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Bern.

Just seeing her eased the tension that had been slinking in from all angles.

As the daughter of the Duke of Minloc, the two of them had grown up together. Even though Thicket didn’t remember their childhood, Bern had still become a pillar in her life. Her free spirit and mischievous smile lit up any room she walked into, constantly breaking Thicket free from the prison of her own mind. But now, as Bern stood behind her father, Thicket noticed her usual carefree demeanor had dampened. Not only that, but her auburn hair, which she usually let hang free, was pinned back in a neat bun, helping the deep red corset caging in the waist of her dress accentuate her features. She looked picturesque, exactly as a future duchess should be. The thought made Thicket’s heart ache, knowing her friend would rather be off exploring the world than cooped up in a meeting room.

Thicket might not know what she wanted from life beyond a place to call home, but she understood all too well what it felt like to be born within a lineage she was unable to escape.

Caspian parted from Thicket’s side to take his place amongst his fellow councilmen. There were twelve chairs running along the length of the table, one for each of the twelve members of the Council. Lotta told her there had once been thirteen, one for each of the thirteen elements of the world. However, after Algernon Soumort cursed the chalices, killing all but Thicket’s ancestor, Murdoc Vogeli, a superstition surrounding the number had been born and they had forgone the last seat.

Over the last century, Lavender’s attacks had left the Council in disarray and the number of positions had dwindled even further, leaving only the Adviser, General, and ruling families to speak on behalf of each city.

The remaining two seats at the ends were reserved for the Queen and King. As Thicket came to stand at the head of the table, she couldn’t help but glance across it to the empty chair. It would have been Elian’s if their engagement had still been intact, however seeing as it had been arranged by their parents, who were no longer around, for an alliance to a kingdom Elian no longer had any claim to, the Council had dismissed any authority he previously had.

Would they eventually isolate her just like they had Elian? And, she thought as dread pooled into the depths of her chest, like they had with Lavender?

Someone shifted behind her, drawing her eye. Marcellus stood, back against the wall and his eyes fixated on something ahead. She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling he had also been looking at the vacant chair at the table’s opposite end. Before she could decipher anything else from his expression, Caspian cleared his throat.

Electricity snapped through her. Right. The meeting couldn’t begin until she took her seat.

Tossing the Council an apologetic smile, she quickly slid into her chair, wobbling a bit as she did. She was thankful then to have convinced Lotta to let her wear boots instead of heels. The last thing she needed to do was fall in front of the very people she was trying to prove herself to.

“Your Highness.” The first to speak was a man with overwhelmingly similar features to Bern, from his auburn hair to his bright, warm brown eyes. Duke Deveraux Brooks. “May I be the first to say we are delighted to have you back. The last century without your presence has been… strenuous.”

“T-thank you,” Thicket said, then cursed herself for stuttering. Pinching her lips together, she forced her nerves to settle and tried again. “It is good to be back.” Before she could muster the courage to ask about the subject matter at hand, the man beside Duke Deveraux raised his hand.

His hair was a pale ashy blond, features Thicket had assigned to only one individual. Count Beauregard, the nobleman who once governed Sleeria, the town in between Minloc and Bilya known for its limestone cliffs and proximity to the sea. “Forgive me if this is impudent, Your Highness, but should we introduce ourselves before we begin?”

Count Beauregard’s question held no malice, yet Thicket’s heart still sped up as the weight of the Council’s gazes fell upon her once more. They no longer looked up at her with relief and hope the way they had when she first announced she was awake, nor did their faces crease with discontent, as she had feared. No… They were looking at her with pity. They pitied her because they knew that while she held the title Princess, she was far from it.

She was just an eighteen year old girl playing at being Queen.

Somehow, that was far worse than anger.

“Your offer is kind, Beauregard,” Caspian said. “However Princess Thicket doesn’t require introductions. We have filled her in adequately and she is eager to hear what you have prepared. General?”

Thank you, Caspian, she thought, bunching the fabric along her lap in gratitude.

“Your Highness.” Thicket’s stomach flipped as General Cales addressed her. After disobeying his orders during Lavender’s last attack, she had been worried he harbored the same doubts as the rest of the Council but when their eyes met, he greeted her with a gentle smile. “Here are the plans we drew up regarding potential avenues to launch a counterattack against the Soumort Princess,” he said, sliding a stack of papers towards her.

Thicket swallowed before settling them in front of her, pretending to look them over like she knew what all the lines, squiggles, and symbols on the map meant. “Could you tell me more about them?” she asked, hoping her voice matched the regal tone she practiced and not a nervous squeak from being caught off guard.

The General nodded. “I have been conversing with the head of Dymree’s army. At their current rate of travel, they should arrive in less than a week. I considered having them meet here, however after careful consideration I believe retaking Sleeria should be our top priority. The journey from Bilya to Minloc is far and leaves too many opportunities for the Soumort Princess to corner us. However, if we can set up a base in Sleeria, we can use it as a launch point for a full scale attack on Minloc.”

Thicket folded her fingers together, hoping the movement appeared as though she were giving the General’s words careful consideration and not an attempt to stop them from shaking. “I trust your judgement,” she said. “If you think it is best, then that is what we should do.”

General Cales nodded. “However, even with Dymree’s aid, we aren’t likely to succeed. The Soumort Princess’ army is simply too large and unpredictable.”

Dread clattered down Thicket’s spine. “If we cannot beat her army, then…” she couldn’t make herself say the words.

Then what was the point?

The man across from Count Beauregard stood, palms smacking against the table. “Are we going to sit here and pretend like the Soumort Princess didn’t give us an ultimatum?” His brown eyes landed on Thicket, hard and unrelenting. Armand, the last of the three noblemen—and the man who presided over Bilya.

While his words cleaved into Thicket with the force of an axe, she couldn’t fault them, not as the memory of all the names engraved onto the obelisk flashed in her mind. Too many people had been lost. If they had no hope of winning, maybe it was better if they turned her in.

Thicket closed her eyes and filled her trembling lungs. “We should—”

“You cannot be serious,” Caspian seethed, features twisted in a way Thicket had never seen before. “Not after all we have done to withstand the Soumort Princess’s tyranny.”