Solara pulled me through the crowd towards a vendor selling mulled wine. It only took a glance for him to know who we were. He pressed an earthenware mug into both our hands, no gold required. I drank deeply, safe from the Emperor among the pressing throng. And soon, the intoxication of the crowd snared me as surely as the wine.

“Fine ladies, fine ladies,” called an old man at a cart hung with coronets of orange helenium, carmine clusters of valerian, and white and yellow chrysanthemum blooms—the last of summer’s flowers. “Crowns for beautiful ladies.”

We each allowed him to crown us like queens at a coronation.

“Your price, sir?” Solara asked.

He grinned, wide and brazenly. “I’ll settle for a kiss.”

She hesitated at the sight of the male’s withered skin. I nudged her out of the way and pressed my lips to his cheek. His blush was a thing of beauty.

On we went past a minstrel strumming a bawdy song, past a pair of humans selling rag dolls for coppers, when a small hand tugged at my skirts. I stopped. Solara, unmindful as ever, continued forward, her eye drawn to a cart of fine silk flowers.

Another tug—this one more insistent—and I glanced down. A child stood by my side. A boy or girl, it was impossible to tell from the poor thing’s long, dirty mop of hair. But they tangled their hand in my skirts, wide blue eyes looking up at me, full of wonder.

“Are you a princess?” their small voice asked.

I laughed. I bent down and gave the child a better look. Amid the mass of tangled curls hung a ribbon that might have once been blue but was now faded to a dingy gray. A girl, then.

Another child, this one clearly a boy, appeared at her shoulder. “She’s one of them fine ladies they keep locked in the palace.”

My smile fell. Was that how the common people thought of us? As princesses locked away in towers?

The little girl reached tentative, filthy fingers toward my hair. “You’re very pretty, lady.”

My heart clenched tight. “As are you.”

The barest brush of her fingers and the boy grabbed her hand, yanking it back.

“Are you here alone?” I asked, glancing around. The crowd offered us a wide berth. Passers-by eyed me warily and turned their noses up at the sight of the children. “Where are your parents?”

The boy pulled the girl away a step.

And ran into a pair of strong, black leather-clad legs.

Long, tanned hands rested on the boy’s shoulders. “Well, Princess, looks like you’ve met some new friends,” a midnight voice purred. “Care to introduce me?”

“Told ya,” the girl said, elbowing her companion. “She is a princess.”

“No,” I said, straightening as I flashed Aidon a hard eye. “He knows very well that I am not.”

Aidon just watched me, his smirk cold.

I sighed. He still held the boy. The poor thing trembled. And underneath all the grime, his face had gone pale as cream. “Let him go, Aidon. You’re frightening him.”

Aidon chuckled. “Frightening him?” he asked with an arched brow. “Oh, not nearly enough.” He lowered himself to eye level and spun the boy with the flick of a wrist. Swirling silver eyes shifted between him and his equally ragged companion, and when he smiled, even my pulse lurched. He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, children. I don’t think the city guards would be kind if they knew you were stealing from the Korai. In fact,” he said, grin turning feral, “I think you’d find them quite creative in their unkindness.”

“Stealing?” I said, crossing my arms and glowering down at him. “They’ve done nothing—”

Aidon’s eyes shot to me. While holding my gaze, he held out a hand. “Give it here,” he said, voice a command. “Now.”

And without hesitation, grubby fingers dropped two sapphire-studded hairpins into Aidon’s open palm.

My hands rose to my hair reflexively. Waves that had been pinned in place fell loose down my back. A shocked, half-choked laugh escaped me.

But not even a hint of amusement graced Aidon’s features. “Are you two from this city?” he asked.

The boy stared down at the cobblestones, unable to meet Aidon’s stern gaze, but the girl nodded.

“Then you know to pick your marks with more care.”

Small, cupid-bow lips trembled and my heart broke. “Aidon . . . They’re only hairpins. And the children . . . Look at them . . .”

Aidon glanced from one child to the next, jaw tight, then he cursed. His free hand dipped into his pocket, bringing a few coppers to the light. He tossed them toward the girl, who caught them with shocking ease. “Fill your bellies with something warm,” he said, voice gruff as he gestured toward a nearby cart. An old woman stooped there, stirring a steaming pot. “Now. Before someone bigger and meaner takes those coins from you.”

The boy finally lifted his head. How his eyes lit up . . . Emotion tightened my throat. These were children that had known little kindness. Happiness emanating from their little forms, they scurried off towards the inviting scents of roasted meat and fragrant peppers.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Aidon. He kept his own gaze on them, the hard planes of his face softening.

“You have a great deal of empathy for those children, for all your frightening theatrics, don’t you?” I asked softly.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked, voice tight. “Children are like clay—formed by the hands of others. These two are only what Doria has made them.”

Perhaps I should’ve been insulted by his words, but there was truth there. “Then why didn’t you let them keep my pins?”

He sighed, one hand running through his dark hair. “Princess . . . They wouldn’t have kept them. This kind of prize goes right into a handler’s pocket.”

“A handler?” I asked, brow furrowed.

He shook his head. “You think those two have survived on their own? No, there is someone pulling the strings. That’s how this works. Living scum gather up little street urchins like those, give them just enough to keep them alive, and put them to work. Trust me,” he said, features darkening, “I know.”

“You seem well versed in thievery for a lord.”

“I told you I was common earlier, and I meant it. My father’s name only gains me fear. And the ruling seat of Myridia is not a right of blood. It is earned. Besides,” he said, an arrogant smirk spreading across his wide mouth. “I’m a pirate, remember?”

The thick, rotten taste of the lie filled my mouth. “No,” I murmured. “No, I don’t think you are.”

He glanced away. “I suppose that’s a matter of perception.”

Guilt washed over me. This male . . . I wondered what secrets he harbored. Wondered why he let so many think the very worst of him when it obviously wasn’t the truth. And my words from earlier . . . they’d been cruel, thoughtless. I found it difficult to meet Aidon’s eyes. Instead, my attention settled on his chest, where the top buttons of his fine black jacket were undone. He wore a white shirt beneath, the collar open to reveal sun-kissed skin and the barest hint of a small spattering of dark hair.

His laugh was better suited to a bedroom than a crowded city square. “See something you like, Princess?”

“Of course not!”

At my denial, the flavor of another lie rolled across my tongue. Behind me, a familiar laugh sounded. Aidon’s attention drifted over my shoulder. He offered a small bow. “Lady Solara,” he greeted.

She cut through the crowd, eyeing me with a half-smile. You know, her voice suddenly rang in my head. He is attractive in an exotic sort of way.

My cheeks flamed. Exotic? I shot back with an internal scoff. Because he isn’t blond?

Her chuckle was a high tittering through my mind. I thought you preferred blonds.

I do!

Hmm, I can’t tell if that’s true or not.

My blush deepened. The truth was, I couldn’t either.

Aidon watched us. “So, yet another of your rumored gifts proves true,” he said, smirking at our silent exchange.

Before I could respond, the drums began.

I turned towards the sound. To the north, at the hilltop of Dawn’s Court, distant torches glowed like starlight. The drums struck a steady rhythm. Three strikes of boom . . . boom . . . boom and the singing followed. Female voices bled together in a chanting song.

“It’s started.” Solara jumped to her feet. More torchlights crested the hill and the first priestesses came into view.

“Look.” She pointed. “There’s Sibyl in the front. The city priestesses are marching first this year.”

Wearing the white and gold that marked them as priestesses sworn to serve all three celestial titans, the city priestesses followed Sibyl down the hill. Dressed in her full regalia, a golden headdress etched with the Mark of the Korai held her white veil in place. Her arms were raised before her as she sang a high, keening prayer in Old Dorian, the gold and silver bangles she favored sliding up her arms and catching the torchlight. Behind her came row after row of drumming lower priestesses. Then the rest followed, their voices answering her mournful sound in lower, rhythmic chanting. Behind the city priestesses marched the Mani—those descended from Selene’s tribe—dressed in black robes belted with silver chains. Soon, Helios’ Solna and my mother’s Ostara would follow. Then, Elysa would make her entrance.

The crowd behind us had quieted. People pressed close to the edge of the square to watch the priestesses march. A large male who had hoisted a small child upon his shoulders jostled me and Aidon stepped between us, pressing so close that I could feel his breath against my cheek. The salt and leather scent of him cut over the mingled smells of the crowd.

“What are they singing?” he asked.

“It’s an old hymn,” I began. “It tells the story of Selene and her lover, Endymion. He was an ancient astronomer. The first to track the phases of the moon. He watched Selene in the night sky until he eventually fell in love with her. Selene asked her brother, Helios, to petition the Olympians on her behalf—to beg them to make him immortal so she could be with her lover forever. But her brother was angry that she would devote herself so fully to a mortal. Instead of asking Zeus to make Endymion a god, he only asked that he never die. So, Zeus granted the request, cursing Endymion to endless, undying sleep.”

Aidon shifted behind me with an annoyed sigh, then a new voice spoke, “Well, I suppose he’s enjoying pleasant enough dreams if he’s still fathering a Korai every century or so.”

I tore my gaze from the procession and found the newcomer.

Chestnut hair fell in his face as he bowed in greeting. He swayed on his feet. “Peleus, at your service, my ladies.”

“What are you doing here?” Aidon’s voice was tight. “You’re meant to be with your sister.”

Another of the Seven made his way through the crowd, blond hair white under the moon. The Water Wielder. He was dressed like the Seven all seemed to dress when out of their preferred leather—black jacket, black breeches, and tall black boots. Yet tonight, Peleus stood out of the standard uniform in a gaudily embroidered purple tunic.

The Water Wielder pushed forward. “Nerina threatened to unman him if he didn’t leave the tavern. He caused a bit of a scene professing his love to the serving wench.”

“Eyes like shimmering sapphires,” Peleus slurred. “A mouth as red as apples, tits like—”

His companion punched his arm. “I’ll carry out Nerina’s threat for her if you don’t shut your bloody mouth.”

Peleus cut his second bow, nearly falling over in the process. “May I introduce my companion, ladies? Seafarer, warrior, and epic stick in the mud, Lux.”

Solara stepped forward, lashes batting as she took him in. “Well, hello there . . .”

This was becoming too much. If we were seen surrounded by Myridians . . . Fear filled me at the thought of what the Emperor might do.

“Solara, we should—”

Just then, the song changed. The mournful lament ended. The drums beat out a faster rhythm, and the priestesses’ voices rose higher, weaving together in a frenetic melody.

Aidon raised a brow.

Lux answered the silent question. “It’s an account of Selene’s revenge for her brother’s betrayal. Night reigns, killing the green things that take nourishment from the sun. For half the year, night rules over day.”

“Wow, talk about a dysfunctional family,” Peleus said.

Aidon frowned. “Winter’s blight doesn’t sound like something worth celebrating.”

Solara huffed a laugh. We all turned to her. Surprise lit the males’ faces. “We’re in agreement there, Myridian.” She gestured to the crowd. “These people agree, too. They aren’t here to celebrate Selene. They’re only here for the Trial. The only people who usually show up for Nemoralia are priestesses and the slaves.”

“The slaves?” Aidon asked.

I nodded. “Selene takes power from her brother—her master. So, slaves are allowed three days of relative freedom in her honor.”

Peleus laughed. “I almost forgot how idiotic this place is. Even your goddesses are yoked to their male relatives.”

“And Myridia is so much better?” Solara shot back.

“Yes,” Lux answered, his eyes on her. “It is.”

She studied him with a frown. After a moment, her mouth dropped open. “Good gods, you’re a Dorian.”

“Not by choice.”

Solara gaped in silence, a small blush coming to her cheeks under the force of his stare.

A warmth suddenly touched me, pricking at the place deep inside me where my power lived. The Ostara. I felt the approach of my mother’s priestesses. As if they had a mind of their own, my fingers began to glow with rosy heat.

Aidon reached for me slowly, giving me time to stop his touch. When I didn’t, he took my wrist and turned my hand over to inspect my light. His face lit by my glow, wonder blossomed there, softening his features. My stomach flipped.

With effort, I extinguished the light and pulled free of Aidon’s grasp.

We watched the procession in silence until the pink-robed Ostara had passed. Later, after Lux—the only one of the Seven who could pass through a Dorian crowd without comment—had walked us back to the pavilion, Elysa made her grand entrance.