Basil offered the Baroness a hand into the carriage like a gentleman, which Lucy did not approve of in any way.
“This carriage is cheap,” Irene said the moment her skirts swamped half the interior. “If I had known, I would have prepared a different one.”
“A bigger one, too,” Lucy muttered.
“Yes, well, we’ll fix that at the next inn—oh!” Irene suddenly brightened. She rummaged through her bag. “I brought something for you.”
Lucy blinked, eyes full of distrust.
The small cloth bundle smelled of vanilla and brown sugar. She opened it slowly.
Gingersnap cookies.
“Esther told me they were your favorite,” Irene said simply.
Lucy stared at them like they might bite. Esther remembered things like that. The realization hurt worse than any insult.
Lucy’s outrage cracked just a fraction. After a silent moment, she muttered, “Fine. You can sit near me, but don’t touch my bags.”
The Baroness smiled knowingly. She knew exactly how to handle disgruntled youths.
Basil hid his amusement poorly. Lucy mouthed some very choice words at him and shoved a gingersnap into her mouth.
And so the carriage rolled forward, carrying the three most unlikely allies the kingdom had ever seen.
Esther ran toward freedom, unaware of what awaited her.
Lucy ran the other direction—to gather answers, allies, and enough leverage to tear down anyone who tried to cage her again.
Someone had to do the unglamorous part of saving a princess.
Lucy planned to be very good at it.
Saving a princess didn’t require a sword. It required memory, spite, and a willingness to be underestimated. Lucy had all three.
18
Esther
How to listen carefully: pretend you understand everything while understanding nothing.
Dusk settled over the street in muted lavender, lantern light catching on the cobblestones as Esther and her companionsapproached Luna’s tavern. The warm glow did little to calm the nerves coiling in her stomach.
They walked like a unit, whether they meant to or not. And yet, she had never felt more singular. Everyone around her had a role they understood—scout, shield, blade. Esther carried something heavier than a weapon and less defined than a crown. No one had trained her forthiskind of walking.
Lyssara scanned for threats. Vorrik stayed close enough to block a blow meant for her. Nythir hovered at her side like a drawn blade pretending to be a person.
No one told her what to do. The absence of instruction should have felt freeing. Instead, it left her unmoored. The palace had taught her how to obey, not how to choose. Choice felt like standing at the edge of a high place without rails.
“You could at least consider letting me accompany you inside,” he said for the seventh time, voice low and edged with frustration. “You don’t know what Luna wants.”
Esther kept her gaze forward. “I do. She wants answers. And I’m not giving them while everyone watches me squirm.”
He scoffed softly. “Essie—”
“No.” Her tone left little room for argument. Nythir recognized it instantly, though he still looked ready to argue on principle alone. His shoulders tightened in a sulky sort of way that was absolutely not subtle.
The others walked behind them, unusually quiet. It wasn't too quiet. It was heavy, uncomfortable, silent—the kind that made the air hard to breathe.
