Emilia did not like being the center of attention. The Pentri and the Tiber stood smugly alongside Camilla in a corner, watching her with withering contempt. Camilla waited to see if she would or would not record a win. Lucian, Alexander, and Dido, meanwhile, clustered together beside the far window.

Her parents had her scrunched beside a bookcase.

“I negotiated the Tiber and the Pentri for myself!” Emilia’s parents had never been openly affectionate with her, especially since her powers had manifested, but she’d never imagined they’d look at her with disgust. The pride at her own cunning fell away, and she transformed back into the person who’d grown up under their eyes: awkward, unappealing, an oddity who had no business being noble, or indeed much of anything. “If I take the throne, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

If you’d love me, I’ll do whatever you want.

“You might win this Game, Emilia, but we all know you will never take the throne.” Her father’s words landed heavy as a slap. “In exchange for our support of Lucian, Hector has agreed to give us trade ports on the far eastern fringe of his territory. You in power is more dangerous than not.”

Trade ports. That’s all that was required to buy her parents’ affection away from her.

“You don’t know what I can do,” she growled.

“Thank you very much, but we do.” Her mother spoke low. “And none of it is good.”

Emilia’s stomach chilled. None of it was good. None of her was good. “I’m getting better at controlling it,” she breathed.

“Keep your voice down.” Her father sneered. “That’s the other thing. In case you erupt in some disaster, we need to distance ourselves from you. Think of Alexander, if you can think of anybody beside yourself. Do you want him put to death on your account?”

Emilia could not help the misery that itched all over her skin. Unthinking, she began to rub her fingers together. Her mother slapped her hand.

“Have some dignity,” she said. With them looking at her like this—less than nothing, worse than bad—she wanted to crawl under the carpet to where no one here would stare at her again. “Just don’t look at me” had been the refrain of her childhood. At least, locked up in that tower, she’d been given the satisfaction that she wasn’t hurting anyone. Sometimes she’d imagine all the happy things people were doing without her and took some relief that her presence wasn’t making everything worse.

She repressed a sob.

“If we don’t have a win,” Lord Tiber drawled on the other side of the room, “I’m thinking of switching my vote. Lord Lucian. Now, that’s the kind of profile you can imagine on an imperial coin. Don’t you agree, high priestess?”

“It’s not my place to give an opinion,” Camilla said.

Emilia had not won anything. She couldn’t even keep her own family. This was the one outcome she hadn’t planned for. Emilia had never thought, not for one second, that her parents would back anyone else.

Her fatal flaw had been the belief that, beneath everything, her parents loved her.

Her father and mother turned away from her, signaling their position quite clearly to everyone in the room.

They were done.

Emilia trembled as pain began to slice into the backs of her eyes. Kill them. She could kill them for this. The rage merged with the chaos in her blood and burned hot. Her vision blurred with tears as she imagined her parents as trees in winter. Beneath their bark slept veins and capillaries, the slumbering buds that needed only the correct season to bloom. Emilia pictured her parents blossoming in crimson.

You’re a monster.

Gasping, Emilia looked away from her parents and shut out the deadly images. She bit her lip and clenched her fists. They were right to turn on her. They were right to hate her. What normal person could ever love a monstrosity like her?

Emilia realized with horror that she was beginning to cry.

“Castor. Imogen.” Lord Sabel said her parents’ names with horror, and pity. Pity for Emilia.

A buzzing started in her brain, and it felt like sharp pins were being inserted underneath her fingernails as the whole room regarded her with expressions alternating between disgust and sadness. Tiber and the Pentri were already muttering between themselves and eyeing Lucian. Alexander had yanked their parents aside and was speaking urgently, his face bright red.

Lucian watched Emilia with the tenderest sorrow she’d ever seen.

If you knew what I am, you wouldn’t care.

Bad. Evil. Monster. Vile. Freak. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The buzzing turned into a hum, which grew into a grinding, awful sound in the center of her mind, like the clash of metal. Emilia tilted her head back and shut her eyes as she gave herself over to pain. Her body burned with hate.

The pulse of chaos moved through her.

No. Not here. Please, not here.

But as Emilia’s eyes snapped open, she felt the power shoot out of her, rippling through the room, the hall outside, the entire building.

And that’s when the screaming began.