Chapter 1

The room went so quiet I could hear a candle wick spit.

Rowan ducked behind Mother, his face bloodless. "Why is she still talking?"

He didn't call me his sister.

Father recovered first. He yanked the black cloak from his shoulders as though he could hide the silver lilies embroidered along its hem - the royal symbol for a funeral.

"You're alive," he said too quickly, without meeting my eyes. "That's good. Of course it's good."

Mother still held a bundle of winter roses meant for my coffin. Their thorns had pierced her palm, but she didn't seem to feel it.

I almost laughed. The night before, Father had held me against his chest and sworn that, in another life, he would choose to be my father again. Mother had kissed my forehead and promised to visit my grave every day.

Yet one extra sunrise had turned me into a stranger who had crawled out of her tomb.

Breakfast was served in the Sun Hall. For eighteen years, my chair had always been closest to the fire, and my silver plate had always held the softest bread, the sweetest honey, and the first swan egg from the kitchens.

That morning, the maid laid only three places.

When I walked in, she nearly dropped the silver pot. Mother frowned and flicked two fingers, ordering her to add another setting. It didn't feel like a welcome. It felt like making room for an unwanted guest.

The swan egg sat before Rowan. Out of habit, he nudged it toward me.

"You can have it."

I had barely reached for the plate when Mother's hand cracked across my knuckles. The sound snapped through the hall.

"You're a grown woman now. Must you still take things from your brother?"

My skin reddened beneath her rings. Rowan stared at her, then slowly pulled the plate back.

I lowered my head and finished a bowl of cold oats.

After breakfast, I stayed to help polish the silver. Once, if I so much as touched a teacup, Mother would laugh and tell me a princess's hands had no business in washing salts. Today, she watched me scrub dozens of plates and said nothing.

I worked until noon and made one mistake: I placed a crystal goblet on the wrong shelf.

Mother's expression darkened. "That is the ceremonial chalice."

She snatched it away. The rim struck the table and split with a thin, ugly crack.

"Do you know how many generations that survived before you got your hands on it? Seven. You have spent your whole life being waited on, and you can't even put away one cup properly."

"I missed the crest. I'll have the royal glassmaker repair it."

"Don't talk back to me."

She flung the goblet at my feet. A shard cut through my slipper, and warm blood ran over my ankle.

"For eighteen years, you got the moonstones, the first fire of winter, every celebration, every blessing. We even delayed Rowan's heir ceremony for you. We gave you everything, Aurelia. Everything. And this is what we get?"

Father entered at the noise. He looked at Mother's twisted face, then at the blood on my shoe, and rubbed his brow as though we were both inconveniencing him.

"Enough."

I looked up at him. "Are you treating me this way because I didn't die?"

His hand froze in midair. Mother went rigid beside him.

After a long silence, Father forced out, "We weren't prepared for this."

"Prepared for what?"

He didn't answer.

They left together. At the door, Mother lowered her voice, but not enough.

"Eighteen years of plans, ruined overnight. Why couldn't she have died when she was supposed to?"

Sunlight spilled through the rose window and turned my skirts to gold.

For the first time in my life, Rose Palace felt colder than the North Tower in winter.