The next morning, I sit with a crowd of other servants high up in the tiers of the Auditorium Arbitrate. Several empty rows in front of us, Ladies and other important women dot the seating closest to the thrones. There's plenty of room for all of us to sit among them, but I don't begrudge the empty chairs. I'd rather be here, bunched elbow to elbow in the close community of the commoners. In their buzz of anticipation, voices overlay one another, but one resounding theme in every conversation is warm regard for 'the young prince.' Despite my worry, a grin slips onto my face as I survey the Auditorium.

The glow crystals in the chandelier are dim and candles line the long walk to the dais of thrones. The low lights and flames reflect off the marble floor and silver tree, so instead of being trapped inside a diamond, it's like we're embedded in fiery amber. The curve of the U-shaped table has been removed, leaving the High and Inner Ladies seated in two lines on either side of the blue rug.

Above them, Queen Selenia sits in the tree's hollow, a skirt of midnight stars draping onto the steps below her. The Captain sits to her right in a seat carved like a r'meur, and at the base of the dais stands a tall, long-haired man in wizard's robes. Three pedestals at his side hold a cloak, a circlet, and a scepter.

Selenia stands, and the hum of the courtiers and servants falls silent. I wonder how much makeup they had to use to give her that healthy glow. She's beautiful, lips plump and ruby red, but no amount of artistry can cover the thinned-out lines of her face.

Her voice rings clear in the cavernous room. "Tonight, we celebrate the first hour in a march toward a new dawn. No matter what darkness we have walked through, we will emerge victorious with the daylight. And to mark our new step toward victory, we crown this day a new leader over our country, my brother and your beloved prince—"

Below, Ladies murmur, and one scornful voice hisses, "I thought we crossed 'beloved' out of the script."

"—Aster Jacques S'Pierre S'Díane, Second Son of Morineaux."

The servants around me rustle with anticipation as the massive doors at the end of the hall swing open. I crane my neck around the peering crowd.

Alone in their entrance stands Aster. The frame dwarfs him, but he holds himself tall and straight, as though he's larger than he truly is. Slow, purposeful steps bring him down the rug. As he walks, his deep blue cape sweeps behind him, and his brass circlet catches the light.

Pride swells within me. He belongs here, in this grandiose world of power and strength. It's not just what he was born into; it's what he is.

As my eyes follow him down the room's length, I glimpse a strange group of courtiers on the front row of the other side. Three women, one of whom wears a veil over her mouth, sit guarded by five in armor. Their skin is darker, their clothes simpler, their faces sharper. The other courtiers leave them plenty of space. My heart pangs as I focus on the woman in the middle.

I wonder if she wants to be Aster's bride any more than he wants to be her groom.

He stops before the pedestals and bows to the Queen.

"Do you have a petition to make, my brother?" Selenia's question is to him, but her voice carries.

"Yes, my Lady Queen, and a vow." Aster's voice is strong and clear as well, even bowed over as he is.

"Then rise, brother, and do what you have set to."

Aster straightens. "I vow myself first to my Lady Queen, and then to my country. My words will uphold always the words of the law, and my hand will guard always the people of Morineaux. With everything I have, I promise this."

"With even your life?"

"With even my life and all that is in it."

Selenia spreads her arms toward her people. "You have heard the prince's vow." Lowering her arms, she says, "Brother, I accept your vow and bestow my grace on you in return. Petition me now, so that I may hear your words and grant your desire."

"My Lady Queen, I am humbled by your grace, but my petition is to your Table."

Even as frail as she looks after her recent injury, Selenia's smile is more radiant than the sun. "Then may they hear your words and grant your request with the same grace as I! Listen, Table Arbitrate, to the words of my brother your prince."

Aster bows and turns, gaze sweeping from the left side of the Table to the right. "High Ladies and women esteemed in my sister's sight, I beseech that you crown me this day to take my rightful place as Second Son of the Court of Morineaux, to rule over the lands you lead, as magician prince and counselor to our Queen."

The silence is thick, and for a moment, only Aster moves, looking between the two sides of the Throne Room.

"Do you accept the prince's petition, Table?" Selenia calls.

Again, no one moves. Beside me, a maid whispers, "Is this supposed to be happening?" My hands turn clammy, and I press them against my dress. Will they refuse to crown him? Can they?

The tension on the floor swirls like an alkemitic solution preparing to explode. My eyes flick over the women, trying to determine what kind of substances they are and how they ever got set in place. Bits of conversation and stolen notes told me long ago that Janeaulí was warm to Aster, not to mention the other Ladies who planned this coronation. Surely they can't want it to fail.

So what master alkemist brewed this concoction?

Selenia opens her mouth again, and High Lady Aselle rises. "I accept the prince's petition, Your Grace." She looks over the other women. "Who else will stand by the Jacquelines' sides?"

High Lady Misanette nearly topples her chair in her haste to stand. "I accept!" Her eyes are wide, but she flashes the royals a nervous smile.

Inner Lady Janeaulí stands, glaring at Aselle, as does High Lady Solitaena. High Lady Riletta looks around like a lost child, and stands. Valaecití follows her.

That's six of twenty.

Aselle locks eyes with Inner Lady Irrianet. Her smile is kind, and her greying hair paints her in an almost grandmotherly light. The tightness with which the two women hold themselves, though, speaks more of knives than knitting needles.

Finally, Irrianet stands with a simpering smile. "By your grace, my Queen, we accept the boy you present."

Around me, whispered questions mingle with quiet curses. A maid at my side mutters, "Kadra." Several faces of the Ladies seated across are smug, and some whispered laughs float through the rows.

But Aster only smiles, calm and humble, as the rest of the Table Arbitrate stands to accept him. "Thank you for your graciousness, my Ladies." There's a touch of sarcasm to his voice, almost as if he too is breaking from the script.

Selenia's face is tight, its earlier radiance dimmed, but her voice is just as clear. "Thank you, my Table. Brother!"

Aster turns.

"It is the will of the Ladies and my will as well that you be crowned Second Son of the Court of Morineaux. Now, let us verify that it is also truly your will. High Mage Solus, will you present the prince with the symbols of his office?"

The magician by the pedestals sweeps the cloak from the first one. The lining is a deep blue like the one Aster wears now, but the outside is made of a shimmering silver fabric. High Mage Solus's whine carries through the room. "This cloak is made by the hands of the people and the magic of the wizards that you will rule. Just as they have worked for you, you must work for them, and just as you carry this cloak about your shoulders, you must be willing to carry your country. Do you still wish to don it?"

Aster dips his head somberly. "I do."

From around the dais, a servant comes to take Aster's old cloak as he swings it off. The mage settles the new garment on Aster's shoulders, and the light shimmers over it.

Solus steps back, carefully picking up the item from the next pedestal. "This circlet is made of purest silver, the band crafted to be perfectly unending. As long as it is yours, so must your devotion be pure and unending. Do you still wish to wear it?"

"I do."

Aster lifts his brass circlet, again handing it to the servant, and Solus places the silver one on his head.

He gingerly procures the last item, a simple blackwood staff topped by a crystalline gem. "This staff has been passed from Second Son to Second Son, all the way back to Prince Xíeme, whose own magic formed it. While you hold it, you must promise to make proud the Seconds from a thousand years past and to rear a successor worthy of a thousand year's future. If you do these things, you prove yourself deserving of the right to rule, but should you fail, the condemnation of a millennia falls on you. Do you still wish to take it?"

For the first time, Aster pauses. I hold my breath in the tense, somber moment. I can't imagine such weight on my shoulders, never mind having to choose it for myself. That familiar worry for him stirs in me. Unsettled, I twist my fingers into my chain.

Voice solid, he finally says, "I do."

"Then take it along with your rightful place as Second Son of the Court of Morineaux." Solus passes him the staff.

As soon as Aster's fingers wrap around it, the gem flashes blindingly white. I squeeze my eyes shut, overcome with peace, certainty, and hope. It's a promise, and though I have no idea who it's from, the thought is as clear in my mind as it can be without true words.

This is the one.