I give in to it, succumbing to the fire, letting myself be consumed by the flames.
The dwindling light filtering throughthe windows of my room does little to warm me. It pools on the floor, faint and golden, but its touch can’t chase away the cold that’s settled deep inside me. My fingers twist the ring on my hand, over and over, a rhythm as unsteady as the thoughts ricocheting through my head.
The last trial won’t leave me. It clings like smoke, acrid and stinging with every breath I take. Zina’s cries, Cynna’s blood, and the lingering scent of fear—it’s all there, curling around the edges of my thoughts. It suffocates, but not enough to block out what comes next.
Not enough to block out Raven.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the thought away, but it pushes harder. He’s leaving. My mind tries to wrap around the words, but they fight me, twisting into something unbearable. He’ll be gone tonight—off to face dangers I won’t be there to fight with him. Whatever plans the Flight has, he won’t share all of them with me. He’s protecting me; I know that. But the thought of watching him leave a second time is a blade I can’t seem to draw out.
The ball is tonight—a stage for either salvation or destruction. While I dance, smile, and distract, the others will slip away under the cover of night, the weapon they came for in their grasp. It’s a familiar game, but now it feels stretched taut, the stakes impossibly higher. One wrong move, and everything we’ve fought for could tumble into ruin.
There’s a knock, three careful raps, and Nyssa strides in, herexpression bright—but her eyes a little too wide. She crosses her arms in that casual way that speaks to practiced confidence, but I see the slight flex in her fingers, the way she grips her elbows, clamping down on the tension trying to break through.
Nyssa leans against the desk, her grin sharp, but her fingers are curling around the edge like she’s holding herself together. “For someone about to dazzle a room full of nobles, you look about as radiant as a rain cloud.”
I give her a flat look, too tired to care about matching her energy. “Careful. You wouldn’t want to dent my fragile ego.”
She snorts, her laugh just as grating as it usually is. “Your ego’s practically indestructible, Aella. Now stop brooding and start dazzling—we don’t have all night.”
I release the ring, my fingers stiff from holding on to it so tightly. “I’ll be fine.” The words slip out, but they feel hollow, like I’m trying to convince myself more than her.
Nyssa watches me for a moment, then nudges my leg with hers. “You will be. If not for you, then for us. Now, get up.”
I roll my eyes but stand. “Your pep talks are terrible.”
The door swings open, and Myna steps in, arms piled high with shimmering fabric that looks like it’s spun from gold. The light catches along its edge, glowing faintly, but it’s her smile that claims my attention. It’s as practiced as always—calm, poised—but there’s tension hidden in the tightness of her mouth.
“You’re late,” Nyssa quips, her casual stance stiffening. “Had to sharpen a sword or two on your way here?”
“Knives, actually,” Myna shoots back smoothly, moving to my side as she lays the fabric down with a precision that somehow feels too deliberate. “Thought I’d spare you the details.” Her hands linger on the silk, her fingers tightening just enough for me to notice, before she straightens and gestures toward me. “Shall we?”
Her words are steady, but there’s something off in the way she’s holding herself. I wonder how she feels, knowing the others will be leaving soon while she is left behind. Myna’s been with Alpha Flight for so long—does it feel like they’re abandoning her too? For a moment, I’mtempted to ask, but the weight of everything already pressing on my shoulders keeps my mouth shut.
With a sigh, I allow Myna and Nyssa to guide me into the mass of fabric, one careful piece at a time. The golden gown clings to me like liquid light, wrap after delicate wrap until I feel like I’ve been swallowed whole by the sun itself. It should make me feel untouchable—untouchable always seemed so much easier—but it feels like too many layers of expectations pressing against my skin.
Their hands work in tandem, pulling at ties, adjusting hems. Myna murmurs absent suggestions about positioning the fabric, her usual sharp wit muted. Nyssa stands close behind me, brushing faint fingers over my hair, arranging stray strands into place.
When they finally step aside, I turn and catch my first glimpse of myself in the mirror, and the sight takes my breath away.
The fabric caresses my curves and cascades from my knees to pool in a delicate puddle. It’s a vision of gold and citrine, a masterpiece of light and dark, like I am wrapped in a veil of sunlight that disappears behind the clouds. An intricate floral pattern, woven with fragments of yellow quartz, glints in the soft glow of the auras around my waist. The gathered fabric crosses over my breasts before tying in a halter around my neck, leaving my shoulders and arms bare, aside from the decorative golden cuffs that clasp around my upper arms.
My ashen hair falls to the lower arch of my back in silken waves, and fine strings of gold dangle through the tresses from the circlet resting upon my head. The mask I wear is a work of art. Crafted from the same glimmering shards of quartz and little bits of broken mirror, it covers my eyes, leaving the rest of my face on display.
Never have I looked more like a princess than I do at this moment.
My chest tightens in response to the thought, and I release a tenuous breath.
Silence fills the room, thick and pensive. My chest tightens under the weight of what lies ahead. My mask, the gown—all of it is armor for the battle that awaits in the ballroom.
The princess staring back at me doesn’t look scared. She looks like she was forged for nights like these. But beneath this glittering facade,I’m still me. And I can’t help but wonder if I truly am strong enough for what comes next.
“You’re quiet,” Nyssa murmurs, her voice startling me from my thoughts.
“I’m thinking,” I reply, the words soft and distant. Her gaze meets mine in the mirror, searching, as though she’s trying to sift through whatever silence I can’t seem to shake.
“You can do this,” she says, her calm certainty pulling me back into steadier waters. “And I’ll be there every step of the way.”
Her words settle some measure of the storm inside me, wrapping around my resolve like a shield. But then I glance at Myna. Her expression is neutral, but her shoulders give her away, tense and coiled. I see it in the slight clench of her jaw, the way her hands linger at her sides, restless.
