3 - Let the games begin

LIRA

"What can I do to help you?" Callum asked, his voice low and steady as I paced the length of his small room. "How do I help you prepare for the Queen's Selection?"

I didn't pause. Couldn't pause. If I stopped moving, I would start thinking. And if I started thinking, I would realize how truly insane this plan was.

"Well, first," I said, ticking off on my fingers, "you'll need to write a letter in return. It has to accompany me to the palace. It's my ticket inside. It must show that Lord Vale has accepted the Royal Family's invitation to participate in the Queen's Selection."

Callum nodded, already reaching for parchment.

"It must also contain the Vale family seal," I continued, "and they're demanding a letter confirming that my... virtue is still intact."

My brother's hand stilled over the page.

I saw his jaw tighten, just slightly, just for a moment. Then he gave a sharp nod.

"I'll find the family seal for the Vale house," he said thoughtfully. "The real issue is faking Lord Vale's handwriting." He tapped his fingers against the wooden desk. "He has the strangest handwriting. Loops in places no one puts loops. Crosses his T's backward. I've seen enough of his letters to know it won't be easy."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. The headache had been building for hours, a dull, insistent throb behind my eyes.

"Exactly. We have to get it right. You know they'll check. And it has to be perfect."

Callum looked at me then, really looked at me. His dark eyes searched my face, looking for hesitation, for doubt, for any sign that I might change my mind.

He found none.

"Don't worry about the letters," he said finally. "I'll write them. And I'll make sure they're perfect."

I blinked. "You'd do that for me?"

"Of course." He almost smiled. "I have to. Otherwise, you'll get caught. And then I'll have to explain to Father's ghost why I let his reckless daughter walk into a palace full of dragons with nothing but a dead girl's dresses and a forged letter."

I laughed, a small, startled sound that escaped before I could stop it.

"Besides," Callum added, "what else do we need to prepare?"

I straightened my shoulders. "A carriage to take me to the palace. And some clothes... but I'll check Lady Lira's wardrobe for that. I think that should be it."

"I have some money saved. I can rent a carriage."

I frowned immediately. "Callum, I don't want you to use all your money on me."

"You're not using it. I'm giving it."

"That's the same thing."

"It's really not." He crossed his arms. "Besides, I don't want the others here to find out about our plan. Renting a carriage is the only way to leave quietly."

The others.

The few servants who still worked this crumbling estate. The cook who pretended not to notice when food went missing. The stable master who never asked where Callum went at night.

They had been good to us. Kind, in ways they didn't have to be.

But kindness wasn't the same as loyalty.

And loyalty could be bought.

"Well," I said slowly, "if it's the only way, I suppose we have no choice."

Callum nodded.

And neither of us spoke of the cost.

-----------------------------

Four days later.

The Royal Palace.

The carriage rattled to a stop.

I pressed my palm flat against my stomach, trying to calm the churning inside me. It had taken four days to reach the capital, four days of bumpy roads and sleepless nights and the constant, crushing weight of what I was about to do.

The real preparation had taken longer.

Finding clothes in Lady Lira's wardrobe that were fit for presentation had been difficult. Most of her gowns were outdated, faded from years of disuse. My brother had scraped together every last coin to buy me a few additional items, a cloak here, a pair of gloves there, and to rent the carriage that brought me here.

I looked down at my dress.

A dark green. Simple. Nothing like the glittering gowns the other girls would be wearing.

It doesn't matter, I told myself. You're not here to impress them. You're here to destroy them.

The carriage door opened.

A footman offered his hand.

I took it.

And I stepped out into the lion's den.

---

The courtyard was chaos.

Carriages lined the cobblestone drive, dozens of them, each more elaborate than the last. Horses stamped and snorted, their breath fogging in the cool morning air. Servants bustled past with trunks and armfuls of silk, calling out instructions to one another in a dozen different accents.

And everywhere, everywhere, there were girls.

Noble ladies in gowns of every color imaginable, their hair pinned and perfumed, their faces painted with careful, practiced smiles. They moved in clusters, whispering behind gloved hands, sizing each other up with eyes that missed nothing.

I was last.

My carriage had been the cheapest, the smallest, the least impressive. I could feel the other girls' gazes sliding past me, dismissing me before they'd even registered my face.

Good.

Let them underestimate me.

I joined the back of the line, careful to keep my head high and my expression neutral. Around me, the other girls glittered like jewels.

Lady Vivienne Trevanne stepped out of her carriage first. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, and her gown, deep crimson, embroidered with gold thread, hugged every curve. The Trevannes were known for their strength. All across the kingdom, it was a blessing to say: May you have the strength of the Trevannes.

Vivienne looked like she could break a man in half with her bare hands.

I made a mental note to stay on her good side.

Then came Lady Saphira Caelum.

She wore silver and blue, and the gown sparkled like starlight, literally sparkled, as if the fabric had been woven from crushed diamonds. She didn't walk so much as float, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground.

Lady Elora Dorne arrived next.

She was softer than the others. Quieter. Timid looking. Her gown was pale yellow, simple and unassuming, and her brown hair had been pinned back in a style that was almost severe.

But Elora was wealthier than all of us combined.

The Dornes had a gift: life from soil. Their farms fed more than half the kingdom, and every child born to their family had the power to grow something from nothing. Wheat in winter. Flowers in frost. Hope in the middle of despair.

Elora didn't need diamonds.

She had something far more valuable.

As we disembarked and began moving toward the palace, I could feel eyes on us from every direction.

Courtiers watched from balconies, their faces half-hidden behind fans and hands. Servants whispered behind gloved fingers, already placing bets on who would stay and who would go. Guards stood like statues, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Every glance. Every step. Every word.

Judged.

And then,

Lady Calista Harthwell exited her carriage.

The crowd seemed to still.

She was beautiful, there was no other word for it. Hair like spun gold, eyes like winter frost, lips curved in a smile that never quite reached her gaze. Her gown was white, pristine, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light with every movement. It looked like a wedding gown.

She stepped onto the cobblestones like she already owned them.

Like the palace was already hers.

Her eyes swept across the courtyard, across the other girls, the servants, the guards, and I could see her calculating. Weighing. Plotting.

I had never met Calista Harthwell before.

But I already knew: she was a contender for the throne.

"Come in, ladies! Come, come!"

A voice rang out across the courtyard, drawing every eye.

A royal instructor stood at the top of the steps, a woman in her fifties, grey-haired and sharp-faced, with eyes that missed nothing. She clapped her hands together, once, sharp as a whip crack.

"Please form a straight line. We will collect your sealed letters first, and then you may enter the grand hall for the welcoming ceremony."

The line formed quickly.

I took my place at the very end.

My heart was pounding.

I could feel it in my throat, my temples, my fingertips. If the letter wasn't right, if the seal was off, if the handwriting was wrong, if anything gave me away....

They wouldn't just throw me out.

They'd execute me.

Impersonating a noble was treason.

Treason meant death.

You knew this, I told myself. You knew the risk. You chose it anyway.

The line moved quickly.

One girl after another stepped forward, handed over her letter, and was waved inside. The instructor barely glanced at most of them, a quick check of the seal, a nod, a gesture toward the doors.

But the closer I got to the front, the tighter the knot in my stomach became.

My hands were trembling.

I clasped them behind my back, pressing my fingers into my palms until the pain grounded me.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Finally...

It was my turn.

I stepped forward.

The instructor's gaze swept over me, once, twice, assessing. I forced myself to hold still beneath it, to keep my expression soft and open, the way I imagined the real Lady Lira might have looked.

Nervous. Excited. A little overwhelmed.

Nothing more.

"Your letter, my lady," the instructor said.

I handed it over.

My fingers didn't shake.

Good girl, I told myself. Keep it together.

The instructor took the letter. Examined the seal first, circling her thumb over the crimson wax, checking for imperfections, for signs of tampering.

Then she broke it open.

And she began to read.

I held my breath.

The seconds stretched. Each one felt like an hour.

She read slowly. Carefully. Her brow furrowed slightly, and her lips moved as she traced the words.

She hadn't spent this long on any of the other letters.

Not Vivienne's. Not Saphira's. Not even Calista's.

Why is she taking so long?

Was it the handwriting? The wording? The signature?

Had Callum made a mistake?

Had I?

Panic whispered at the back of my mind, soft and insidious.

Give up.

You've been caught.

Run before they drag you to the dungeons.

But I didn't move.

Couldn't move.

My feet were rooted to the cobblestones, my hands still clasped behind my back, my face still fixed in that careful, pleasant mask.

The instructor finished reading.

She folded the letter slowly.

And then she looked up at me.

Her brow was furrowed. Her eyes were sharp, sharper than they'd been a moment ago.

"Lady Lira of the Vale?" she asked.

Confusion flickered across her face.

I froze.

She knows.

She knows.