CHAPTER 8: INVITATION TO THE PALACE

The Emperor's letter arrived in blood.

Not ink. Blood.

It sat on my pillow when we returned from Whitlock estate. No crest. No seal. Only a page of heavy, cream paper and three words, the shade of red rust that had disintegrated at the edges.

COME TO ME.

Below, in stark black ink, a second hand had inscribed:

Bring the Duke. - C

Mira was starting to black out again. And she was doing that a lot now.

"To the palace?" she clutched the letter as if it had become a real python. "My Lady, this is not supposed to be so. Nobody is born like that. This is not an invite. It is-"

"A threat," I finished.

Cassian reached out and took the letter from her. He did not wince at the blood, he sniffed it.

"Pig's blood," he said. "Not human. Some people are a little more theatrical than others."

"Oh, wonderful. Enjoy the theatrics of my potential murder."

'You folded the letter. 'But this is the Emperor. Or someone who wanted us to think it was.

"Is there a difference?"

"In this palace? No."

He looked at me. Properly looked at me. My legs were green venom from the roses; my hair was falling out of the pins; I'd no doubt smell like the scorched-grass and spar- lemon I'd just earlier baked in my man- cooking limbs.

"You can't wear that to the palace."

"Wow. Thank you. Very romantic."

"I mean it. The Emperor will see the dress. He will know you were at the garden party. He will know about the poison. He-"

"He reads the book too?"

Cassian went still.

Not even the silence was as loud as the garden party.

"What?" I asked.

"Nobody's supposed to know what the Emperor reads," he said, stopping in surprise. "What did you--"

Was the book I transmigrated into Chapter 2? The Emperor is the author. He also wrote the sad ending because his true love died like Seraphina. This is his self-inserted angst fic.

Cassian gives me the sort of look a man reserves for women who've just lost their minds.

You read the appendix

"I READ EVERYTHING. I just lay there for three days – I was able to read only the kind of books in which people drink poison and dream of your crest."

It was the first smile he'd given since the carriage. A genuine one.

You asked and I answered. Now you know what happens next. Chapter 8.

I swallowed hard. "The palace ball. The event where my sister gets to have her crown taken off in front of the entire world."

"And where the duke," he said, "is to be looking on and doing nothing."

"Read and do nothing, Your Grace?"

Mira was dashing around the room like a headless chicken. She'd pulled out three different dresses, two pairs of shoes and a box of hairpins which were now lying all over the floor.

"My Lady, we must sort this out! The hem is ripped! The roses have got them all over it! The duke is quite right you can't go into the palace looking like you've been through a war in the garden!"

"Well, I did just beat a garden war, Mira."

"不 helping!" She held the emerald dress against me and shook her head. "The Emperor will see this and think you are a beggar. Or worse, a villain."

I stared at the mirror. She wasn't kidding. My hair was spilling out of the pins, my face was tomato red from the run to the lemonade stand, and the hem of my gown was torn out by the bushes I ran through.

In the book itself, Seraphina goes to this ball in this immaculate white dress. She curtsies flawlessly. She smiles gracefully. And then the Emperor takes her title in front of the entire place.

She never asked her to be perfect, so why should I? Perfect couldn't make her save.

"Stop, Mira." I said. "Breathe. Bring me scissors."

"Scissors? My Lady, what-"

"Scissors. Now."

She placed them in my hands, trembling. I handed them to Cassian.

He snatched my torn hemline from me and with one swoop he pulled it off the fabric and with a clean snip across my knees –my boots.

I figured Mira was dead because she was choking so loudly.

"On the other hand," Cassian said softly, "that's a combat suit. When he plans to take away your title, we give him some fun first."

Mira grasped her by the shoulders. "My Lady! Your bones! There is no easier way- the court will-."

This is the blank stare, I told myself. "The court will stare," I said. "Fine. Let them stare. They've been staring at me since I awoke in this body."

And I saw that first. Snapped me up like a good meal. I looked down at the new dress. It wasn't a ballgown any more. It was shorter, sharper, and deadly. The emerald fabric now finished a few inches below the knees and I could see my boots. Boots I could run in. Boots I could fight in.

Cassian was looking at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Not Seraphina the character. Me.

"You look-" he started, then stopped.

"Like a villain?" I asked.

"Like trouble," he said. "My favorite kind."

That drive to the palace was probably the twenty worst minutes of my entire life.

Mira stayed behind and I could see she kept clutching her sewing kit, whispering prayers. Just Cassian and I now, sat opposite each other in the car, with the blood letter beside us on the seat, a third passenger.

"I think he really did." I was whispering. "The Emperor?"

Cassian looked out the window. The city was running past. All dark roads, burning lamps. "I think the Emperor is writing many things. And I think the Emperor has been looking at you since the day you wake up."

"Because I am not acting like Seraphina?"

"You're acting better than Seraphina," he said. "In the book, Seraphina cries at the garden party. She cries at the palace. She cries when she dies. You? You caused the roses to go black and then asked for a toast."

I started to laugh, my hands were shaking. I clasped my hands in my lap to hide their tremor.

"I'm scared, Cassian."

"I know."

"Are you scared?"

He turned to me, then. Really turned to me. "Afraid, aren't you?" "The Emperor doesn't bring people to his palace. He calls them. And the last girl he called like this-"

"He was my first love," I continued. "He who died like Seraphina."

The man nodded again. "Then tonight, you abstain from food and drink. You abstain from accepting anything from anyone. And you stay by my side."

Even to breathe?

"Especially to breathe."

The carriage stopped.

We had arrived.

The palace gates were big, gold, and guarded by scores of soldiers. And there she was, in front and center, in a perfect pink dress, with a perfect smile.

Of course she was here. Of course she had already received an invite. Of course she was early.

She caught sight of our carriage and her smile grew cold.

"Seraphina!" she bellowed, so the guards up on the wall could hear her. "Oh, you actually showed up. Wearing that dress?"

All eyes were upon me. As I made my cut. As I hastily pulled on my boots. As my hair started to fall apart.

My stomach clenched. It's the end. It's the point in the story where Seraphina finally drops her head and lets them guffaw.

I didn't bow my head.

I exited the carriage, grasped Cassian's hand, and smiled in return.

"Elara," I said, just as loud.

You've really arrived. In that gown? We're coordinated. You're a cake. I'm the knife that slices it up.

The guards choked. Elara's smile froze.

Cassian held my hand. Just once. A warning. A promise.

He held out his arm.

Lady Seraphina, follow me. Shall we destroy the palace?

No, for the first time this whole time, I didn't have huddled fears of Chapter 8 since I took on this hot seat.

I was excited for it.

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Author's Note:

He is the Author. He authored her death. And she just appeared in a battle dress. Comment "HE IS THE AUTHOR" if you think that was the plot twist.