***Poppy Constallion***

"I don't want to go."

"But you will," Mother replies, catching my eye in the mirror, holding my gaze until I look away.

I know I sound petulant. Like a child. And I don't really expect my whining to get me anywhere, but I can't help it.

"Marigold doesn't want me there. It's her birthday," I mutter to the fringe of my dress, picking at its intricately lacy ends. It's covered in hideous bells. Loud, brassy, and as empty as my little sister's head.

"You're smarter than that, my darling," Mother says. She places a groomed lock across my shoulder, gently parting my dark hair in neat sections.

She means that I should know Marigold's birthday celebrations aren't just celebrations anymore. And I do. They're infested with politics like worms in an apple. Behind the dancing and the pretty plates of hors d'oeuvres there's more ass kissing and backstabbing than anyone really cares to admit. It's always been like this, I think, but it's gotten worse over time.

"Two of Soran's seven princes are attending this year," Mother continues. "The twin heirs. Your absence will be noted."

Annnd there's the trump card that makes my attendance officially non optional.

Arthronia is on relatively okay terms with most of the Evecian continent's bigger kingdoms, except for, you guessed it, Soran.

Some generations back we were constantly at each other's throats over Dvette, the fertile block of territory south of us and north of them. In a way, I guess we're pretty lucky that it was there. Dvette might have been the spark to set the wars blazing, but there were countless other factors that built up over time. Racial tensions, trading disagreements, and clashing views of magic, just to name a few. The ownership of fertile territory was the straw that broke the horse's back, but at least that straw curbed how savagely we fought.

If we had been border-to-border with Soran, I'm almost positive we would have ravaged each other until there was nothing left of either of us. But Dvette was such a ecological treasure that even in the midst of war, we kept fighting on its terrain to an absolute minimum.

Then, about half a century ago the Great War came along and shook historical allies and rivals like a bucket of peas. Kingdoms came out fighting side by side with enemy nations they'd spent centuries sharpening their swords against. Soran and Arthronia were no exception.

After the Great War we entered a truce of sorts. But without a common enemy tying us together, old resentments started to rear their ugly heads. It was imperative that royal families did everything they could to keep the social progress from disintegrating, short of orchestrating another international war. Unfortunately for me, this includes sitting at my little sister's birthday table, dishing out pleasantries and pretending that I wouldn't cut off a toe to escape.

A comfortable silence falls between Mother and I for a few moments, which is nice, but soon the air turns tense. I can tell my silence is starting to displease her, so I scramble for something to say.

"Which two princes are coming?" I ask quickly.

"Zephyr and V'haxiria," she says, letting me dwell on the names for a few moments.

The Soranian royal family has seven sons, each one named after a constellation more difficult to pronounce than the last. When we were little Mother had us memorize the names of every person part of or directly related to royalty across the Evecian continent. Consequently, Marigold and I hated the royal Soranian family, one of the few things we ever agreed on. Not only were their names nearly impossible to pronounce correctly with our alphabet, but their royal family had another irritating propensity to reuse the same ten names for even their most remote potential heirs, including a long string of nephews, nieces, and cousins. It didn't help that the names were all unisex.

But I can appreciate their naming habits, now that I know more about them. Stars are much more important in their belief system, and it's believed that naming a child after a constellation will gift them with certain strengths. It explains why names like Zephyr and V'haxiria, both constellations famed for bestowing qualities of leadership and courage, are popular in successors to the throne.

I glance at the contraption on the wall, an odd circular thing that is supposedly keeps track of time - a kloq. My lip automatically curls when I see that it's about time for the ball to start.

The kloq was a gift to Father from the emperor of Xan, supposedly the most accurate and updated model. Father didn't have much use for a kloq, though. It sat in his chamber, unwound, forgotten, until Mother suggested he give it to me.

Under my care it came back to life, noting each passing moment with a soft tick and dinging at the appropriate hours. It isn't perfect, though. Sometimes the second hand sticks at the seven and I have to use a fingernail to gently nudge it back into beat. I can't tell if that happens because of the disuse it fell into while under Father's care or the general unreliability of Xan products. I suppose they can't help it, being that their kingdom has to scrape by without the use of magic.

Mother catches the direction of my stare before I can glance away.

I'm the only one who can decipher the exact time according to the kloq because the numbers are in foreign characters and no one else bothered to read the manual they sent along with the gift. But when Mother releases my hair I can tell that she's already deduced that it's time to go.

"Better head downstairs, then," she says.

"May I read a bit before I go?" I ask.

"Does the kloq suggest you have enough time for that?"

"...No."

"Off with you, then. I shall be down shortly. Behave, won't you?"

And by that she means don't make a certain touchy foreign duchess cry again. How was I suppose to hold in my laughter when she asked how her eyebrows looked? They were shaved and painted practically to her hairline.

"Yes, Mother."

We part ways, my hair silky and my lips tugged downward.

Too soon I'm nudging open double doors that lead to the ballroom, slipping through like a snake. I make sure they don't slam behind me before peeking over the railing. The stained glass window overlooking the entirety of the ballroom hides my silhouette with its colored shadows. I purposefully picked an entrance that wouldn't garner much attention so I could observe those who'd already arrived without them fawning over me.

Everyone looks ridiculous. Except for Marigold, of course.

The theme is the only aspect of her birthday balls she has any real control over, so she always twists it to her advantage. Her outfit is designed to somehow make the bushels of bells and gold and lace look flattering on her, yet absolutely idiotic on everyone else.

Then again, Marigold always manages to make everything look good. She's the beautiful one, after all. Rose and I can hardly compete with her big blue eyes and butter yellow locks that never need brushing. But Rose is pretty in her own way. Her light blue eyes are set a bit too wide apart and her nose is just a hair too pointy to be Marigold's sort of beautiful, but she's kind. Like Father. And that makes a world of a difference.

I'm neither kind nor pretty, but I don't care. It's not like I've got anyone to impress.

I keep to myself, mostly, and read books. Nobody around here is very interesting. And if someone actually is, they don't stay very long. I'd like to think that maybe one day I'll be interesting enough to leave, too. But until then I have Father's library to keep me occupied.

"Ho, there! Poppy! My darling sister Poppy, is that you?"

I freeze.

Marigold is cupping her hands around her mouth to project her voice in my direction. Soon dozens upon dozens of eyes follow her lead and burn into me. I'd been slouching over the railing, so I slowly straighten my back and smile, like I'm supposed to.

Ugh. They're all looking at me in this stupid, hideous dress. Does my face look okay? Am I smiling properly? No, that doesn't matter, they can't see my face from up here, right?

"Poppy, what are you doing all alone up there! Come join the party! Get seated, dinner is about to start!"

Some of the attendees chuckle, so I force myself to laugh along. She knows I hate this.

I head towards the stairs, fighting the way my stomach clenches when I see how many there are. I live here, I know these stairs by heart, but the idea of looking graceful with hundreds of eyes watching my every step has my ears ringing.

I descend, careful to keep my dress from catching on my feet. I'm not particularly clumsy, but I have terrible luck. It would be typical of me to trip in front of almost every royal Evecian family and break my neck.

By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs I realize no one is looking at me anymore. Some of the ringing in my ears dies down. I make a beeline for my seat at the table, which will hopefully act as a barrier between me and anyone who wants to dance. I find that if I avoid eye contact and wear an unapproachable expression, then usually people -

"Poppy!"

The dread that thuds in my stomach is immediately replaced by a wave of relief, then joy.

"Rose!" I answer with a grin. My smile turns into a snort as I witness her jingle towards me.

Rose is... short. And her dress isn't making that fact any less flattering.

"I know, I know," she says, chuckling. "It's not pretty. But you certainly are!"

My laughter almost cuts short, but I can tell she means it.

"How have you been, Poppy? Goodness, you're all grown up now!"

"It's only been a couple months, Rose," I say, still grinning. She's only twenty-three winters old, but sometimes she talks like a doting grandparent.

I take her in for a moment. Aside from the absolutely hideous dress, she looks more or less the same. Some of her freckles fade into her tan, which she'd developed from traveling so much. And her hair is short and red as ever, eyes bright and blue, both features a courtesy of our father. 

I know I got my black hair from mother, but sometimes I wonder where my black eyes come from. Neither of my parents or close relatives have them, but Mother thinks it has something to do with an illness I contracted when I was a baby. Apparently I wasn't the picture of stunning health as a newborn. 

"I've been pretty good," I add. "Father updated his library with some new books, so I've been working on those. And there's this thing called a kloq-"

"Keeps track of time, don't they?" replies Rose. "It's a funny idea, but I think it has potential. Well, if mine worked, anyways."

"You've got one too?"

"Yeah, but like I said, I can hardly get the thing to work! But I can easily think of seven uses if I -"

"Maybe I can help," I blurt. I teeter on the next sentence but manage to shove it out my mouth. "I've got one too, and it works, mostly, maybe we can figure out how to fix yours together. If you have free time."

Which she never does. It was a stupid thing to ask. Now she was going to have to find a polite way to decline because she had more important things to do than to mess around with a stupid Xan toy with her stupid sister and -

"Really? You'd do that for me?"

I blink. "Um. Yes."

"Great!" she says, her face splitting into a grin. "I'll be counting on you, then. Ah, how does tomorrow morning sound? If you're not too busy then..."

I'm never actually busy. Well, unless you count reading. Since there are more books in the world than I'll ever be able to read in my lifetime, I schedule my days around the ones that trickle into Father's library so I can get to as many as possible. But that could go on hold.

"Sure," I reply. "I'll wait for you in the library with my kloq and its manual."

"They gave you a manual? That will definitely be loads of help!"

"Yeah," I say, then stand awkwardly for a few seconds. I didn't expect her to say yes, so I didn't prepare anything else to talk about. I thought I'd be sulking at my seat by now.

"Well, I didn't mean to take too much of your time," says Rose. "Do you mind if I ask you where Nathaniel is? I need to talk to him."

"Ask Marigold."

"Oh, come on now. You haven't been seduced by his charms yet?"

She laughs at my expression.

"Really, Poppy, he isn't that bad! You just have to get to know him a little better."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Just then some foreign ambassador with a weird mustache waves Rose over. Her eyes light up and she heads his way, tossing me a goodbye peppered with promises to meet me after breakfast tomorrow. They laugh and hug like they're at a family reunion.

It's weird how Nathaniel managed to trick someone like Rose into liking him, but I guess that just means he's smarter than he looks. Like Marigold, he's too pretty for his own good. They go well together.

"Oh, darling sister Poppy, there you are!"

I feel my jaw lock before her hand clamps around my elbow. She knows I hate it when people touch me, her especially.

"Yes, Marigold?"

I do a double take when I see who's accompanying her. The Prince of Vales. Or, as I prefer to call him, the Prince of Whales.

I don't manage to stifle a groan in time, so I end up making a stiff, choking sound. The dimples in Marigold's smirk get deeper.

The Prince of Whales is roughly three times my size and the only thing bigger than him is this hideous crush he has on me. It refuses to die no matter how much chilly courtesy I pour on it.

Marigold smiles pleasantly for a few moments, letting his heavy breathing fill the silence. Then she claps her hands.

"He has been looking all over for you. Have you been avoiding him? Of course not! That would be rude. You wouldn't want to be rude to a guest at my birthday ball, would you? Just imagine."

More silence. More sweaty breathing.

It might be helpful to note that the Whale Prince is a mute. By choice or as a byproduct of his countless health concerns, I've never bothered to find out. But it's pretty unnerving.

I glance at his hands. They're dripping with sweat. If my hunch is right, those sweaty mitts would soon be wrapped around my waist in the most uncomfortable waltz I've been forced to dance in my seventeen years of existing.

Marigold grabs his hand and joins it with mine before I can pull it away. The wet slapping sound the contact makes sends goosebumps racing up my arms, but I offer a smile. Or what I think looks like a smile, anyway. I know the corners of my lips are pointing up, at least. The only satisfaction I have is that Marigold's lace gloves are now damp, but if she's disgusted, it doesn't show. Her shit eating grin hasn't flinched in the slightest.

To my horror, the jaunty tune the orchestra is playing dies down, replaced by something slow and sensuous. I want to die.

"Oooh!" Marigold squeals, slapping the prince's arm. It distinctly jiggles. "Go get her, tiger!"

Believe it or not, I actually let out a sigh of relief when the enormous dragon comes crashing through the stained glass ceiling.

The relief dies down when it starts eating people.