I’d laugh out loud if I wasn’t so scared. “By marrying—sorry what’s your name again?”

His cheeks go white in what I assume is the Silver version of a blush. After all, their blood is silver. “My name is Maven,” he says, his voice soft and quiet. Like Cal and his father, his hair is glossy black, but the similarities end there. While they are broad and muscled, Maven is lean, with eyes like clear water. “And I still don’t understand.”

“What Father is trying to say is that she represents an opportunity for us,” Cal says, cutting in to explain. Unlike his brother, Cal’s voice is strong and authoritative. It’s the voice of a king. “If the Reds see her, a Silver by blood but Red by nature, raised up with us, they can be placated. It’s like an old fairy tale, a commoner becoming the princess. She’s their champion. They can look to her instead of terrorists.” And then, softer, but more important than anything else: “She’s a distraction.”

But this isn’t a fairy tale, or even a dream. This is a nightmare. I’m being locked away for the rest of my life, forced into being someone else. Into being one of them. A puppet. A show to keep people happy, quiet, and trampled.

“And if we get the story right, the High Houses will be satisfied too. You’re the lost daughter of a war hero. What better honor can we give you?”

I meet his eyes, silently pleading. He helped me once, maybe he can do it again. But Cal tips his head from side to side, shaking his head slowly. He can’t help me here.

“This isn’t a request, Lady Titanos,” Tiberias says. He uses my new name, my new title. “You will go through with this, and you will do it properly.”

Queen Elara turns her pale eyes on me. “You will live here, as is the custom for royal brides. Every day will be scheduled at my discretion and you will be tutored in everything and anything possible to make you”—she searches for the word, chewing on her lip—“suitable.” I don’t want to know what that means. “You will be scrutinized. From now on you live on the edge of a knife. One false step, one wrong word, and you will suffer for it.”

My throat tightens, like I can feel the chains the king and queen are wrapping around me. “What about my life—?”

“What life?” Elara crows. “Girl, you have fallen head over heels into a miracle.”

Cal squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as if the sound of the queen’s laughter pains him. “She means her family. Mare—the girl has a family.”

Gisa, Mom, Dad, the boys, Kilorn—a life taken away.

“Oh, that,” the king huffs, plopping back down into his chair. “I suppose we’ll give them an allowance, keep them quiet.”

“I want my brothers brought home from the war.” For once, I feel like I’ve said something right. “And my friend, Kilorn Warren. Don’t let the legions take him either.”

Tiberias responds in half a heartbeat. A few Red soldiers mean nothing to him. “Done.”

It sounds less like a pardon and more like a death sentence.

NINE

Lady Mareena Titanos, born to Lady Nora Nolle Titanos and Lord Ethan Titanos, general of the Iron Legion. Heiress to House Titanos. Mareena Titanos. Titanos.

My new name echoes in my head as the Red maids prepare me for the coming onslaught. The three girls work quickly and efficiently, never speaking to each other. They don’t ask me questions either, even though they must want to. Say nothing, I remember. They’re not allowed to speak to me, and they certainly aren’t allowed to talk about me to anyone else. Even the strange things, the Red things, I’m sure they see.

Over many agonizing minutes, they try to make me suitable, bathing me, styling me, painting me into the silly thing I’m supposed to be. The makeup is the worst, especially the thick white paste applied to my skin. They go through three pots of it, covering my face, neck, collarbone, and arms with the glittery wet powder. In the mirror, it looks like the warmth is leeched from me, as if the powder has covered the heat in my skin. With a gasp, I realize it’s supposed to hide my natural flush, the red bloom in my skin, the red blood. I’m pretending to be Silver, and when they finish painting my face, I actually look the part. With my newly pale skin, and darkened eyes and lips, I look cold, cruel, a living razor. I look Silver. I look beautiful. And I hate it.

How long will this last? Betrothed to a prince. Even in my head, it sounds crazy. Because it is. No Silver in their right mind would marry you, let alone a prince of Norta. Not to calm rebellion, not to hide your identity, not for anything.