THE COURTIERS LEANED IN, their jewels and gold glinting beneath the crystalline chandelier, as Celvene wove lies so pretty even she wanted to believe them. How they would amass fortunes far beyond comprehension; how they would bring peace to the four warring kingdoms; how their families would remain content for years to come.

But in the kingdom of Aizasea, stability was a rare commodity.

“I see a bright future ahead of you,” Celvene said. A smile danced on her face. The courtier in front of her watched her practiced hands with interest, pale gaze drilling into her fingers. “A rise in status. An increase of power. Almost… kingly.”

“Me?” The man balked, though the shaky grin that spread across his lips was undeniably avaricious. “Are you… are you saying I could become a king?”

Celvene forced her smile to widen as she shrugged. “The cards see a man with potential. I see a man who may wear a crown.”

The man turned to the woman sitting next to him. Both were clad in a variety of different gems, gleaming shades of the rainbow beneath the warm light of the overhead chandelier. Every time the man moved, the jewels would clatter against one another, reminding Celvene just how poor she was considered in Aizasea’s castle.

King Virion had invited the circus she was a part of to perform for his court, followed by a royal dinner. They’d adapted the throne hall so the circus could perform with minimal worries, though Celvene had watched them bump into one another more than once. She wondered why they hadn’t used the ballroom. Perhaps the staff thought the circus was too lowly for such a prestigious venue.

Celvene had met a variety of nobles and royals throughout the night, though they all felt like they blended together: they’d greet her—if she was lucky enough to receive even that—with a sneer, sit down, have lies fed to them like dessert, then shift their personality to one that didn’t believe Celvene was akin to sewer run-off when she flattered them.

“Imagine,” the man breathed. “What if I took the place of King Virion? Or… or… create a new kingdom!”

The woman raised a hand to her mouth, let out a breathy laugh, and flexed her fingers. “Don’t be ridiculous, Rodolf. Virion is immortal.”

Even immortals can bleed, Celvene thought, glancing up at the king. He still remained seated in his throne, blue velvet cape falling over his shoulders in waves and hugging his lanky frame. His tanned skin was aged and gray streaks ran through his cropped, chestnut locks. His suit beneath was a collection of dark lines and clean edges, shades of black and navy. Though Celvene knew he had access to far more resources—and therefore, food—than the rest of his kingdom, the few times she’d seen him he’d been skin and bones.

His abundance of resources shone through the castle, though. The throne room was a sight to behold. One Celvene would never tire of. An array of golds and silvers so bright they looked white, marble columns lining the tiled floor, and a golden rug running through the center of the hall embellished with weavings of thin blue flowers. Statues posed in different positions, soft cream stone glittering under the light, stared at Celvene as she worked. The ceiling was perhaps the most impressive of all, with an array of glass paintings etched into the domed roof, depicting the king’s past victories in battle. And, of course, at the end of the hall was the throne. A grand seat of carved marble and yellow threads, holding King Virion.

Rodolf flipped his hand up and spread his fingers apart, a gold coin resting between two. He flicked it onto the table and pushed it across to Celvene. “Another, dear. You’ve been surprisingly entertaining.”

Celvene eyed the coin for a moment before accepting it and throwing it into her small pail of earnings. To her side, the makeshift arena roared. Trapezists soared, flame-lit batons streaked orange through the air, and a bear her boss had somehow managed to snag from the wilds danced a jig. Celvene hadn’t a clue how he’d managed to capture the bear, let alone tame it, but his slimy hands always found a way.

She scooped her deck up, cards flipping at rates even she couldn’t track, and she activated her illusion spell the moment she slowed her shuffling. At the beginning of the night, she’d had to wait until she’d gotten the signal to cast her method of cheating: a masking spell that silenced the cues of any magic cast. It had taken her over a year to learn how to cast, and she still wasn’t perfect. But she was good enough to hide her hand, and that was what mattered.

At the circus, she was in charge of faking the card games and fortune tellings. It was repetitive and monotonous work and paid little, but her skill set was too specialized to seek out any new opportunities. She was too young to make much of a living for herself otherwise, especially because her parents hadn’t traveled to Aizasea with her. She wanted to perform acrobatics, given her childhood training, but ever since arriving in Aizasea, she hadn’t been allowed to. Her boss had insisted he couldn’t risk damaging her face; that he placed his prettiest workers at the spots where customers were able to savor every detail.

Celvene knew it was a lie. It always was with him.

She bit back a frown and spread her cards against the table. The magic had shifted their paper faces to exactly what Celvene imagined: a bear, a goblet overflowing with liquid, and a handful of coins.

“Do you happen to be looking for an estate on the water, sire?” she asked.

“How do you know that?” Rodolf’s mouth dropped open, and he turned to the woman once more. “Do you see her? And to think I had said she’d be a scam!”

How do I know that? A lucky guess. “The stars tell me that now is the perfect time to buy that estate you’ve been eyeing,” she continued, the trained ease of her lies slipping off her tongue like honey. “With the season coming to a close, now would be the time. The tides will work in your favor to lower prices.”

“I could use another estate… As a vacation home,” he added.

“That is just how the economy trends towards the end of a season,” the woman pointed out, crossing her arms. Her jewelry jingled. “I’m not buying it.”

Celvene smirked, holding the woman’s stare. She tucked a lock of her wavy brown hair behind her ear before cracking her knuckles. “Madam, please, allow me the chance to look into your future.”

The woman scoffed. “Dear, I know you’re hurting for coins, but I’d rather not.” Her light green eyes lifted to the ornate ceiling for a moment before she pursed her lips. “But you’re trying to make an honest living, I suppose.” She dug into her pocket and pulled out two gold coins. Rather pitiful, but Celvene wasn’t about to complain about free money. “Here.”

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“Thank you,” replied Celvene, forcing that smile back onto her face. She knew fully well that nothing about her living was “honest.” But that deceit wasn’t by choice.

The ring of silver against glass commanded Celvene’s attention. She whirled her head towards the king’s throne, who now stood; like an invisible wind caressed his body, his cape and hair fluttered gently. The performance had come to a halt, performers panting on the ground and running hands along their brows. Celvene rested her cards against the table. It would be improper for her to continue when a royal spoke. King Virion stepped down from his throne, heels clicking against the runner in muddled thumps.

“Citizens of Aizasea,” the king bellowed, raising the goblet clutched in his bare hands. Celvene glanced at her own hands, hidden by black leather gloves as part of her uniform. When she looked back to the king, he’d started to descend the stairs leading up to his throne. “I am so glad you could join me here tonight. Whether you are a noble, a royal, or a common folk, a celebration of our beautiful kingdom is always something to smile about.”

As King Virion came to a stop at the bottom of the steps, the citizens closest to him gasped and murmured to one another, starstruck at the presence of the king. Their outfits flitted with the breeze that seemingly surrounded King Virion, as if he’d enchanted the air. But for him to use such magic, the domain of the enemy… that would be odd.

Air magic, along with illusion magic, was typically confined to the enemy kingdom of Noriya, a land ruled by King Virion’s own brother. The only reason Celvene knew illusion magic was thanks to her few years in an academy that taught the basics of all the magic domains, and she was lucky to receive even that much training. Flaunting such skills was asking for trouble, as if she was advertising her allegiance in the never-ending war between their kingdoms. Though she supposed the king, of all people, wouldn’t have the same qualms. If anything, displaying the magic of the enemy was a show of power, as if saying that Noriya’s quest for dominance and power was nothing to be feared.

King Virion lifted his goblet to his lips and took a long sip. He retreated back to his throne so he stood above his subjects, like he wanted to prove his godhood. Raising the goblet even higher than before, he shouted, “To our glorious kingdom, for its hope to thrive and flourish from the dawn of man until the end. One day soon, we shall live in peace after Noriya’s conquest has faltered. To Aizasea—”

The ceiling shattered. Glass streamed down like opalescent rain.

A lithe figure shrouded in black dropped from the ceiling, landing on the king’s shoulders, unaffected by such a long fall. The sheer force sent Virion toppling over into his throne, a scream erupting from his lips as his silver goblet clattered down the stairs. Just a moment later, it cut off, clogged with pain—and blood, Celvene realized with alarm as the figure leapt off the king’s limp body. Blood gushed from his neck, and all Celvene saw of the assassin’s weapon was the unnatural glow of its blade before they tucked it into their pocket and vanished into thin air.

It was only when Celvene’s hands gripped the tablecloth did she realize she’d stood up, her mouth agape. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the scene before her, though. And she couldn’t move, either, evident by the fact that her body remained frozen even as she willed herself to sit back down.

The patrons at Celvene’s table gasped. Celvene’s heart dropped into her stomach, and she glanced around for any signs of the assassin. There was nothing; they’d disappeared. They must have cloaked themself, which meant they knew illusion magic.

They were a mage from Noriya.

The guards’ wild stares scanned the throne room. A few ran up to the king, whose skin lost more and more color by the second. He hadn’t had the chance to react; he hadn’t moved from the throne at all, instead slumping over against one of the arms. Blood caked his cape. Splashes of crimson trailed down the stairs, mixing with the puddles of ruby ale. His goblet had emptied, save for a thin trickle of wine that pooled in the bottom.

“A medic! We need a mage!” one guard shouted, ripping off part of his armor and slamming it against the king’s mutilated neck in an effort to stop the bleeding. Even from a distance, the fabric stained red in a matter of seconds.

The throne hall erupted into chaos. Shouts and cries echoed throughout the room. Celvene’s patrons scrambled up from the table, leaving their belongings behind and scattering their open pouches of gold across the floor. If Celvene had seen her boss, she would have scooped up the money in an effort to please him, but as she surveyed the room, it was like he had vanished.

Others turned and fled as well, dresses billowing behind them and glasses breaking against the floor. Several pools of crimson wine were left behind, shards of iridescent glass clinging to the liquid.

Celvene was still stuck in place, as were the other circus members, ogling in stunned silence. The guards ushered them away, and one rushed up to Celvene, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her to the exit while murmuring something unintelligible under his breath. When Celvene glanced up at him, his jaw quivered, and his chest rose in rapid breaths like a frightened bird. His hands shook against her skin. With the rushing of blood in her ears drowning out the chaos around her, she couldn’t make out what the man said, even as his lips continued to move. Perhaps he prayed.

She didn’t know how to feel, the shock of witnessing a death aside. She’d never met the king face to face; she’d only seen him a handful of times when her circus performed for one of his events. He’d seemed like a fine man, no more or less corrupt than the average member of Aizasea’s upper class. Such was the nature of the throne.

Still, he could have done more. While many of Aizasea’s citizens went hungry, infected by the famine magic their ancestors were entrusted to contain, the king hardly lifted a finger to help. Instead, he sat back and entertained his royals and nobles with feasts, balls, and merriments. He’d been the one to make Celvene’s people suffer. She should’ve been glad to watch him die.

Yet she wasn’t. Some odd, small part of her screamed for him to rise. To live. To not thrust the kingdom into uncertainty. He had no children. No spouse. There was no one left to take the throne… no soul capable of wielding his sword. Legends claimed that only the true king was worthy of such power, and Virion had been the only one to hold such an honor, being one of the world’s first creations. Sure, there were rumors of how a successor would be selected, but no one ever believed it would become reality. No one had ever worried a god would fall.

What if the rest of Aizasea was Noriya’s next victim?

Celvene supposed the kingdom would find out soon enough. Aizasea couldn’t run without its king; his council wouldn’t suffice. The people would want a new ruler to take the king’s place, if just for peace of mind.

Her stomach churned, and partygoers continued to rush past her in a frenzied stampede. From the door to the throne room, King Virion’s body was still visible. Though Celvene had to squint to make out the details, it wasn’t a pretty sight: she saw his eyes glazed over, his skin a deathly white, his throat torn apart like a wild animal had gotten its teeth on him. How had one assassin done so much damage in mere seconds?

And how had a god died? King Virion had existed since the world’s creation. He was the embodiment of one of the darkest magics known to mortals. With his control over famine, people expected him to deal out death, not succumb to it. Out of the citizens of the four kingdoms, only Virion and the other gods—the rulers of death, conquest, and war—were expected to see the end of time. They were unkillable.

Unshatterable.

Yet there King Virion slouched, broken and bloodied, just as dead as a poor, lifeless soul found in the Slums.

Even as she was pulled away, she still saw the guards congregating at the scene of the murder, with a few mages working to bring back the king with desperate, frantic hands. Celvene saw the glow of their magic. She saw the stiff body of King Virion remain still. She saw the panicked eyes of every soul surrounding him.

Then the door slammed shut in her face. She was shoved once more towards the castle’s exit, then again, until she broke out into the cool night. It was only when the wind brushed against her face did she realize she’d broken out into a cold sweat. She wiped a hand against her brow, her hands trembling.

Suddenly, the king’s aversion to using the ballroom made sense: a party of this caliber required the space of a ballroom, and it would be expected that the king held the celebration there. In moving it, he’d tried to throw the assassin off his trail. Buy himself some time. Prepare more defenses.

He’d been expecting this. Yet his guards had still been unprepared.

And now, King Virion lay dead on his own throne.