CHAPTER 9: THE PALACE BALL

The palace did not smell like roses.

It just smelled cold, like stone and old wine and, for some reason, like ink.

I held onto Cassian's arm with a grip so fierce I thought I might leave dents in his sleeve with my nails. He didn't complain, just adjusted his pace as I struggled to match his speed in my cut dress and boots.

Eyes followed us around the room.

Not Cassian's eyes. Mine.

Whispers rose up like a wave.

"That's Seraphina…"

"Is that her legs?…"

"Did she cut her dress?…"

"Is she alive after Whitlock's poison?…"

Elara was dancing by herself on the marble floor like she owned it. Her pink dress was perfect. Her hair was perfect. Her smile was perfect.

But I saw through it. I saw the cracks when her gaze fell on my boots.

"Here to humiliate you," Cassian said softly, eyes fixed in front of us. "Don't let her."

"I'm not worried about Elara," I whispered. "I'm worried about _him_."

_Him._ The Emperor.

Far at the end of the ballroom, sat atop a throne far too large for a real man, was Emperor Caspian.

In the book, he was described as cold, distant, and otherworldly beautiful, the kind of beauty that takes your breath away and leaves you spewing ink. The author even dedicated three whole pages to describing his eyes.

Of course, he'd written himself into that, too.

And now, he was staring at me.

Not Elara. Not Cassian. Me.

His eyes were midnight black, and they didn't blink. I felt as if he was reading me, dissecting my soul like I was a page of text and he was searching for a typo.

My stomach sank.

"He knows," I whispered. "He knows I'm not Seraphina."

Cassian's grip on my hand got tighter. "Then we don't give him time to find out."

A trumpet sounded. A servant announced in a booming voice:

"His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Caspian, welcomes the Duke Cassian and Lady Seraphina!"

The room fell silent again. That palace thrived on silence.

Elara was first. She took a bow so deep her forehead nearly touched her toes. "Your Majesty! You do us the honor! I was so worried about Seraphina after the garden party I came to make sure she was okay-"

"Lady Elara," the Emperor interrupted. His voice was calm, measured, and most certainly terrifying. "I did not summon you."

Elara froze. "P-Pardon?"

"I called for the Duke and Lady Seraphina. You may step down."

A collective gasp swept the room. Elara's face flushed red as she quickly backed up into the crowd, her perfect smile ruined.

I resisted the urge to chuckle but dared not, for the Emperor's eyes were now on me.

"Lady Seraphina," he said, "Come here."

Cassian tried to step forward with me. The Emperor held out a hand. "Alone."

"Your Majesty," Cassian warned. "With all respect-"

"Alone, Duke. Or do you dare disobey your Emperor in his own hall?"

Cassian looked at me, eyes screaming _don't go, don't go, don't go._ But we had no choice. This was his palace. His life. His rules.

I squeezed his hand once more and then let go.

My boots made a loud stamping sound on the marble floor as I stood up. Too loud. Too fast. Each step was a drumbeat, and I could feel Elara's glare bearing down on me, the silence in the room deafening.

I stopped in front of the throne and made a curtsy. Not perfect; my dress was torn, so it was a little awkward, but I did it anyway.

"Your Majesty."

He leaned down just a little, enough so only I could hear him.

"Your dress is torn," he observed.

"Yes."

"In my book, Seraphina never tears her dress. She wears white. She cries. She begs."

I looked into his eyes, heart pounding so loudly I thought he could hear it.

"Maybe your book is wrong," I retorted.

An uneasy silence hit the room. Someone dropped a wine glass and broke the spell.

The Emperor looked at me and for one second I saw a flicker in his eyes. Not anger. Not coldness.

But sadness. Like he had seen a ghost.

"You read it," he said softly. "You read the appendix."

"I read everything," I said. "I read how you killed her. I read how you sentenced her to death because you couldn't save the real her."

His hand crumpled the arm of the throne. "Be careful, Lady Seraphina. That's a dangerous thing to do."

"They're my words," I said. "You wrote her to death because your first love died. But I'm not her. I will not die for your book."

He suddenly stood up.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. He was already standing, taller than Cassian, and now he was stepping down from the throne until he was nose to nose with me.

"Then prove it," he said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "If you are not Seraphina, dance with me."

A gasp shot through the room. Cassian moved to step forward. "Your Majesty, she is my-"

"Am I not your Emperor?" the Emperor snapped.

Cassian stared at him. "I respect your words, Your Majesty."

"Do not make me summon you," the Emperor threatened. "Dance with her, or let me know you are hiding the truth."

I was trapped. If I danced with him, Cassian would be furious. If I refused, the Emperor would see through me.

I looked at Cassian. He was already marching toward us, jaw clenched.

Without another thought, I extended my hand to the Emperor.

"One dance," I said solemnly. "But I lead."

Music spun out from nowhere. Slower. Darker. Poising. Poisonous.

He took my waist. I rested my hand on his shoulder. I started to lead, tripping over his shoes, my torn dress flying to one side, not even close to fitting, yet I refused to take my eyes off his.

Eyes gazed into mine.

"You loved her," I whispered as we twirled. "The real one, the one who died the same way Seraphina did. What was her name?"

His step slipped. Just barely. Enough for me to hear.

"Her name," he said, voice trembling, "was Mira."

Mira. The name is my maid's name. My sweet, sad, sewing-kits-in-her-pocket maid. The same name.

The room spun in darkness. My heart was ice. The Emperor looked not at me, but through me. I reached into the darkness of his soul and saw someone I knew.

And then, in our dance, he bent his head and whispered:

"Seraphina. If you are not her… then why do you have her eyes?"

The music stopped.

In silence, everyone looked at us.

And in the doorway behind the Emperor, I saw her.

Mira. My Mira. Wearing a maid's dress and holding a tray of wine, staring at the Emperor as if she'd seen a ghost.

Because she had.