ALEKSANDR HAD OFFERED HER A POSITION AS A CASTLE MAID.

Celvene didn’t know whether to feel offended, grateful, or something else entirely. It was undoubtedly a better position than working for a scamming circus that paid her as little as possible—assuming Aleksandr would actually pay her. But was that how she wanted to begin her path to claiming the crown? Others considered castle staff, like maids, to be beneath them, especially the royalty and nobles residing within the walls of the palace. They were viewed just as Celvene was now: no better than a sewer rat. She’d go from being frowned upon in one section of the kingdom to frowned upon in another.

And there was no telling whether or not her life would actually improve. But not many people could be worse than Korvin—she hoped.

Though, she supposed, she would need to know what the life of the castle staff was like if she was to understand them, should she manage to take the throne. Celvene had experience being poor. She didn’t have experience being poor in the castle. And she’d likely be far more safe lodged in the palace than she would be in her crummy housing near Aizasea’s pier. Sure, there were no assassins near the pier, but she heard countless brawls just outside of her window weekly. She’d learned what a bone breaking sounded like her second week in the kingdom. Her first, she’d discovered just how loud a person could scream.

She hadn’t accepted everything, though. She’d told Oriel she needed time to think when they’d asked her to accompany them back to the castle—because she did. Too much had changed in too little time. She’d not only gone from being a nobody in an endless kingdom to somebody, she’d become the prospective queen in less than a day. The kingdom’s morale had shattered, their question had gone unanswered, and now, if they didn’t want Celvene’s head, the people of Aizasea would turn to her for solutions. She knew that Aleksandr was a mere barrier she needed to overcome to gain access to the throne. That didn’t mean he couldn’t offer the kingdom honeyed words to soothe their worries before Celvene could figure out how to push him out of the picture. And if he got into the heads of civilians before she could use her voice to make a difference, there was a chance the subjects she was meant to rule over would reject her in lieu of Aleksandr. He could become the true king.

Celvene had to make sure that didn’t happen.

But despite her determination, she was reluctant, too. Scared, even. She had no experience leading. She had no experience being a noble—eating at feasts, making political decisions that changed the course of the city, dancing at balls. All she’d heard of nobles and castle staff doing was wasting their time and relishing in Virion’s abundance magic, stuffing their faces and ignoring the real problems of the kingdom—but even the mundane, stupid things the nobles did, Celvene had no right to partake in. There was no true reason for her to become queen, and with the war pounding on their door, Celvene feared she wouldn’t be able to stop it before it usurped the kingdom. There was a reason she worked in the circus instead of the castle.

Part of her wanted to give up. She’d been offered a better position than she currently had. That should’ve been enough to satisfy her.

But it wasn’t—she wanted to make her parents proud. That was the driving force behind her actions in life. That was why she continued to push herself when she was at her lowest. When the day came when she reunited with her parents, if it ever came, she wanted to be someone they could be proud of. What better way to do that than to become a queen of one of the four kingdoms? She could provide her parents with everything they deserved. She could give them the life they’d always wanted.

Celvene sighed and drew back the opening tent to the circus. Back to work, she thought.

Part of her wished she’d gone back to the castle with Oriel and faced Korvin’s music when she got there, but Oriel had given her the space she asked for. That meant she hadn’t shown up to Korvin’s performance. She didn’t know if he’d expected her there; he’d surely heard about the ceremony.

Celvene dreaded seeing him, regardless of the outcome. If he felt positively, he’d beg for resources from her when she took the crown. If he didn’t… Well, he wouldn’t let her leave at all.

She blew out a deep breath and took a right, feet scuffing against the gaudy, tattered carpet lining the dirt. There was no scheduled performance for the night, so Celvene could soothe her worries by practicing her deck. The cards had a way of reminding her that something remained constant.

But as she passed one of the slim openings on her side, a squeal made her stop in her tracks. Then, a familiar voice screeched, “Celvene!”

Celvene’s head swiveled to the side. As soon as her eyes settled on the opening, it split apart and Quinn came barreling out, arms raised and an unbelievably large grin plastered to her face. She crashed into Celvene, and Celvene had to dig her heels into the carpet to avoid toppling over.

Before Celvene could process what happened, Quinn planted a hard kiss on her cheek, still smiling. She’d always greeted Celvene—and anyone else—the same way. She’d said that kisses were a common way of saying hello in Aizasea, but Celvene had never seen anyone else do that—and she’d been in the kingdom for a handful of years.

“Oh, I heard all about the news,” Quinn gushed, relinquishing her hold on Celvene. Her dark curly hair was tied in a ponytail, dark tan skin slick with sweat; she must’ve been working out right before Celvene arrived. “Queen? You? I can’t believe it!”

“Neither can I,” said Celvene, cracking a small smile in return and brushing off her uniform. Her hands itched to control her cards, but she clamped her hands into fists. She’d have all night to fiddle around with them. “It definitely was not where I saw my night going when Korvin forced me to leave early.”

“He told us you’d left early on your own accord, and he’d begged you to stay with the group.” Quinn’s cheeks puffed out before she let out a breath. “I guess I should’ve seen that coming.”

“How did the performance go?”

“It didn’t go at all. Korvin seemed to get cold feet when he heard the news. The workers at the castle went into a frenzy, and Korvin made us leave before the workers recovered. The news must’ve rattled everyone.”

“Are people that scared of me? I’m not exactly a hulking man. I don’t think I could harm a fly if I didn’t have the upper advantage.” Celvene’s mind strayed to the man in the alleyway she’d encountered right before the ceremony, but she shook the memory away with disgust.

“No. It’s just… surprising that a peasant immigrant was the one to wield the sword.” A half-apologetic, half-joking smile crept onto Quinn’s tanned face. “No offense, obviously. You know tha—”

Footsteps. Familiar ones, at that. Celvene’s heart sank. Then, they stopped. Celvene glanced to her side.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Korvin stood at the opening of the room. He placed his hands on his hips. “Ah, Celvene, you’ve returned!” There was no recognizable rage in his tone—only calm. Joy, if Celvene deluded herself enough to think as much. But why? She’d skipped their performance.

Korvin’s head slowly turned to face Quinn, like an owl. “Quinn, why don’t you… give us a moment? I need to catch Celvene up on what she missed at the palace performance. It was quite a show, right?”

Quinn’s face paled and she nodded—perhaps a bit too vigorously—before bounding out of the room, leaving Celvene alone. So she was going to have to face the music after all—just a day after she’d originally thought. Was she surprised? No, but it would’ve been nice to be left alone for the day, at least.

“So,” Korvin started, tightening his gloves. “You were the lucky one able to extract that sword.”

“If by extract, you mean wield it…”

“Sure, sure,” Korvin said, waving her off. Then his hands rose to his bowtie, fiddling with the fabric. While he wasn’t as dressed up as he was for the palace’s performance, he was more dressed up than he’d usually be on a day off. Celvene had a hunch she knew why.

“Is there any real reason you wanted to speak with me?” she asked, trying not to let impatience seep into her tone. The last thing she needed was to burn any bridges when there was a chance she’d need Korvin for some unfathomable reason while trying to claim the throne back. “I heard you cancelled the performance anyways.”

“Of course!” Korvin’s smile broadened. His voice pitched at the wrong times, like he forced his cheer to be evident. “You see, after you missed our last performance, I was upset. Why wouldn’t I be? My best worker skips out on a performance with the most important people in Aizasea? You understand that, right, pup?”

Celvene’s gaze strayed to the faded circus walls behind Korvin as she thinned her lips in a refusal to answer. Dirt crawled up the side, staining the red and white fabric muddled tones of brown. A few small tears ripped through the fabric, and the verdant foliage on the other side was slightly visible. But Celvene’s focus redirected when Korvin’s hand jutted into her peripheral, snapping his fingers.

“Right, pup?” he repeated, a flicker of anger brewing in his dark eyes.

“Right. Sorry,” she said, fighting off the urge to roll her eyes. The first thing she would do when she became queen was kick Korvin out of Aizasea. She was sure there was more than enough evidence of illegal and nefarious activities to get him banned from ever stepping foot in Aizasea again.

“But with this wonderful news, I’m willing to forgive you. Queen of Aizasea? That could do wonders for our business! Do you know how many people would flock here after learning of the success we breed? Of your incredible origins at the best circus in Fellstride?”

Celvene was silent for a moment before she said, “A lot, I would think.”

“Exactly! The queen works with glitz and glam. If people know you’re here every night, that’s free business for us. I mean, with that crown on your head, autographs would bring a hefty fee… That, or you could send us a bit of extra money with the resources Virion hoarded.”

“But do you think I would have time for the circus if I’m queen of the kingdom?” She paused, trying to find her resolve. But it was difficult. “Maybe in a few years—”

“I don’t have years,” Korvin interrupted, one corner of his smile raising in a sneer. “You know that.”

“I-I don’t know if I can help. It would be a conflict of interest. People would know I came from here, and they would wonder why I’m delegating resources to the circus. There would be gossip for days, and the headlines would destroy my image.”

Truth betold, Celvene simply didn’t want to help Korvin. A sordid boss didn’t deserve repayment—maybe if he raised her pay like she’d asked for every year, she would’ve accepted.

Korvin chuckled. “Then I suppose you won’t be able to take that throne. After all, you have another job to tend to. You’ll be far too busy to lead a kingdom.”

“It’s my destiny to take that throne!” Celvene said, Oriel’s words echoing in her head. Had they been right all along?

Korvin’s grin froze to a sneer of ice. “You can scream of destiny all you like, but the throne doesn’t bow to birthright—it bows to power. And yours clearly wasn’t enough.”

Anger bubbled in her gut—a surprising feeling, but one she would welcome. She rarely allowed herself to feel around Korvin. “You think I lost the right because I wasn’t strong enough? Because I didn’t fight hard enough? What would you have done differently in my position, Korvin? I hardly had that right in my grasp long enough to look it in the eye, much less actually take the crown. I put up as best of a fight as I could, and I’m not stopping here. That crown will lie on my head. It’s only a matter of time.”

Korvin’s smile grew taut, taunting, and his black gaze darkened. “You fought and you failed, Celvene. That’s the only story this kingdom will remember.”

To Celvene’s surprise, as she inhaled, she kept her voice calm and steady. She lowly replied, “I was never meant to beg for power. I was born to wield it. And you cannot stop me from leaving.”

“Oh, such poetry, Celvene. But you forget who you learned your tricks from. I see right through your facade. You’re scared,” he said, “and you think you can talk your way out of it. Your easy flattery has been seen before. You’ll charm no one in that palace with empty words.”

“Because you’re so much more charismatic, right?”

“I don’t need to be,” Korvin said. For the first time she could remember, Korvin’s grin fell. The sight of his scowling face was unnatural, and against her will, Celvene squirmed, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m not the deluded little girl who thinks she has a chance of leading one of the four kingdoms. I know my limits. You should as well.”

Something wiggled in Celvene’s stomach: shame. Was he right? Korvin had provided her with shelter and a steady job since she arrived in Aizasea, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d thanked him. She wouldn’t be where she was without him—she never would’ve completed the ceremony if it wasn’t for him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words chalky in her mouth as it lost its moisture, like she knew she should have never uttered the words. But that didn’t stop her. “I’ve been ungrateful. I know that. But… Please, give me a second chance. I won’t be queen for a while… if ever. I can still help at the circus.”

Her mind screamed. She didn’t know what she wanted—queen, palace worker, circus performer, it was all so dizzying. One moment, she was sure of what she wanted, and the next, something occurred that made her change her mind entirely. Celvene’s stomach rocked with unease.

“That’s no good, Celvene. You’ve been given second chances so many times now, and every time, I’ve been lenient. I’ve been a good boss. Better than you deserve. In a way, you’re like a daughter to me, especially when Jalsina is acting up. You know her. But you’ve become worse than her. You’ve become weak. This kingdom needs a strong leader. Not someone like you. But I must thank you.”

Celvene’s lip nearly trembled, but she caught the movement and bit her lip instead. She forced her voice to be steady as she muttered, “For what?”

“You’ve opened my eyes at last. I see what a blight you are in this circus. You may be pretty, but you’re not pretty enough; someone like you shouldn’t have a place here. You never should have in the first place. You’ve tested my patience time and time again, and each time, I let it go, but I can’t any longer.”

Celvene winced. She’d been so close to standing up to Korvin. So close to finally giving him the, unfortunately verbal, beating he deserved. And she’d backed down at the last second. Her mind quieted, filled only with one thought: He was right. You failed. She clenched her hands into fists, tears brimming in her eyes.

Then it came before she could even see it coming. Korvin’s hand raised, then struck forward, contacting Celvene’s cheek with enough force to send her head snapping to the side. Blood pooled in her mouth from where she’d bitten her cheek, and once she’d realized what happened, she raised her head, eyebrows furrowed. Korvin’s black gaze drilled daggers through her. Celvene stared at him in shocked, familiar silence.

“Consider this your termination.”