فصل 24

Chapter 24

SOPHIE

The Garden of Truth and Lies

Sophie watched the towers of the castle loom closer as her carriage trundled through Camelot’s village, the streets dappled with red and gold light. Kei posed like a statue in the seat next to her, spine stiff, jaw tight, eyes cold and fixed ahead.

In Maker’s Market, wind blew dust off cobblestones onto bakers opening their shops, butchers unloading carcasses, and young children sleepily herding towards Camelot’s school. Every shop seemed to have a gold Lion painted in its window, while schoolchildren flashed Lion pins on their lapels to two pirates in Camelot armor checking for evidence of loyalty to the king. Amidst the market stalls, a dark gap caught Sophie’s eye: a shop burnt to the ground and a notice nailed to a stake in the ashes.

CONDEMNED

FOR SUSPECTED SYMPATHY TO REBELS

There was no mention what became of the shopkeeper.

The carriage rolled past a newsstand, an old humpbacked man laying out the new edition of the Royal Rot, the stand’s marquee once labeled CAMELOT COURIER now poorly etched over with a Lion crest. Sophie scanned the morning’s headlines.

TEDROS STILL ON THE LOOSE!

King Raises Bounty for Rebels’ Heads!

PRINCESS SOPHIE MISSING!

Kidnapped by Tedros? Or in League with Rebels?

MORE ATTACKS IN THE WOODS!

Rebels Sack Bloodbrook and Ladelflop!

The Snake had said only three rings were left. And Nottingham’s was one of them. . . .

So Bloodbrook and Ladelflop must be the other two.

Had these new attacks convinced their rulers they needed Camelot’s protection, like the others who’d destroyed their rings? Had these attacks bullied the two holdouts into siding with Man against the Pen?

Sophie’s throat went dry.

Is the Sheriff’s ring the last one left?

Sophie pictured Japeth striding into the forest, his scims laminating his body as he flipped the carved ring on his thumb like a coin.

He’d bring it back to his brother, Rhian’s faith in him affirmed. Bertie, the Sheriff’s old jail attendant, would burn it on the king’s command. Man would become Pen, just like August Sader warned.

Nothing could stop Rhian now.

Nothing could stop him from infinite power.

Except her.

Doves in formation circled Camelot’s castle, standing tall against cloudless blue, the stains and nicks that tarnished the towers under Tedros’ reign since smoothed away. Sophie thought of the fairy-tale castles she’d read about in storybooks back in Gavaldon . . . castles that made her dream of Ever After . . . castles that looked just like this one. She sighed mordantly. Mooning over those storybook castles, she’d never bothered to ask herself what was happening inside.

High in the Gold Tower, the windows to the king’s bedroom stretched wide open.

Rhian must be up and moving.

Nerves punctured Sophie’s stomach. If Rhian was on his feet again, he was dangerous. But if he was feeling well enough to roam around, he was also able to fight . . . and if he could fight . . .

She touched the crystal in her pocket, squeezing its sharp edges between her fingers. Rhian kills Japeth. I kill Rhian. That’s what the crystal promised. Which meant first, she had to turn the two brothers against each other. But how? She’d have to make Rhian trust her . . . which meant she’d need time alone with him, away from his brother . . . But suppose Japeth had gotten back with the ring already?

In her window’s reflection, she noticed Kei yawn.

The statue lives.

Studying his reflection, Sophie considered his sensuous lips, his high cheekbones and structured jaw. Until now, she’d never thought of Kei as human, let alone as a boy. She suddenly remembered the ogling look he’d given her that first night at dinner, practically drooling with lust. . . .

So he was a boy, after all.

Well, then. A witch could do her work.

She turned to him, pulling her dress tighter. “Kei, darling. I heard Rhian mention something about ‘taking you back.’ What did he mean?” Kei didn’t look at her.

“You answer to me, you know,” Sophie pointed out.

“I answer to the king,” Kei corrected.

“Who you apparently crawled back to like a dog,” Sophie snipped.

The captain stared forward.

“Certainly treats you like one,” she added.

Kei swiveled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He took me back even though I was a traitor. Even though I’d gone and worked for him.” Sophie blinked. “Tedros, you mean?”

Kei ignored her.

Sophie moved closer. “How do you think I feel? Being friends with Tedros but knowing in my heart that Rhian is the better king. How do you think I feel betraying Agatha so I can do what I think is right?” she said, shifting in her white dress, just happening to show more of her leg. “Playing both sides isn’t easy.” Kei tried hard not to look. “Maybe you’re still playing both sides.” “I’m on Rhian’s side, just like you,” Sophie vowed, cozying in, her lavender scent drifting towards him. “But Tedros and Agatha won’t give up. This is war now, between a real king and a false one. We need to work together, Kei. To protect our king. But you’ve known him longer.” Her hand brushed his. “Which means I can only protect him if I understand him like you do.” She caressed her throat, delicately biting at her lip. . . .

“Look, what do you want to know?” Kei blurted, pink spots on his cheeks.

“How did you meet Rhian?” Sophie questioned.

“We were friends at school. Best friends.”

“And then you helped him become king,” said Sophie, all business now. “When did he tell you he was Arthur’s son?” “Rhian told everyone when we were at school,” Kei said, still piqued. “No one believed him. Not even his own brother. But I did. Even when Japeth and the others mocked me, I defended him. Not just because I loved Rhian like a brother or because I loved Camelot and fantasized about my best friend being its king. But because I hated the idea of Tedros as king. All of us in Arbed House did. We knew your fairy tale and we knew Tedros was unfit to lead a horse, let alone a kingdom. But then the Ever Guard trials started . . .” “And you chose to be in Tedros’ guard,” said Sophie.

“As much as I’d loved Rhian, I’d despised his brother. I wanted to be away from Japeth,” Kei admitted. “Plus, there was the lure of serving Arthur’s kingdom, which I’d dreamed about since I was a boy. . . . So I gave Tedros a chance.” “No shame in that,” said Sophie.

“Yes there is, when you betray your best friend and when the king you chose turns out to be more of a coward than you thought. All Tedros had to do was stand up and fight Japeth’s attacks. Rhian never would have become the Lion.” “You knew Rhian’s brother was behind the attacks?” Sophie asked.

“I tried to tell Tedros when he was king,” said Kei ruefully. “The one time he and I spoke. He needed to ride out and fight the Snake . . . to kill him like Arthur would have . . . to be a leader. He would have become the Lion instead. He would have stayed king. Even with Excalibur trapped in that stone. The people would have stood by him. I would have stood by him. No one else would have gotten hurt. But he didn’t listen.” Kei shook his head. “That’s when I knew I’d chosen the wrong king.” She waited for him to go on, but his gaze went back out the window.

“What about Rhian? Do you think he’s a good king?” Sophie guided, trying to keep him talking.

“Better than Tedros,” said the captain. “But that’s not what makes him Good.” “What do you mean?” Sophie asked.

Kei turned, meeting her eyes. “He’s loyal to people, despite their flaws. Like his brother. Or me. Or you. Isn’t loyalty a mark of Good?” For a moment, Sophie actually believed him.

“Except you don’t just serve Rhian,” she pointed out. “You serve the Lion and the Snake now. The Snake who you wanted to be away from.” “I don’t serve the Snake,” Kei said, ice-cool.

“Pshh. You rescued him from Nottingham’s prison—”

“Because Rhian ordered me to and I’m loyal to Rhian. And because as king, Rhian assures me he has his brother under his firm control. I have no loyalty to Japeth. We weren’t friends at school. Rhian was barely friends with him at school. Japeth had his own best friend. A monster, if you ask me.” “Aric,” Sophie said, out loud.

Kei froze. “How do you—”

She’d said too much.

His eyes glassed over and his spine straightened.

The rest of the ride was silent.

AS THE CARRIAGE barreled through the gates, a team of twelve black-masked pirates were dismounting their horses in front of the stables and hosing the blood off their black suits, having returned from a night of attacks. One of the Mistral Sisters lurked amongst them, handing out satchels of gold. Through the pirates’ masks, they watched the carriage drive by, their cold, hollow eyes tracking Sophie like a fox let into the chicken coop.

Rhian kills Japeth.

I kill Rhian.

Pirates kill me.

Sophie shuddered.

The carriage stopped in front of the castle doors. She followed the captain up the Blue Tower stairs, Evelyn Sader’s white dress tingling at her skin again, as if fully aware of her murderous plot and warning her not to go through with it.

Sophie bit down her fear and climbed faster. This time, a dress wouldn’t stop her.

She trailed Kei across the catwalk towards the Throne Room, with a view into the Blue Tower dining hall.

Someone was at its table.

Sophie bucked up, a forced smile on her face, anticipating her enemy. . . .

It wasn’t Rhian.

An old, filthy man slurped messily from plates of parsnip soup, salmon pie, roast chicken with applesauce, stuffed eggs, stewed yams, and butterscotch pudding.

Another Mistral Sister sat across the table. “Now, Bertie, if something were to befall the Sheriff—highly unlikely, of course—that would turn Nottingham’s ring over to you. And you’ll burn that ring on the king’s command, just as we discussed—” “We discussed you freein’ me brutther frum Bloodbrook jail,” Bertie growled, fisting pudding into his mouth. “And a house for me mum.” “Your mother will stay in Stink Swamp and your brother in jail until you burn the ring,” the Mistral woman said curtly.

Bertie gave her a dead-eyed glare. “Better be a big house for me mum. With a tub—” Kei was well ahead of Sophie now and she hurried to keep up, her dress stinging threateningly at her skin.

They passed the Map Room, where Wesley and a second pirate, in their black marauding suits, hovered in front of a floating map of the Woods, every kingdom X’ed out except Bloodbrook, Ladelflop, and Nottingham.

“A good night’s work,” said the dark pirate.

“Bloody good night’s work,” Wesley smirked.

He dipped his middle finger in black ink and slashed it across Bloodbrook and Ladelflop, leaving only Nottingham untouched.

Sophie fended off a wave of nausea.

Japeth has the last ring.

A ring that Bertie would burn on Rhian’s order.

She had to move quickly.

Kei was skirting past the Treasury Master’s office now, where Sophie noticed the third Mistral Sister seated opposite the bald, egg-shaped Treasury Master, pug-nosed and pink-skinned, surrounded by piles of ledgers on his desk. She tried to eavesdrop— “The Camelot Courier has been making inquiries into our accounts, Bethna,” said the Treasury Master. “They’ve sent reporters to the Bank of Putsi.” “Warrants are out for the Courier’s staff,” said Bethna. “They’ll never make it to Putsi.” “Even so, the manager of the bank has a mind of his own,” the Treasury Master observed. “If he begins investigating our accounts, he could alert the Kingdom Council before the last ring is burned. . . .” Bethna weighed his words. “I’ll go to Putsi at once,” she said, turning for the door.

Sophie ducked out of view, scuttling after Kei.

What is in that bank? she wondered. What are they hiding?

But there was no more time to think, for Kei was already walking through the doors of the Throne Room.

Sophie hesitated as she entered, dark shadows crisscrossing the long, vast hall. For a moment, it was so dark she couldn’t see anything, the thick carpet rustling beneath her slippers.

A ray of light cut through the shadows.

Sophie looked up.

A boy stood at the window, his back to her, a crown nestled in his coppery hair. Sun haloed him as two seamstresses cinched a belt of gilded Lion heads around his high-collared white fur cape.

A wedding cape.

As if in response, Sophie’s dress began to morph on her skin. She flung up her arms in shock as the dress tightened around her ribs, the fabric hardening from lace to crepe and sealing her chest in a creamy-boned bodice. The sleeves spouted wings and ruffled cuffs while the hem unraveled to the floor, pooling behind her in a rich, white train. Along the edges of the bodice, gold thread wove a pattern of Lion heads, matching the boy’s belt. The back of Sophie’s neck tickled as the collar extended up her nape, higher, higher, then pulled down over her face in diaphanous silk, like a hood or a mask or a . . .

Veil.

Sophie started shaking.

A wedding dress.

She was trapped in her own wedding dress.

The boy turned from the window.

Rhian smiled, his face battered and bruised.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, blue-green eyes twinkling. “I think that’ll do nicely.” “YOUR MOTHER IS inside the dress?” Sophie asked, morning dew dripping off a rosebush onto her white lace, restored to its prim, ruffled form.

“A piece of her, perhaps,” said Rhian, walking with her through the royal gardens. Clad in his blue-and-gold suit, he limped gingerly, Excalibur on his belt. In the sunlight, Sophie could see the mess of welts on his tan face and neck, still healing. As he bent to inspect a tulip, she glimpsed a scar at the top of his skull, jagged and faded. A scar from long ago.

“My mother left that dress to us when she died,” he went on. “It’s shown signs of life. Even given my brother and me answers. But fashioning you a wedding dress . . . ? That was a surprise.” He peered at Sophie. “Has it done anything else?” Sophie tightened. “No,” she lied. “What do you mean it gave you and your brother ‘answers’? How can a dress give answers?” “How can two girls magically appear in a king’s bedroom? Each of us has questions, it seems,” said Rhian dryly. “Want to see the Orangerie?” He moved towards a short staircase ahead. “It’s almost finished.” Workers clustered on the level below, tending to perfectly square plots of orange trees, planted in the pattern of a giant chessboard, a titanic stone fountain of a Lion at its center, occasionally shooting jets of mist over the grove. Rhian struggled down the steps and Sophie took his arm, feeling his muscles resist hers, then slowly soften. At the bottom she let go, and they walked in silence between the squares of trees, the mist from the fountain lacquering their faces.

“The crystal . . . the one that let Agatha break into my dungeons,” said the king, a low branch brushing his crown. “That’s how you broke into my bedroom too, isn’t it?” “Why don’t you ask my dress?” Sophie cooed.

Rhian chuckled. “They don’t make girls like you in Foxwood. At least not the ones I met when I was in school.” “Because girls like me go to the school you want to tear down,” Sophie remarked. “I’m sure you had your share of girls anyway.” “I had other priorities.”

“Like trying to convince your classmates you were King Arthur’s son, when even your own brother didn’t believe you?” Rhian side-eyed his princess. “And here I thought Kei was impenetrable to a girl’s wiles. I’ll have to have a talk with him.” “Do it tomorrow,” Sophie smiled.

There would be no tomorrow, of course.

She plucked an orange from a tree and peeled open its skin, extracting a slice and holding it out to the king.

“Is it poisoned?” Rhian asked.

“Naturally,” said Sophie.

She slipped it into his mouth and he bit into it, the juice dripping off his gashed lips. Their eyes locked. Sophie thought about how, in just a short while, the boy standing in front of her would plunge his sword into his own brother’s heart. And how she would rise from behind, in his moment of shock and mourning, and cut it short with a single blow. She’d feel no remorse. The killing would come easy.

“You’re smiling,” said Rhian. “What are you thinking about?” “You,” Sophie replied.

She lifted onto her toes and kissed him, sugary wetness coating her tongue and mixing with the cool mint of his mouth. For the briefest of moments, she thought of Rafal. Their lips parted, sticky and sweet. Rhian looked dazed, like she’d stabbed him, before he glanced away and padded forward, trying to steady his limp.

“I knew you would come back. I knew it. Even when Japeth told me I was a fool. I knew that we were meant to be together. King and queen.” “Ah. The boy who said that he’d never love me. That love made people into foggy-eyed fools,” Sophie hazed, fully in control now. Her emerald eyes glimmered with mischief. “Suddenly, he isn’t seeing so clearly.” “No, that’s not it.” Rhian rubbed at his close-shorn skull. “It’s just . . . You could have stayed with your friends. But you were loyal to me instead. When you didn’t need to be. And loyalty is something I haven’t had much of in my life.” “You have the loyalty of your men and the rulers around you,” Sophie pointed out. “You have Kei’s loyalty. And your brother’s.” “All of them want something from me, my brother included,” the king said, glancing at her. “Maybe you want something too.” Sophie twinged with guilt and almost laughed. Guilt for a monster!

“Oh? What do you think I want?” she asked, playing with fire.

Rhian stopped on the path. He studied her carefully. “I think you want to make a difference in these Woods. That’s why you were unhappy as Dean. You said it yourself when we had dinner: you want a bigger life. It’s why you were drawn to me when we met.” He brushed aside a stray lock of her hair. “Think about it this way. The Pen put Tedros on the throne and he couldn’t keep these Woods safe. If the Pen can no longer be trusted to protect the Woods, then it’s up to a Man to take its place. Not just any Man. A King. The One True King. That’s why you came back to me. Your friends will think it’s because you’re Evil, of course. That you want to be a queen for the sake of a crown. But we both know the truth. It’s not enough to be queen for you. You want to be a good queen. And you can only do that with me.” Sophie frowned, thrown by his earnestness. She kept walking. “I would be a good queen. That is true. But where’s the proof you would be a good king? You don’t believe in the Pen and yet the Pen keeps the balance between Good and Evil. That’s why the Storian has lasted all these years. If a king had the Storian’s power, he would destroy that balance. You would destroy that balance. You would wipe out all those who rebel against you. You would rule with Evil in a way the Pen never would.” “Quite the opposite, in fact,” said the king, trying to keep up with her. “I would use the power of the Pen to do Good. To bring down that worthless school and reward ordinary people doing right in these Woods. Just like Lionsmane’s messages tried to do, before you hijacked them.” “Oh please. Those messages were filled with lies—” Sophie argued.

“In the service of Good. To raise people up,” said Rhian. “But Lionsmane’s messages are just the beginning. A Good king protects his people. A Good king protects the Woods. What better way to protect the Woods than to wipe out Evil completely.” “Impossible,” Sophie pooh-poohed, facing him. “Evil has always existed. You could never wipe it out.” “I can and I will.” Rhian stared at her, his eyes glazed and hot. “Everything I’ve done in my life has been to get me here. I didn’t get into your lofty school. I wasn’t kidnapped from reality and dropped into a magic castle like you and your self-righteous friends. While you basked in the privileges of your school, bright, young ‘lords’ of the Woods, I was with real people. In the real Woods. And here’s what I learned. The Storian isn’t the keeper of balance. It isn’t a peacemaker at all. The Storian thrives on the war between the two sides. On pitting Good and Evil against the other and letting that war drag on for eternity. That’s why my pen made a show of twisting the Storian’s tales: to prove that every one of its villains can be a hero and every hero a villain. And yet, we cling to the Pen’s every word, reacting to each victory and loss as if it was our own, the balance swinging between Good and Evil, back and forth, back and forth, while the real people of the Woods are forgotten. Their lives left out of our storybooks, lost in the fog of a pointless war.” The king’s face softened. “But the Pen has the power to end that war if it chooses. It knows that every villain has something they want. Something they’ve turned Evil to get. Give them what they want and it can stop them. Before they cross the point of no return. Evil preempted by the hand of fate. The Pen would never do such a thing, of course; it needs the two sides at war to preserve its power. So it binds them together like twins, so that Good can’t live without Evil and Evil without Good. . . . But I know better. If I had the Pen’s power, I’d wipe Evil out. Neutralize it. Cut it off at the root. Take my brother, for instance. His soul skews to the worst kind of wickedness. But with the Pen’s power, I can bring back to life the only person Japeth has ever loved. I can give him the only Ever After he’s ever wanted. His Evil would be cured. Imagine if I could do that with every threat, extinguishing every villain, every spark of darkness. If I could use Lionsmane to give them love or fortune or even just a friend: whatever it takes to restore their souls to Good. I could prevent attacks like the Snake’s from ever actually happening. The war between Good and Evil would end. The spotlight stripped from a Pen and a School and returned to the people. Peace, true peace forever. That’s why I need to be king. The One True King. I can do what the Storian could never do. I can erase Evil from these Woods permanently. I can be the balance.” Clammy coldness clawed at Sophie’s core. The boy in front of her suddenly felt like the knight she once fell in love with, his aqua-green gaze clear, honest . . . real.

“But you can’t stop Evil. Look at you! You’re Evil!” Sophie resisted, snapping from her trance. “You ordered the attacks on kingdoms! You set the Snake loose just so you could be king! You’re responsible for people’s deaths! And so much more. You enslaved Guinevere: a queen. You blackmailed leaders. You’ve tortured Merlin and sent pirates to attack schoolchildren and stabbed me to give my blood to your brother. You told lies about Tedros to get leaders to burn their rings. Lies about Agatha. Lies about me. Lies about everything!” “Yes, I have told lies,” the king replied evenly. “I have done things that are ruthless and vile. I’ve let my brother attack the Woods at will. At times, I’ve hated myself for it, but like a good king, I know how to do what needs to be done. Even if it means I have blood on my hands. Because unlike Tedros, I spent my life in the shadows, where Good and Evil are never so simple. Every day in my world requires sacrifices. Sacrifices that can be awful and ugly. But I want a better future for people like me, where even a baker or bricklayer has the chance to tell his story. To know that they matter. To be proud of their lives. For that to happen, the Storian must be replaced. The School must fall. And a King of the People must rise. Any Evil I’ve done, any lie I’ve told, it’s to make that future possible. Because only I can lead these Woods to a real peace, a real Ever After, for everyone. Beyond the legacy of my father. Beyond Good and Evil. I can save the Woods from all Evil, forever. I can be the One True King, the immortal Lion, cutting the head off every Snake. Anything is worth that. Anything. So look me in the eye and tell me I’m not as Good as my father. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m Evil, when everything I’ve done has been to save these Woods from it.” Sophie’s lungs turned inside out.

This was lies.

This had to be lies.

This was the villain!

The boy she needed to kill!

The boy who was pure Evil, except now he was telling her he was the Good one . . . the one who could keep the Snake contained, the Snake living inside every villain . . . the one who could erase Evil forever. . . .

What if it was true?

What if it were possible?

Her head spun, like she’d been bashed by a crystal’s blue light and dropped in another dimension.

“Your mother,” she breathed. “She’s the one you want to bring back to life?” Rhian nodded. “My mother’s the only person Japeth ever loved. If he had her back . . . he would be happy and at peace. His Evil would be gone. I could be the king I want to be, the Lion the people need, without a Snake breathing down my neck.” Sophie was so addled that she found herself trundling ahead, leaving him hobbling behind her. All this time, she’d believed Rhian a savage intent on the Storian’s infinite power, his brother his loyal henchman. That was her version of the story. The one she and her friends agreed on. But in Rhian’s version, Rhian wanted the Pen’s power for another reason: to keep his brother happy. To kill the monster inside of him. To kill the monsters inside all the villains of the Woods. To bring peace to the people. Forever.

Sophie pictured the eel-covered pen she’d first met in the Snake’s hands, changing the Storian’s tales to make the heroes villains and the villains heroes, twisting known stories into something darker and untrue. Lionsmane, the messenger of lies.

But when it came to Rhian’s tale . . . had she become the messenger of lies? Had she failed to see the real story, while clinging to a warped version of it?

Impossible, she thought.

And yet the way he’d looked at her, so pure-eyed and sure— “How did you escape?” he asked, appearing at her side again. His forehead shined with sweat. She hadn’t realized how far she’d gotten ahead of him.

“Escape what?”

“Agatha and Tedros. You escaped them and their rebels. Where are they? Where are all of them?” Sophie blinked at him. “On the run, of course. That’s how I got out. In the chaos of moving between hideouts.” Rhian searched her face. His knuckles twitched near Excalibur’s hilt.

Sophie’s finger glowed strong behind her back—

“Doesn’t matter,” the king groused, moving towards the last patch of trees. “Once my brother claims Nottingham’s ring, their days are numbered.” “I thought you said you were Good,” Sophie retorted, tailing him.

“I am Good,” said Rhian. “My father’s sword choosing me is the proof. Your friends are the ones who are Evil. They deny the will of the people who want me as King. They arrogantly stand in the way of a better Woods. A more peaceful Woods. A Woods that King Arthur would have been proud of. Your friends aren’t just rebels against what’s right. They’re my Nemesis. They won’t stop attacking me until I’m dead. Which means I need to defend myself. First rule of Good.” Sophie opened her mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

Rhian pulled up his shirt to inspect a deep laceration between two ribs, a pinprick of blood oozing between two stitches. He exhaled and kept walking. “Wish your blood healed me.” “Why doesn’t it?” Sophie prompted. “Strange that my blood would heal one twin and not the other.” He didn’t answer for a moment.

“Rhian?”

“It’s the pen’s prophecy,” he said, pausing on the path. “Only with you as a wedded queen can the Storian’s powers be claimed. One brother weds you and becomes the One True King. The second brother is restored by your blood. Sophie, the Queen for one. Sophie, the Healer for the other. You, the bond between brothers, each with an incentive to protect you.” Like the Storian, Sophie thought. Kept by two brothers, each safeguarding it for their side.

Something needled at her. Something that didn’t make sense.

“One brother weds me and becomes king?” Sophie said. “You meant when you wed me. You’re the elder. You’re the heir.” Rhian cleared his throat. “Yes. Obviously.”

Sophie walked ahead. “But which pen? You’ve spoken of this mystery pen again and again. The pen that supposedly told you all these things. Which pen was it? The Storian or Lionsmane? Which pen knew I would be your queen? Which pen knew I could heal your brother?” She looked back at Rhian and to her surprise, she saw him grinning. “Found a way to magically break into my room. Found a way to get me a message under your friend’s nose. And yet, you still don’t know why you’re here. Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.” If there was one thing Sophie despised, it was being called stupid.

“Oh?” she said cuttingly. “I know who your mother is. I know all about her. I know how you came to be born. Do you?” Rhian snorted. “You don’t know the slightest thing about my mother.” Sophie gave him a cold stare. And suddenly, as if her thoughts were making it happen, her dress shape-shifted again. This time, the lace ruffled tighter, tighter, pinching in at every corner, before the ruffles began to quiver in unison, like a thousand gossamer wings. The white wings flapped harder, a little head poking out between every pair, as if about to take flight. A shot of color appeared at Sophie’s breast, like a stab wound, which bled outwards, covering these tiny winged creatures in rich, brilliant blue, the dress on her body now transformed into a dress so familiar, a dress once worn by her enemy, a dress made out of . . . butterflies. An army of them, blue as sapphires, rippled and flowed as she breathed in and out, their heads rising and falling with her heartbeat, as if the dress was no longer fighting her or binding her, but obeying her.

Rhian’s eyes went big, his skin as pale as his brother’s.

Then in an instant . . . the butterflies vanished.

The dress melted back to white lace.

Sophie arched a brow at the king.

“Oh, I know more than you think,” she said.