I’m in the hall outside the infirmary when I spot that maid I talked to before.

“You,” I call out to her. She looks up at me, then behind her, then back at me again. She scurries over obediently. Her dark hair is tied back in a bun, just like before, her freckles resting like dark stars atop a sea of blush.

“Your Majesty,” she says formally, bowing.

“Where’s Leon?”

She looks up at me in surprise. “I am not sure, Your Majesty. Would you like me to look for him?”

Oh, yeah. The last time I talked to her, I asked her about Leon. She probably thinks I think she’s Leon’s maid or something. Because it is kind of weird to ask her about him twice.

“What’s your name?”

“. . . Miriam.”

“Miriam?” Old lady ass name, I think to myself, before I remember that I knew a girl in high school named Miriam. A really annoying girl, actually. “You have a nickname?”

She blinks up at me and nods hesitantly. “Miri.”

“Miri, can you ask around and figure out where Leon is staying? I assume he’s been given a room here. And that he hasn’t left yet. Though he might have. Any bit of information helps.”

“Yes, of course.” She bows again, then runs off. She looks about my age. I wonder if she’s bitter at all that someone not so different from her is now queen. I’d definitely be bitter if I were her.

As I wait for her return, I catch sight of a flash of gold. No shot. Leon is walking down the hall, his nose buried in a book. He’s coming from the opposite end that Miri went down, so I guess she’ll be off on a wild goose chase for a while.

“Prince Leon,” I say loud enough for him to hear. He peeks over his book at me, and his eyes crinkle with what must be a smile, hidden still behind the pages of his novel. He approaches me with an elegant stride, his black boots thudding softly against the tile.

“Queen Eliana. I have heard talk that you were at the scene of a most violent crime this morning.” He reaches out and takes my hand, then presses a soft kiss to the back of it. I feel my face flushing hotly. Okay, don’t be a total helpless idiot in front of this guy. Be professional. “Are you unharmed?” He nods to the infirmary. “Or are you here for care?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I was not the target of the attack.”

“So I’ve heard.” His face grows solemn, and he speaks quietly to me now. “It might be best that we discuss these things away from prying ears.” He releases my hand and motions for me to walk beside him. “I must return this book to your library, so I suppose there is no better place to chat.” He gives me a small, teasing smile. “It’s quite empty of people in there. Do you enjoy reading?”

“Not as much as I used to,” I grunt. I follow him down a series of hallways and stairs, feeling totally lost by the time we get to the library. He opens the door for me and I fight the urge to look surprised at the sight of the Alvione castle library. It’s bigger than I’d expected, given the apparent idiocy of the past two kings. Though maybe I’m just being harsh. The bookshelves rise up two floors to meet the high ceiling. A tall ladder sits in each corner, hooked onto the shelves to remain steady, and there are empty tables with unlit candles, painted in bright streams of light that shine through large, clear windows all along the back wall. Leon approaches the nearest table and pulls out a chair, then looks at me expectantly.

Oh, right. I shuffle over awkwardly and sit down, feeling out of place as he pushes the chair in. He sits across from me and sets his book down between us. I don’t recognize the title of it—I mean, why would I?—but it isn’t a novel at all. It seems to be about some sort of technical magic.

“Do you practice magic?” I ask him, knowing full well that he doesn’t—or at least he didn’t in the original book.

He laughs quietly. “No, I was not blessed with the gifts.”

“Blessed? Many here would call it more of a curse.”

“Indeed, magic is quite hated in Alvione. It’s understandable, given the history. But Viridia has always welcomed magic into its halls. We accept the risks and benefit from the rewards.”

The history? The Tales of Alvione is vague on why Alvione and Ward detest magic, despite both having respective allegiances with elves and orcs. Maybe fifteen years prior, when Eliana was young, there were “witch hunts” for mages, elves, sorcerers, orcs, and hedgewitches among the common people, but they were on their way out at that point. From what I can remember . . . perhaps twenty years ago and even further back, humans clashed often with magic users in unnamed wars, most stemming from the actions of the fey, who’d since retreated to their homeworld and left the others like them to fend for themselves. The fey were the most powerful foes, and yet they had given up without so much as a clear explanation why.

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“Viridia once worked with the fey,” I say aloud as some vague memories of the lore come back to me.

Leon nods solemnly. “Yes. It was a bit surprising to my father how quickly the other nations forgave our past alliances.” He reaches out toward me, and I freeze. I feel his fingers in my hair, brushing gently against my scalp. When he draws his hand back, he’s holding a leaf, his fingertips grayed with dirt and dust.

Am I . . . filthy? Why the hell didn’t Martin say anything?

He gives me a small smile, then flicks the leaf away. “My apologies. It was distracting me. You say you were not the target of the attack, but it seems you did not get away unscathed,” he teases.

My face feels hot again, and I know I’m probably cherry red right now. “You should see the other guy,” I joke weakly.

His laugh is surprisingly loud, clear and warm, perfect like a super hero’s. Guess he hasn’t heard that one before. “You are so different than I expected you to be.” His grin settles down into a charming smile, and he continues, “I had thought you would be much more . . . intimidated by your new standing in life. You are a bit unusual. But the more I learn about you, the more complicated I see that you are.” He runs his fingers across his chin thoughtfully. “When we first met, I thought perhaps you were pursuing me in order to cement your standing. That you wanted someone to guide your hand.” Oh, great. Bring up that mortifying moment. I feel unbearably warm under his kind gaze. “Now, however, I see that you are quite the spitfire. You involve yourself in dangerous situations and come out with your humor still in tact. It seems you are who you are, all the time, most honestly, whoever that may be.” He leans in closer, studying me seriously. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminates his face in a way that seems to make him glow, revealing the depths to the color of his eyes and transforming them from a simple brown into a blend of maroon and amber. “You know things about me, or so you claimed. Could it be true that you were already in love with me before we met—before you took the crown?”

My mind and body are screaming YES! but last time I tried to be bold with him, I totally bombed. I’ll have to make something up. Something . . . believable. “I . . .” I trail off, lost in his eyes as they search mine curiously, almost hopefully, with a glint of cheekiness. “I saw you once from afar and was quite taken with you. Before I was queen. I learned of who you were from the others who had come to see your arrival, and I heard many praises of your kind nature and intelligence.” I pause dramatically, hoping my story is selling itself. His expression is impossible to read, as if he too is trying to decide whether or not he believes me. “But love is not simply born from a glance and rumors. I am not the type to give my heart away so easily.” LIE. LIE LIE LIE. But he doesn’t know that, right?

At last, he frees me from his gaze and leans back in his chair, chuckling. He looks up at the ceiling, an absentminded smile on his face. “I cannot tell if you are more wise or clever. Just as I cannot tell if you will be a strong or conniving leader. I hope you are the former.” His eyes return to mine, and he directs an easygoing smile at me. At the very least, I feel assured that he doesn’t resent my company. Even if he doesn’t trust me quite yet, at least I’m not boring him. We’ll take it. But then the playfulness fades from his face, and he grows serious once more. His voice is low and thoughtful as he says, “Your people are talking. About the guard that attacked the elf. I heard whispers of it from the servants as I explored the garden.” He tilts his head at me, his dark eyes boring steadily into mine. “What will you do next, Queen Eliana?”

And that’s how I find myself on the castle balcony that overlooks the bailey. I’m low enough to be heard by the people gathered below if I shout. So I guess I’ll be shouting. I’d run into Miri, who was huffing and puffing in her fruitless search for Leon, and gave her a new mission: bring me to my advisors. I met them for the first time—the roundtable of old, white-haired men—and pretended as though I’d seen them at least once before. I announced my plans and, after some disagreement, they eventually relented and did the rest. The people had been gathered by word of mouth for my unexpected speech. Miri had quickly cleaned me up before my grand entrance and some other maid had come stumbling in with my crown.

It’s now or never. As I see the last few families trickling in, their curious faces shining up at me, I open my mouth to speak, then pause. Peter and Leon are there, in the back, talking quietly as they fill a small alcove with their broad frames. And worse yet, I see Martin running out one of the doors and looking up at me with a face that I can only assume is exasperated from this distance. He motions vaguely at me, shaking his head and waving his hands about as if to say, What the fuck! I look away from him and back at the people.

“For those who do not know, I am Queen Eliana of Alvione. I have come to address you directly as I presume many of you have now heard about the attack at the castle gates,” I shout. There are some murmurs, but the crowd mostly stays quiet. “I have come to dispel rumors and spread the truth to my people. I have long been a citizen of Alvione, just like all of you. And I believe my people deserve to know fact from fiction, as well as where I stand.

“At the break of dawn this morning, the two guards at the gates of this very castle acted in accordance with their own personal beliefs—and not the beliefs of this kingdom. Before my very eyes, they struck down an elf from a traveling caravan, who posed no threat, and one of them was killed in response by my own personal guards.

“I value the lives of my guards and the safety of my people. But most of all, I believe in the preservation of life. Elves are not human, and I won’t pretend they are. But they are still people who live, who breathe, who have families, and who wish to live. To end the life of a person is to give up your own life in response. Killing innocent people will not be tolerated, no matter how they appear or what their standing is in Alvione. Murder makes all victims equal. And I will not allow this kingdom to be one in which people’s lives are given unequal value.

“If you hate elves, I cannot stop the feelings that you have. But if you kill another person—elf, orc, human, or otherwise—you will be prosecuted accordingly. Know that the deaths of all people, whether they be your brother, your mother, your child, or a complete stranger, will be treated with equal importance under my rule.

“I stand with you. I hope you will stand with me too. A united Alvione that believes in the sanctity of life is an Alvione that will flourish and prevail. Long live the people.”

I step back into the castle and let out the full body shiver I’d been fighting back. God, I hate public speaking. And I am not a politician. Fuck. “That was amazing,” Miri says with bright eyes, startling me as I realize I’m not alone but surrounded by my nervous looking maids and the unhappy council of advisors. “You were so inspiring!” Yes, well, you probably would think that. But I doubt these old men found this particularly inspiring.

Feeling dizzy, I brush past them all and head down the spiral staircase to the hallway that will eventually lead me back to my room. I have no idea if what I just did was good, pointless, or completely fucked. But . . . at least I did something. When I see the figure of a man waiting for me outside my door, I assume it’s Martin, here to berate me for being reckless again.

“Come to call me a stupid little—” The words die in my mouth as I realize it’s not Martin standing there, but Peter.

He turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “Well,” he says with a dark smile plastered across his face like he’s some kind of movie villain. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”