I hated being spoken about like a crazed woman, but he was right.
My father nodded reluctantly, letting Aldric steer me through the crowd of curious stares.
I hummed with the strings of the orchestra, letting the melody press like balm against my frayed nerves.
“Maybe not tonight, Lyra.” Aldric eyed my body swaying to the music.
“Brother, balls are for dancing.” I grinned at him as I gathered my skirts in my hands.
“Yes, with men who Father tells you to dance with, not by yourself,” he chastised. “It is improper.”
His shoulders tensed as I floated amongst the partnered dancers, twirling through the notes like a ghost revelling in her own funeral.
The strings curved through the air, breathing life into my veins. Weightless, I moved like a predator seducing its prey, dazed eyes following as though I’d cast a spell. It was the same reason I was forbidden to sing; people became enthralled far too easily.
My spin halted mid-step as I caught the golden embroidery of my father’s jacket glinting in the candlelight. He stalked towards the marble dais in the centre of the ballroom, shooting me a disapproving glare before climbing the steps and perching on his throne of twisted metal. A small flick of his fingers signalled Aldric, pulling the leash of obedience that was shackled to both of us.
“Come,” my brother murmured, lacing his arm with mine and leading me through the crowd.
I knew better than to protest. The dancers stopped and parted for us with hushed curiosity as my father raised his arms, signalling the crowd to be quiet.
Aldric took his seat in the smaller throne beside him, while I remained standing. Alone.
There was no throne for me. I was an ornament, meant to gleam, not to speak.
My Kingdom forged crowns for powerful men and celebrated their sons, but left their daughters to rot beneath the weight ofperfection.
This was only a reminder of my place, as if I needed one. The scars etched into my skin beneath my dress were an effective enough reminder of what happens when I do not listen.
“Tonight,” King Vaylor declared, “we celebrate the sacred Rite of Ascension. Every seven years, we offer our own to the Gods to be blessed with power to protect our people or be chosen for sacrifice.”
The crowd erupted in applause, cheering for the impending deaths in the name of our estranged Gods. “We need these initiates into the Iron Guard more than ever. The Commander of Death has returned.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd; the name alone had the ability to evoke fear even into the most powerful men. Gooseflesh tore across my skin as a shiver ran up my spine. I had heard his name whispered in the halls. He was the monster my Kingdom feared the most. A legendary weapon that left nothing but destruction in his path.
“Anyone brave enough is encouraged to take the leap.”
Whispers slithered through my mind, clawing over each other in an unsettling crescendo.
No one will save you, they hissed.
They were right, but perhaps I could save myself. I knew Ascension would certainly promise death. But live or die, I would rewrite my fate. And if I lived, perhaps thedarkness I carried would finally have a purpose. My lips parted before I could think.
“I wish to Ascend, Father.”
My voice was quiet and weak, but I may as well have screamed. The air grew thick as mutters rippled through the crowd at my boldness. My father slowly turned. His face was carved in perfect serenity, except for his eyes, which held enough anger to burn.
“My daughter wishes to Ascend,” he repeated, voice light with mock amusement. Laughter scattered through the room like broken glass.
“No, theGodshave a plan for you already. It is my pleasure to announce princesses Lyra’s engagement to viscount Barden,” he said with a smile, raising his goblet as my skin burned with shame. “May their union tether the Northern and Southern territories to prevail against the Fae.”
The crowd made sounds of approval, cheering for a union that I would do anything to stop.
“But tonight, we honour the Gods,” my father continued, his voice rising, “and pray they grant us warriors strong enough to kill the nightmare that has returned.”
Everyone raised their goblets in a toast.
Except me. I wasn’t allowed wine. Not since the night I dared use the goblet as a weapon. The hall echoed with cheers. Then the crowd returned to their dancing, spinning like painted marionettes.
