CELVENE'S BODY WENT NUMB, a gasp catching in her throat. All she could do was dart her eyes from one man to another. She was going to die at their hands. They wouldn't let her leave the Slums alive. She'd heard the stories of women foolish enough to venture into the inner parts of the Slums on a normal day—she'd lived through some of the stories. And she'd entered the city on its most important day in recent years, at the demand of the circus. Money spoke loud, but her life should've spoken louder.

"That bitch rigged the competition! She's a woman. She can't be worthy!" one man's screech echoed through the crowd. And, like clockwork, confused and agitated murmurs rippled throughout the men.

Celvene shivered, though she was unsure if it was from fear or the ice cold grip that had taken hold of her body. And yet, despite the raw, primal terror that was chaining her to the stage, her grip on the Blightbearer sword remained stalwart. Her hands had not faltered, even as the blade began to glow with an amber flame, heat radiating. Maybe she was weak, maybe she was scared, maybe she was a woman, but she knew one thing...

She was holding this sword for a reason, when so many men had failed.

"Get her off that stage!" a man bellowed, and Celvene pinpointed his flushed red face in an instant. The splotchy crimson on his pale complexion was so bright he looked like a tomato about to burst.

"A woman and a thief. Put her in prison!"

"Look at her." Another snickered, elbowing his mate in the side as a grin warped his brutish features. "They must've put out a fake sword so she'd feel better about herself. Or maybe this is all... uh, what's the word? A ruse. Yeah! They're distracting us from somethin'!"

Celvene narrowed her eyes, though her body moved by itself as she took a step backward. Her nerves jumped as she felt a gentle hand latch onto her shoulder, a startled squeak almost escaping her parted lips. Of course, her mind jumped to the possibility of an undetected man who had jumped the stage to grab her and slit her throat. But upon raising both the sword and her gaze, she met the twinkling eyes of Oriel Veylor. She gulped, body tensing, but something about their presence felt far more calming than the rest of her surroundings—probably because they were the only person there that didn't look like they wanted to kill her, save for the announcer. Probably.

Celvene did wonder why none of the men had protested Oriel's attempt at the ceremony. She supposed it was because they hadn't been successful. And Oriel was powerful, both in magic and status, even if their lanky stature didn't indicate as much. They worked with Virion for so many years that Celvene wouldn't be surprised if Virion had left his estates to Oriel. One of the most important things Celvene had learned during her time in Aizasea was that a sharp mind could win against brute strength any day. She knew damn well Oriel was among the smartest.

If anyone could help her out of this sticky situation, it was them.

"Come," they said, voice so low Celvene almost didn't hear their murmur. When they guided Celvene's free hand towards the blade of the sword, Celvene winced out of instinct as the flames surrounding it licked her fingers—but she felt nothing. If Oriel noticed, they didn't say, squeezing her shoulder and turning her away from the crowd. "Those men are hungry. You stay here a moment longer, and they'll have your head served on the nearest sewer grate."

Celvene blindly obeyed; for all she knew, Oriel would guide her to her doom. But based on the ravenous glimmer in the crowd's eyes, she was going to have a far better chance of fighting Oriel off than an entire swarm of predatory men. Plus, she imagined Oriel was there for a reason besides attempting the ritual themselves. They were Virion's highest-ranking advisor; they were likely tasked with helping crown the next ruler.

Jeers followed them as Oriel picked up their cane and led Celvene down the stage, hand resting on the square of her back. Celvene glared over her shoulder. Though the men booed and cried, they made no attempt to follow Celvene and Oriel—when Celvene looked up at Oriel, they'd conjured a small fireball, its flames lapping against their free hand. A warning.

Her head swam with countless racing thoughts, and she couldn't process it all. The cobblestone beneath her feet was nothing more than a gray blur. Oriel guided her through twists, turns, and one time, stopped her from walking into an ajar window. Even with her hazed vision, she saw Oriel glance over their shoulder every now and again, but they never dropped their hand.

"Were you the reason I managed to complete that ceremony?" Celvene choked out, voice small and weak. She was scared, and she knew it. She just had to hope Oriel couldn't tell.

Oriel's gaze dipped to her before fixating on the road ahead. "You wouldn't have gotten on that stage without me, so I suppose so."

"No," Celvene said, regaining some of her composure. She pulled herself up straight, but her heart still raced in her chest. "Did you rig the ceremony for me? Why did the sword only work after you touched it? After you chose me specifically to step onto the stage?"

Oriel remained silent for a moment before sighing. "No, I didn't rig the ceremony. Dishonesty is one of man's greatest sins."

A frown flickered across Celvene's lips, but she bit it back. "How did you... how did you know I'd be able to do it, then?"

"I have my ways." Oriel's hand tightened around the carved serpent resting on their cane, and their gait remained unsteady as the stick thumped against the cobblestone. "Mainly recognizing that you were the only woman in a crowd of hundreds of men. That takes gall. And judging by your neck, you ran into some trouble getting to that ceremony. Yet, you persevered. You were still there. Not the route I would have personally taken, but nonetheless..."

Celvene, of course, could not see her neck. But she figured it was decorated with hues of black and blue; she had known the potion she drank was watered down when she bought it, but she hadn't cared enough to confront the alchemist who sold it to her. She couldn't afford anything nicer.

"Yes. I was choked by a man in an alleyway. Or... he tried to, at least. It was all over pretty quickly, but he crumpled the second he met my dagger."

Oriel's eyebrows furrowed. Their gold-rimmed glasses rose on the bridge of their nose as it scrunched. "And your first thought was to attend a ceremony filled with dangerous men instead of seeking out medical assistance?"

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"I wasn't attending it. I was watching from a safe distance, and you told the announcer to pick me. I couldn't exactly move anyways, seeing as I was affected by magic that didn't so much as touch you. I was trying to get through the Slums to Virion's castle. Besides, I felt fine. I had a healing potion."

She couldn't blame Oriel for how close she'd been, and how she'd stuck around, and she knew it. Downing that healing potion and booking it would have been her best bet. She had cut it close, and for what? A chance at glory? Respect? Eager to change the subject, Celvene blurted out, "You must've been worthy of wielding the sword. It took far longer for it to reject you. Did you reject it? Can more than one person claim ownership?"

"Virion's castle? Why were you visiting his castle?" As if mulling over the question, Oriel's gaze dropped to Celvene's outfit, then they let out a deep, understanding sigh. "Oh. I see. You're part of Painted Sky, yes? I heard you were supposed to perform tonight, and despite the shock of the council, the lone council member responsible for planning it refused to cancel. I wasn't at the last performance, but after hearing what happened and seeing the aftermath, we all thought she was mad for even considering hosting another, let alone planning and executing it."

"My boss has a way of getting his money's worth. You would've lost even more money. And at the very least, it would've provided me with more safety than the Slums does, even with an assassin at large." She paused. "You didn't answer my questions. Did the king never tell you?"

"I couldn't tell you, dear. Only Virion knew the spell he used, and even if I wanted to know its origins or casting, I wouldn't have understood it. His magical knowledge far surpassed anyone's in the castle. And I've been studying magic for most of my immortal life. Besides, I only went up there to pluck you from the crowd. I never intended to try to wield the sword. It was merely an act. I imagine the host would have allowed me to do so regardless, but I wanted it to look natural."

"If Virion was so good at magic, how was he killed? Couldn't he have cast a spell to protect himself?"

"He believed his guard would be sufficient and that his contingency plans truly covered everything needed to protect him. I'd imagine someone worked from the inside to unravel any precautions he would have placed. There are far too many people in that castle for them to all be loyal to their king with the possibility of what Noriya can offer."

And now I'm going to be the one dodging death at every turn.

"I can't lead an entire kingdom," she said. "I can barely lead in the circus."

I'm definitely not making it to the performance tonight, even if Oriel is taking me to the castle. Who knows what I'm going to have to do now? Korvin will have my head tomorrow.

"You don't have much of a choice, I'm afraid. Virion decreed that whoever the sword chose would take his place," Oriel replied. "The second his sword is bonded to your soul, you are destined to take the throne. The results if you shirk your duties are rather... macabre."

"I..." Celvene's heartbeat stuttered in her chest, and she inhaled. Macabre? Did Oriel mean she would die?

She glanced over her shoulder to the empty street behind her, hands fidgeting on the Blightbearer sword. There was no doubt it would be an efficient weapon to protect herself, but she'd never wielded anything larger than a dagger. If a man caught up to them and attacked her, she'd fall over from the heavy weight of the sword before a blow could even land.

Her lip wobbled. "I can't do this. I'm late for my performance. And even if I wasn't, I can't do it regardless. Virion was king for centuries. I am not the right person to take his place. Someone else in the castle has to be qualified enough. Didn't he have a will? Wouldn't he have a backup plan in case he was assassinated? Did he not think Noriya would try to kill him? Why didn't he designate a real leader to take his place? I—"

"The ceremony was his backup plan. Whatever spell he used, it was able to read something in the hearts of those whose blood it absorbed. In all honesty, that spell is a better judge of character than Virion was. And, again, it's not your decision to make. Unfortunate, I know, but it's reality. Fate has been written for you. It's your duty to follow it."

Celvene was silent for a moment before she asked, "Excuse my bluntness, but are you upset?"

"Excuse me?"

"Upset? Sad? Disappointed the king died? You don't seem touched." Perhaps her words were considered rude, or out of place, or she'd lose this apparent right to become queen. But if Oriel was going to be her advisor, she wanted to know their temperment. Their emotions. Celvene had her own flaws, but they made her human; if Oriel was always as detached as they seemed to be, did they have flaws? Did they care for others? Was it a byproduct of their immortality? ...If she was assassinated, would Oriel not care then?

Of course not. We just met.

It was Oriel's turn to fall quiet, and when they spoke, their voice was far softer. "What's your name?"

"Celvene," she said, her voice as brittle as broken glass. "Celvene Virac."

"Well, Miss Virac, it's a pleasure to meet you. As you know, my name is Oriel. I'll be your guide for as long as you are queen." Their hand tightened around Celvene's shirt as the two rounded a corner.

Why was Oriel avoiding her question? Had she upset them? She bit back a frown; she'd known the question was out of place, but she couldn't help but ask. She'd had so many people leave her over the years. Her parents had given up so much for her to have a better life, and she hadn't seen them since the day they parted. Her childhood best friend had been whisked away to another kingdom years prior, and after a few letters, Celvene had never heard from her again. She didn't know if she had the strength to let someone else get close to her, just to leave without a word. If Oriel was to get as close to her as they had with Virion, she'd see them every day. Could she stomach them abandoning her if she misstepped? If she made a mistake?

And why was she the person the sword picked? A nobody who was more akin to the rats living in the canals. She didn't want to lead Aizasea. She had other responsibilities. And if today was any sign of how her potential rule would go, she'd be facing assassins and usurpers left and right. But Oriel was doing their job, she supposed. She'd have to figure out another way to weasel herself out of this.

Though it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to become queen. She'd always dreamed of becoming something more, of making her parents proud. When they were in the Moonlight Circus together, they had always begged her to do something more than they could provide—up until they shipped her off to the Painted Sky Circus, and she never heard from them again. She didn't resent them for it, though. Painted Sky looked far better than Moonlight from the outside, but things were different within the canvas walls, and Celvene was tempted to live on the streets if that meant she could reunite with her family. But if she took the throne, that wouldn't be necessary, and Celvene could repay her parents' sacrifices with a life of luxury in the palace, together.

A bell rang above her, and as she was shoved into a building, her view cleared. She hadn't even realized they'd approached a rundown shop, with a weathered brick exterior and flimsy wooden sign hanging from a curtain reading "closed."

"We'll be safe here. This is one of the kingdom's shops used to hand out resources to citizens," Oriel said, shutting the door. A click followed their words soon after. "It's protected by a lock few have the key to, and the building has been collecting dust for years. Those men likely lost our trail if they followed."

Likely?

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, scholar," an icy voice rang out, deep and dangerous. But in the darkness shrouding the shop, Celvene couldn't see who it was. "That was quite the ceremony."