fought back a smile. “Indeed. I—” A thought occurred to her. Oh, her aunts would be quite upset with her. “Do you have fairies in Mecklenburg?”

Though hers were not the only fairies that flittered around the empire, they were the only ones who had remained with one royal family and made themselves a known part of that country’s rule. Briar assumed it was because of the course fate had taken them on, forcing the fairies to become unduly attached to her.

Johann’s lips pursed. “No. My father drove out magic before he died. He claimed it was evil.”

Well, that raised a number of questions immediately. Briar landed on “And you seek to restore what he expelled from your country?”

He blinked for a moment. As though that had in no way been his reason for assuming the mantle of a sorcerer—at least, not consciously, she thought—but now that she had connected those dots for him, he pulled up a proud smile.

“Precisely.”

“What if I could offer an introduction to fairies, then?”

Johann’s shock sparked on the air. “You can do that?”

“Of course. They travel with me.”

“Fairies?”

“Yes.”

“Real fairies?”

“I swear on my throne. You know the story of my…recent predicament. They were instrumental in freeing me from it. I am sure they would be glad to speak with you. And perhaps show you a trick or two of theirs?” Merryweather would delight in talking with the boy, and perhaps she could even convince him that trying to be an evil sorcerer was not the best course for his life.

Johann’s gaze flicked, once, to Phillip behind her, and he must have guessed who he was, because his eyes went wide again, but he put his attention back on Briar.

“Yes,” he repeated in an awed whisper. “If I can meet your fairies, I shall not curse you.”

“A deal.” She extended her hand and Johann shook it, giving her a large, toothy grin.

His attendants shared smiles. One nodded his thanks to her.

Phillip leaned in. “I thank you, Zauberer, for your willingness to negotiate. Perhaps I can add to the deal as well? Guarantee our safety while we’re here?”

Johann looked very much how Ben had in the tavern, trying and failing to cap his excitement. “I am not in the practice of bespelling people to be safe”—he made a disgusted face—“but I can, for you, possibly, maybe, consider it. What have you to offer?”

Briar was wondering the same thing. She eyed Phillip, who winked at Johann.

“A sword created by magic that you are free to inspect,” he said.

Flora’s Sword of Truth.

Johann made a high-pitched whine, then straightened with the sniff and stature of someone trying to be taken seriously. “That would be satisfactory.” He looked up at his attendant, gave a nod as if they had been in discussion. “We have an accord.”

More pleasantries, and then Köning guided them away, Briar spinning to face Phillip with a barely suppressed grin.

“Do you think we might be able to smuggle him to Austria? I should like to keep him.”

“You know, I do not think he would be opposed to it,” Ben piped up behind them.

“Then by all means,” Phillip said. “I have been trying to think of a way to start a war with Mecklenburg.”

“After you nearly started one with Lothier, trying to punch Gottlieb as you did,” Briar shot back.

“That was earned on his end and would have been well worth it. No one gets to speak about you like that.”

“Ah, again, what a pair we make.” Briar leaned into him. “Not at the first event yet two hours, and already considering starting as many feuds.”

Phillip laughed.

Köning, who was trying very hard to pretend he had not heard their conversation, was red to his ears. “Your Majesties, the final candidate is across the room. If you will follow me?”

The final candidate.

Clara of Bavaria. With her mother, no doubt, who had murdered Stefan on the day of Briar’s wedding. Matilda, whose bloodthirsty actions had shoved Briar into this competition, who ended innocent lives all for her own selfish gains.

Briar’s heart twisted sharply, her lungs feeling laden with stones, by the building weight of those memories, the bloodstained stones—

All the levity fell away, the protective shield of humor, and she briefly closed her eyes.

“Breathe,” she whispered to herself.

She would be gracious to Clara. She would be the picture of cordiality to Matilda, even. Because she was civilized where they were not; she was a peasant who had been wrenched into high society, and she had manners and standards and grace.

Or, at least, this queen version of her did.

This queen version would not crumple under dark, gory memories.

And so she was that queen as they wove across the room, ducking people they had met already, nodding greetings in passing.

A group stood by the banquet tables, clustered tightly together. Briar immediately saw Matilda, dressed in a luxurious gown of beaded purple, her dark hair swept back into braids, her pale skin flushed and healthy, no hint of the army-leading commander she had been in Austria.

Matilda turned at their approach, even before Köning said anything, and gave Briar an emotionless smile.

Briar stopped, her stomach knotting, knotting again, until it was all a bulky tangle, making it hard for her lungs to find room.

The Prince Electors knew Matilda had led a group to assassinate Stefan. All here knew.

And no one did a thing to bring justice for it. For only the emperor could judge a queen.

These rules were superfluous, enforced only by those they benefited, and again, Briar was struck with a resounding chord of powerlessness. Here she was, a queen in her own right, and yet she had no ability to see justice done.

It was maddening.

It was harrowing.

It was all the more reason she had to become empress herself.

It made all the sharp edges of Maleficent and the spindle and her dreams roar to the front of her mind, because if she had come this far, amassed this much power, and yet she was still restrained, what hope did she really have? What hope did anyone have—not even to see justice carried out, but to just be?

Briar ripped her eyes away from Matilda, her gaze crawling across the rest of the Bavarian group. Lords, vassals, servants—

A woman stepped out of the group, alongside Matilda.

Those sharp edges. The dreams. The spindle. All of it softened, drifted away, gauze-thin and meaningless.

Köning gestured between them. “Queen Matilda, Princess Clara, may I present Queen Aurora and King Phillip of Austria.”

Briar stared at the woman next to Matilda. She stared, because her insides were collapsing, her mind playing a cold, cruel trick on her. She was sleep deprived, she was terrified and overstrung—so that was the reason. That was the reason. Because Princess Clara, she could not be—could not be—

Briar looked at Ben. He would not see what she saw, and that would confirm it, and she could take a deep breath and carry on.

But Ben’s face was drained of blood, his eyes fixed, solidly, on Princess Clara.

Briar faced her again. Locking eyes with the woman wrenched a name out of her.

“Frieda?”