Date: The 2nd Day of the Month of Blossoms, Year 1107 of the Imperial Calendar.
Location: The Rooftops of the Merchant District, overlooking the Palace Square.
The sound of victory is loud. It vibrates in the teeth and rattles the bones.
To the citizens of Aethelgard, the chiming of the Great Bell signified a holiday. It meant free wine would flow in the taverns. It meant the Emperor was pleased.
To Veer, it sounded like a funeral toll.
He crouched on the slate roof of a textile warehouse, three stories up. The wind whipped his dark hair across his face, stinging his eyes, but he didn't blink. He held onto a gargoyle's stone wing for balance, staring down into the Imperial Square.
Thousands of people had gathered. They were a sea of waving hands and colorful tunics, surging against the line of silver-armored guards.
"Who is it?" a voice drifted up from the alley below. "Who did the Dragon pick?"
"The Merchant's girl!" another voice shouted back, thick with excitement. "The one with the face of a goddess! House Kael has won!"
Veer's grip on the stone tightened until his knuckles turned white.
House Kael.
So it was true.
He had watched Aanya ascend the temple steps yesterday. He had seen the perfection of her face from a distance. But a small, foolish part of him—the part that was still ten years old and holding a stolen apple—had hoped. He had hoped the Emperor would see through the gloss. He had hoped Aanya would be rejected, sent back home in shame, back to the dark room where he could reach her.
It was a selfish hope. A thief's hope.
And now, it was dead.
The Palace Balcony
A thousand feet away, on the high marble balcony of the Imperial Palace, the heavy velvet drapes parted.
Aanya stepped out.
She felt like she was walking on needles. The "First Test" and "Second Test" were over, but the "Third Test"—the public reveal—was just beginning.
"Wave," Kael hissed from the shadows behind the curtain. "Wave to them, Aanya. They love you."
Aanya raised her hand. It felt heavy, weighed down by the gold bracelets the Emperor had already gifted her.
She looked down at the crowd. They were cheering, screaming her name. "White Jade! White Jade!"
She forced her lips to curve upward. It was a minimal movement, careful not to disturb the resin that was still settling after the heat of the Throne Room.
She looked radiant. The setting sun hit her face, illuminating the artificial skin until it glowed with an ethereal, almost holy light. To the masses below, she was a miracle. A girl who had risen from tragedy to become a queen.
But inside the silk dress, Aanya was trembling.
She felt the Emperor's hand land on her shoulder.
King Darius stepped out beside her. The crowd roared even louder. He was tall, imposing, a predator surveying his territory.
"Look at them," Darius whispered in her ear, his breath smelling of wine. "They envy you. They worship you. Does it not feel good?"
Aanya looked at the sea of faces. She saw hunger. She saw greed.
"It feels... loud, Your Majesty," she whispered back, careful to keep her face stiff.
Darius laughed. He squeezed her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You are a cold one. I like that. Tonight, we shall melt that ice."
Aanya's stomach churned. Tonight.
The Wedding Night. The Golden Lotus Oil.
She looked out over the city roofs. She saw the smoke rising from the chimneys of the slums. She scanned the skyline, looking for... something. A shadow. A ghost.
Are you watching, Veer? she thought, her heart aching. Please tell me you're not watching.
If he saw her like this—draped in gold, standing beside the tyrant—he would hate her. He would think she wanted this.
She wanted to scream down to him: It's a lie! It's all a lie!
But she just waved. A perfect, porcelain wave.
The Rooftop
Veer saw the Emperor touch her.
He saw the heavy hand land on Aanya's shoulder. He saw Aanya lean slightly into the touch—or at least, that's what it looked like from this distance.
He didn't see the fear. He didn't see the stiffness.
He saw a Queen standing beside her King.
"She fits," Veer whispered, the words tasting like bile. "She fits right in."
He looked at his own clothes. Trousers stained with mud. A tunic patched with rough twine. Boots that had holes in the soles.
He remembered the promise he had made to himself four years ago. I will steal enough gold. I will buy her freedom.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the leather pouch. Inside were the seven silver coins and the twenty coppers. It was his life savings. It was the result of starving himself, of sleeping in the cold, of risking the gallows every single day.
He looked at the pouch. Then he looked at the golden bracelet gleaming on Aanya's wrist.
That single bracelet was worth more than his entire life.
"I'm an idiot," Veer laughed. It was a dry, cracking sound.
He had been fighting a war that didn't exist. Aanya wasn't a prisoner waiting to be rescued. She was a prize that had been claimed. She had been healed—somehow, by some magic or expensive doctor—and she had ascended to a place where thieves couldn't go.
The gap wasn't just wide anymore. It was infinite.
Veer stood up. The wind tugged at his cloak.
He looked at Aanya one last time. She was glowing in the sunset, a figure of white and gold. She looked happy. She looked safe.
"Be happy, Apple Girl," Veer whispered. "Don't let them break you again."
He swung his arm back and threw the leather pouch.
He didn't throw it at the palace. He threw it down into the alleyway below.
The pouch hit the cobblestones with a heavy clink, bursting open. Silver and copper coins scattered in the muck.
Down below, two beggars looked up, startled. Then, seeing the glint of silver, they dove onto the coins, fighting and shouting in joy.
"A gift from the Shadow!" one of them screamed.
Veer didn't watch them fight for his fortune. He turned his back on the palace. He turned his back on the sunset.
He began to run.
He ran across the rooftops, jumping gaps that would kill a normal man. He ran until his lungs burned. He ran until the cheering of the crowd faded into a dull buzz.
He needed to get away. He needed to go back to the darkness. He needed to forget the color violet.
He descended into the slums, into the smoke and the stench. He went to the tavern where the worst of the worst gathered.
"Ale," Veer slammed his hand on the bar. "The strongest swill you have."
The bartender, a scarred man with one eye, looked at him. "You got coin, Shadow?"
Veer realized he had thrown all his money away. He laughed again.
"No," Veer said, his eyes dead. "But I have a thirst."
He grabbed a mug from another patron—a large man who looked like he strangled bears for fun.
"That's mine," the man growled, standing up.
Veer didn't flinch. He looked the man in the eye. He wanted to be hit. He wanted to feel pain. Pain made sense. Pain was real. The porcelain face on the balcony was a dream, but a fist to the jaw was reality.
"Take it back then," Veer challenged.
The brawl that followed was brutal. Veer didn't fight to win. He fought to bleed.
And miles away, in the safety of the Golden Cage, Aanya was escorted back inside the palace, the silk curtains closing behind her, shutting out the world of the living.
The Emperor's finger had pointed. The choice was made.
One lover was drinking to forget. The other was praying to survive.
And the night—the terrible, fateful night—was just beginning.