The shock of his blunt words takes a moment to sink in, but when it does, I don’t argue. He’s entirely right.

“And yet,” he continues, rising to his feet. This close, I can see his crown is deathly sharp. The points can kill. “You are also something else. Something I cannot fathom. You are Red and Silver both, a peculiarity with deadly consequences you cannot understand. So what am I to do with you?”

Is he asking me? “You could let me go. I wouldn’t say a word.”

The queen’s sharp laughter cuts me off. “And what about the High Houses? Will they keep silent as well? Will they forget the little lightning girl in a red uniform?”

No. No one will.

“You know my advice, Tiberias,” the queen adds, her eyes on the king. “And it will solve both our problems.”

It must be bad advice, bad for me, because Cal clenches a fist. The movement draws my eye and I finally look at him fully. He remains still, stoic and quiet, as I’m sure he’s been trained to do, but fire burns behind his eyes. For a moment, he meets my gaze but I look away before I can call out and ask him to save me.

“Yes, Elara,” the king says, nodding at his wife. “We cannot kill you, Mare Barrow.” Not yet hangs in the air. “So we are going to hide you in plain sight where we can watch you, protect you, and attempt to understand you.”

The way his eyes gleam makes me feel like a meal about to be devoured.

“Father!” the word bursts from Cal, but his brother—the paler, leaner prince—grabs him by the arm, holding him back from protesting further. He has a calming effect and Cal steps back in line.

Tiberias goes on, ignoring his son. “You are no longer Mare Barrow, a Red daughter of the Stilts.”

“Then who am I?” I ask, my voice shaking with dread, thinking of all the awful things they can do to me.

“Your father was Ethan Titanos, general of the Iron Legion, killed when you were an infant. A soldier, a Red man, took you for his own and raised you in the dirt, never telling you your true parentage. You grew up believing you were nothing, and now, thanks to chance, you are made whole again. You are Silver, a lady of a lost High House, a noble with great power, and one day, a princess of Norta.”

Try as I might, I can’t hold back a surprised yelp. “A Silver—a princess?”

My eyes betray me, flying to Cal. A princess must marry a prince.

“You will marry my son Maven and you’ll do it without putting a toe out of line.”

I swear I hear my jaw hit the floor. A wretched, embarrassing sound escapes my mouth as I search for something to say, but I’m honestly speechless. In front of me, the younger prince looks equally confused, sputtering just as loudly as I want to. This time, it’s Cal’s turn to restrain him, though his eyes are on me.

The young prince manages to find his voice. “I don’t understand,” he blurts out, shrugging off Cal. He takes quick steps toward his father. “She’s—why—?” Usually I’d be offended, but I have to agree with the prince’s reservations.

“Quiet,” his mother snaps. “You will obey.”

He glares at her, every inch the young son rebelling against his parents. But his mother hardens and the prince backs down, knowing her wrath and power as well as I do.

My voice is faint, barely audible. “This seems a bit . . . much.” There’s simply no other way to describe it. “You don’t want to make me a lady, much less a princess.”

Tiberias’s face cracks into a grim smile. Like the queen, his teeth are blindingly white. “Oh but I do, my dear. For the first time in your rudimentary little life, you have a purpose.” The jab feels like a slap across the face. “Here we are, in the early stages of a badly timed rebellion, with terrorist groups or freedom fighters, or whatever the hell these idiotic Red fools call themselves, blowing things up in the name of equality.”

“The Scarlet Guard.” Farley. Shade. As soon as the name crosses my mind, I pray Queen Elara stays out of my head. “They bombed—”

“The capital, yes.” The king shrugs, scratching his neck.

My years in the shadows have taught me many things. Who carries the most money, who won’t notice you, and what liars look like. The king is a liar, I realize, watching as he forces another shrug. He’s trying to be dismissive, and it’s just not working. Something has him scared of Farley, of the Scarlet Guard. Something much bigger than a few explosions.

“And you,” he continues, leaning forward. “You might be able to help us stop there from being any more.”