I’m looking out of another window – again, as I seem to have done my whole life, always on the inside of a cage looking out – and listening to father’s tirade. He's pacing up and down the thick burgundy carpet, needing only a few steps to cross the small sitting room.

“I will not allow it!” he finishes.

To my other side, Oren, a resident priest and one of father’s most trusted advisors, clears his throat. I glance at him just in time to see him exchanging meaningful looks with Art. Lucius is leaning against one of the walls to my other side, watching with impatient eyes. Two guards wait patiently by the door. So many people here to meddle with my fate.

“If I may, Magnus,” Oren begins. “It is her right to take on the Challenge. To stop someone from pursuing this path is against the will of the Goddess.”

I open my mouth to continue his argument but he raises a hand to silence me.

“But I agree with your sentiment. Everyone has moments of doubt before their wedding, Your Highness, but I don't think you’re thinking this through.”

Art weighs both of them up for a moment, then adds, “It’s certain death, Your Highness.”

Why are her words the ones that make my blood surge? “You think I don't know that?!” I give Art my most challenging stare, daring her to show her attitude in front of the king. Her expression has changed. She’s no longer amused but seems rather anxious.

“Ekko.” Lucius's voice is soft and kind, making the hairs on my neck stand up. “What is the meaning of this? There’s no need to throw your life away just to avoid a marriage. You agreed to this, if you hadn’t I would never have come.”

The hot, indignant burn that I’ve been carrying with me all day threatens to overwhelm me. Liar! I’d told him no. I want to yell, to hit something, but I don’t. This is me winning. Lucius threatened to ruin me if I did not agree to this marriage but it only matters if I continue to be the princess. Chimera’s don’t have to worry about their reputations. Not that it will ever come to that – I’ll be dead.

But it’s the perfect out nonetheless. Suicide would let him win but this, this is one last act of defiance that he simply can’t control.

“It is my right to take the Challenge,” I say simply. “You can’t stop me.”

I can see the twitch in father’s hand that means he wants to slap me but won't do so until we're in private. He scoffs. “I will not let you embarrass me like this. The wedding is happening, whether you want it to or not.” He waves a hand at the guard. “Lock her up until the ceremony.”

Surprised by his willingness to defy the holy law, I stumble away toward the window, feeling the fire of desperation in my belly. He can't force me.

The guards never make it to me. Both Oren and the Chimera have moved, Art’s sword drawn as she blocks their path.

Red blotches have begun spreading over father’s face. “You dare stand in the way of your king?”

Oren wrings his hands. “You must understand that we cannot let you stop the girl. It’s her right.”

“I decide what is right in my city!” His voice is thundering. He grabs Art by her arm, none of his usual boyish infatuation with her showing in his face. “Step aside, Chimera!”

Art looks calm as she raises her sword to him, though I notice the way the muscles in her jaw twitch. “I’m afraid I can’t. If she wants to try, she must be given a chance, even if it is suicide.”

Before father can burst out into further yelling, Oren lays his long spindly hands on his arm. “Please, Magnus, do not make us defy you. We are simply bound by laws higher than those of this city. You do not want this to be the next Misthan.”

Father’s face grows even redder as he tries to find a way to get his will. But he knows the story as well as anyone else: a Misthanian farmer’s daughter claiming her right to take on the Challenge. Her mother, lying to the Chimera when they come to get the child, saying her daughter died. And a trade ship from Tauren coming across the kingdom’s ruins the next day, swallowed by the waste in its entirety, everything razed to the ground but the barn – in which the mother has locked her daughter to stop her from commencing the Challenge.

Now, Misthan is nothing but a cautionary tale about the Godess’s wrath.

“Then help me talk some sense into the girl!” he snaps.

Before Oren can continue, Art says, “He’s right, princess. You’ll die. And it’s not always instant or pretty. The last girl we took to complete the Challenge managed to defy the beast she had to face, only to bleed out while crawling back to the ship.” She tilts her head, and adds with an impressed air, “She made it nearly halfway before she died, even though she was missing most of both of her legs.”

Lucius makes a face of disgust as if the trials of the Chimera have no place in the mind of someone so civilized as him. I try to face the image of the girl, though I hardly know what to picture since I’ve never been outside of this city. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t frighten me nearly as much as the idea of spending the rest of my life tied to Lucius.

“And should you survive by some miracle,” Oren falls in. “The chance of you living through the grafting process is close to zero. I’ve lost Chimera with more meat on their bones than you, otherwise healthy and strong women. It is painful and takes an iron will.”

I glance at Art and the plethora of tattoos covering her body. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that grafting hurts but I’d never thought about it before. Still, his argument is even less convincing than hers, after all, I won’t ever make it to that point.

“I’ve made up my mind. You won’t convince me otherwise.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

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Everyone has an opinion, none of them in support, and they all try to get to me to tell me what a stupid mistake I am making. Father has sworn to disown me should I survive, no matter whether I am successful or not. My sisters are already vying for my place as if there is anything to envy about being the eldest and therefore the most valuable pawn. The whole palace seems to be bustling with the uproar of my decision and yet, I feel lighter than I have in years.

Art cuts a path for me through the angry faces, leading me up to my room so I can gather the few things I am allowed to take. She hasn’t looked at me since we left the sitting room, where my father is still thundering about my selfishness. As we get further away from the Great Hall, the visitors thin, until we reach my room – which Art is not supposed to have ever seen. She closes the door behind me as I hurry inside, throwing open the chest at the foot of my bed to gather… what? I ruffle through the fabric but come up with nothing useful.

As I dig, Art’s figure appears in the corner of my eye. When I look over my shoulder, her face is more serious than I think I've ever seen it.

“What?” My voice is more snippy than I intended.

She regards me for a few moments. “I recall coming here for the first time, being paraded around after my own Challenge. Remember your father invited me to stay for your birthday?”

“I do.”

“When he told me there were four-hundred guests, I didn’t believe him. And I'd never seen so much food, just… mountains of it.”

I have the urge to interrupt her but bite my lip. I already know where this is going. Art likes to tease me about how spoiled I am and though she’s always smiling, I know there is at least some honesty to her mockery.

“And you–” She gestures at me as if in disbelief. “You were so awful. You hated the food and the gifts people were falling over themselves to give you.” She squats so her eyes are level with mine. “I had been hungry my whole life. I had to kill for a bite of that food, to face the Goddess and let her crush me and hope I'd live through it. Just to sit bruised and broken at some fourteen-year-old princess's birthday party and watch her demand the duck be thrown out because there were onions in the marinade.”

I turn away from her face and continue searching through the clothes, though my eyes aren't really looking at what's inside. My face is hot. Lucius and his family had come a few days early to attend my birthday, and Lucius, seven years my senior, had been everywhere, always full of compliments and gifts, even when I tried to avoid him.

“This is the damn duck, Ekko. Fuck the onions, there are people out there who are starving. And you want to throw it all away?”

I get to my feet, slamming down the lid of the chest without having found anything one could wear to slay a beast. “This is not the same.”

“Isn’t it? Because it looks to me like you're damning yourself to certain death because your life isn't going the way you want it to. So Lucius is an asshole. Aren’t you? You used to be thick as thieves, I'm sure you’ll get there again.”

Instead of responding, I take a deep breath. She can't stop me, I've already seen her stand up for my right to the Challenge once. It doesn't matter what she thinks. “What do I wear?” I ask shakily.

Her eyebrows draw together. “What?”

“I have nothing practical to wear.”

She grinds her teeth. “Of course, you don't.”

Before I can respond, there's a loud knock. “Ekko?”

I cross my arms, staring at the door.

The banging repeats. “Open up, Ekko. We need to talk!” Lucius's voice is firm.

“I’ll go,” Art says, already heading for the door, but I grab her arm and pull her toward the closet.

“What the hell are you doing, princess?” she hisses.

Instead of answering I signal her to be quiet and shove her in between those dresses of mine too stiff or too fancy to belong in the chest, leaving the cabinet door open just a slit.

Not a moment later, he lets himself in, dropping all hints of politeness. His face is bitter and spiteful. “What the hell?”

“I’ve already decided. Don’t try to change my mind.”

He takes a few steps toward me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ekko.” He reaches for my arms. “Why are you doing this?”

Stepping backward, I slip from his grip. “Don’t touch me.”

He bares his teeth. “No point in being modest now, princess.”

I find myself backing into the desk. “What do you want?”

He grimaces. “What do I want? I want us to be together. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

I grip the edge of the table, digging my nails into the wood. No.

“I don’t understand. You're supposed to be mine. You’re already mine.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice is hollow. “It no longer matters either way.”

“Either way? Ekko, there is only one way this story ends and it is with your death.”

“I know.”

The hurt on his face is clear and bright. “So you’d rather die than be with me.”

Yes. The guilt stings, all of it, every thought and breath spent on Art when it probably should have been him. And still, I feel relieved at not having to marry him. “I’m sorry,” I repeat.

He lets his arms sink when I don't disagree, uncomprehending.

“You have to go, there's a lot for me to do,” I say with a quiet voice.

“No! We’re not done here, Ekko. This is nuts.”

I try to usher him out the door but he just won’t move. How many times have I done this? Asked him to leave, made up excuses, tried to avoid him? And yet he’s always right there.

“Why are you doing this?” he repeats, reaching for me again. This time, I have nowhere to go.

“What choice do I have?” I snap, my patience finally running out.

“You already made your choice, remember?” He grabs my chin, his eyes wide and staring. “The things we’ve shared are things only husband and wife should share. What would people think if they knew?”

What would people think if they knew? His favorite trump card. For a moment, I imagine what I would do if I actually was a Chimera, with the teeth and claws of some terrible monster to shut him up. But before I can act on my imagination, our conversation is interrupted by a loud retching sound coming from the closet.

Lucius turns his head as Art stumbles out from between my dresses, shuddering in disgust, her face scrunched up. His expression is that of embarrassed anger as if having been caught out doing something he shouldn’t.

Art crosses the room in a few steps and grabs him by the shirt collar. “You know what?” she begins. “The princess actually is kind of busy, so if you don’t mind keeping that disgusting drivel to yourself.” She pushes him across the room with incredible ease, his feet stumbling as he tries to resist her.

“Ekko!? What is going on?”

“Sorry,” I say, even though I'm not and the smell of his cologne makes me want to scrub myself until I am raw.

When the lock clicks behind him, Art stands behind the closed door for a while, resting her hand against the dark wood.

“I still have nothing to wear,” I say finally.

“You can borrow something of mine,” she sighs.