Whitefire Palace occupies the southern side of the Square, while the courts, treasury, and administrative centers take up the rest. There’s even a military barracks, judging by the troops drilling in the walled yard. They are Cal’s Shadow Legion, who traveled ahead of us to the city. A comfort to the nobles, Maven called them. Soldiers within the walls, to protect us if another attack should come.

Despite the hour, the Square bustles with activity as people rush toward a severe-looking structure next to the barracks. Red-and-black flags, emblazoned with the sword symbol of the army, hang from its columns. I can just see a little stage set up in front of the building, with a podium surrounded by bright spotlights and a growing crowd.

Suddenly the gaze of cameras, heavier than I’m used it, lands on our transport, following us as the line of vehicles passes by the stage. Luckily we keep driving, moving through an archway to a small courtyard, but then we pull to a stop.

“What’s this?” I whisper, grabbing onto Maven. Until now, I’ve kept my fear in check, but between the lights and the cameras and the crowd, my wall begins to crumble.

Maven sighs heavily, more annoyed than anything. “Father must be giving a speech. Just some saber rattling to keep the masses happy. The people love nothing more than a leader promising victory.”

Maven steps out, pulling me along with him. Despite my makeup and my clothes, I feel suddenly very bare. This is for a broadcast. Thousands, millions, will see this.

“Don’t worry, we just have to stand and look stern,” he mutters in my ear.

“I think Cal has that covered.” I nod to where the prince broods, still attached at the hip to Evangeline.

Maven snickers to himself. “He thinks speeches are a waste of time. Cal likes action, not words.”

That makes two of us, but I don’t want to admit I have anything in common with Maven’s older brother. Maybe once I thought so, but not now. Not ever again.

A bustling secretary beckons us. His clothes are blue and gray, the colors of House Macanthos. Maybe he knew the colonel, maybe he was her brother, her cousin. Don’t, Mare. This is the last place to lose your nerve. He doesn’t spare a glance at us when we fall into place, standing behind Cal and Evangeline, with the king and queen at the head. Strangely, Evangeline is not her usual cool self; I can see her hands shaking. She’s afraid. She wanted the spotlight, she wanted to be Cal’s bride, and yet she’s scared of it. How can that be?

And then we’re moving, walking into a building with too many Sentinels and attendants to count. Inside, the structure is built for function, with maps and offices and council rooms instead of paintings or salons. People in gray uniforms busy themselves in the hall, though they stop to let us pass. Most of the doors are closed, but I manage to catch a glimpse inside a few. Officers and soldiers look down at maps of the warfront, arguing over the placement of legions. Another room spilling with thunderous energy seems to hold a hundred video screens, each one operated by a soldier in battle uniform. They speak into headsets, barking orders to faraway people and places. The words differ, but the meaning is the same.

“Hold the line.”

Cal lingers before the door to the video room, craning his neck to get a better look, but it suddenly slams in his face. He bristles but doesn’t protest, falling back into line with Evangeline. She mutters to him quietly but he shakes her off, to my delight.

But my smile fades as we step back out into blinding lights on the front steps of the structure. A bronze plaque next to the door reads War Command. This place is the heart of the military—every soldier, every army, every gun is controlled from within. My stomach rolls at the power here, but I can’t lose my nerve, not in front of so many. Cameras flash, blinding my sight. When I flinch, I hear a voice inside my head.

The secretary presses a paper in my hand. One glance at it and I almost scream. Now I know what I was saved for.

Earn your keep, Elara’s voice whispers in my head. She glances at me from Maven’s other side, doing her best not to grin.

Maven follows her wretched gaze and notes the paper in my shaking hand. Slowly, he winds his fingers around my own, as if he could pour his strength into me. I want nothing more than to rip the paper in two, but he holds me steady.

“You must,” is all he says, whispering so low I can barely hear him. “You must.”

“My heart grieves for the lives lost, but know that they were not lost in vain. Their blood will fuel our resolve and drive us to overcome the difficulties ahead. We are a nation at war, we have been for a century, and we are not unaccustomed to obstacles in the path to victory. These people will be found, these people will be punished, and this disease they call rebellion will never take hold in my country.”