The Green Suite was appropriately named. The wallpaper was green, the carpets were green, the upholstery, the bedclothes, the curtains, even the towels in the washroom—were all various shades of green. The effect was rather like being in a forest during summer, but inside. It wasn't unpleasant, although Maren didn't think it was a style she would have chosen.

Maren stood silently while Mrs. Whitley showed her the rooms. They were large, and she could tell the decor was expensive. She could summon a servant from switches in both the sitting room and the bedroom, which was lavish. There was even an entirely separate switch just to summon someone from the kitchens. Off the bedroom, there was a whole separate space just for dressing, with a full-length mirror and a large vanity. The washroom alone probably had more marble than she had ever seen in one room; it covered the floors and walls. Mrs. Whitley informed her there was even a separate hot water heater just for her suite.

Maren was aware her upbringing was quite privileged. The family estate had been fully electric with hot running water since she was very young. By comparison, most of the families in the area could only power a few lamps or an oven, and hot running water was rare. Even still, she was taken aback at the level of luxury to be found in what were obviously seldom-used guest quarters at the palace.

Maren was doing her best to maintain an air of calm while Mrs. Whitley was there, but was very much looking forward to being alone. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw things. She wanted to use her powers to blast a hole in the wall of the palace and run away.

But instead, she stood quietly, pretending to pay attention and not be terrified.

"Are you all right, my lady?" Mrs. Whitley asked, her brow furrowed.

Apparently, Maren was not doing an impressive job of pretending not to be terrified.

Maren gave the most convincing nod she could, but was unsure it was effective. She did not trust herself to speak.

"If I may, my lady, put your mind at ease. His Highness has...well, he has a temper, but in all my years with him—and mind you that's more than ten—I have never seen him harm anyone. He is a very honorable man," the older woman said.

It was kind of her to say, and she sounded completely genuine, but it did very little to make Maren feel better.

"Thank you," she breathed with her best imitation of a smile.

Mrs. Whitley nodded at her and said, "If you'll excuse me, my lady," and then left.

As soon as the door closed, Maren rushed into the washroom and was immediately sick. When she had finished, she washed her face with cold water and dried it with one of the green towels. Then she slid down the wall to the floor, uncertain she ever wanted to leave. She was so scared and so very, very alone.

She was crying, grief and terror flowing out of her. It was the second time her life had been completely turned upside down, and she liked it no better than the first.

—

On her thirteenth birthday, Maren nearly burned the house down. Well, perhaps not the whole house, but certainly the family dining room. She was having breakfast with her parents that morning, absentmindedly tapping her fingers on the tablecloth as she stared out the window. The spring sun was shining on the mountains in the distance, and it was so bright and beautiful. She kept staring at the bright light, it was so very lovely shining on the snow on the mountain tops, it sparkled and twinkled in the impossibly bright sunshine —

And then the tablecloth caught on fire.

Maren yelped and leapt back from the table, shocked. Fortunately, the fire was small, and her mother had the presence of mind to put it out with a napkin. Her father was still holding the newspaper he had been reading and was blinking at the scene.

"What just happened?" he asked.

"I don't know, I was just tapping the table when all of a sudden it caught on fire!" Maren exclaimed. She was still standing away from the table, wringing the fabric of her skirts, as she often did when she was nervous.

"Maren!" her mother gasped, pointing at her, "Your dress!"

Maren at first thought her mother was scolding her for wrinkling the fabric of her new birthday dress, which was a lovely pale pink with flowers embroidered at the hem. But then she smelled smoke and realized the lovely pale pink dress had begun to burn. Maren slapped at the smoldering fabric with her bare hands. In her panic, she did not feel the pain of putting out the nascent fire, only her heart pounding.

"Maren," her father said calmly but firmly. "Don't touch anything."

Maren held up her hands in front of her where all three of them could see her glowing fingertips.

"No," Maren whispered. "No, no, not this, no, no, no..." She looked up at her parents, desperate for them to tell her she was wrong about what she saw.

Her mother was standing by the table, eyes wide and her hand over her mouth.

Her father was staring at her too, frozen to the spot, still holding the newspaper.

With horror, Maren realized they were afraid of her.

She ran to her room, her eyes full of tears. She wanted to collapse on her bed, but was afraid of burning that too. She sunk to the floor, still holding her hands out. She looked at her fingers, they had stopped glowing at least.

Tears fell down her face. She was a monster. A witch. Her whole life was crumbling before her. Now her only future would be as a fugitive.

Even her parents were terrified of her. And she couldn't blame them. She knew there was a terrible evil within her.

There was only one thing she could do. She had to run away.

—

Maren shook her head, not wanting to think about the painful days when she came into her powers. They had been some of the hardest days of her life, at least until now. Somehow, though, she had survived that particular tribulation. Could she survive this one too?

She had help then. Help and luck. She wasn't quite sure she had either now.

Could she go to her father? He was still at the palace. Perhaps she could ask to see him?

No, that would attract attention. She was supposed to be with the Prince, and her father was expected at the banquet with the King. Besides, he would most likely try to convince her to run away. Comforting, perhaps, but not particularly helpful to her. Running away would do her no favors.

What would her mother have told her if she were there with Maren on the washroom floor? Probably to "make the best of a bad situation," which wasn't helpful either. What good could possibly come out of this situation?

The only other person who had ever truly helped her was Karlyn, but she had been dead for years. What would she have told Maren?

"Breathe, girl!" Karlyn's voice echoed in her memory.

Possibly, that was still helpful.

Maren closed her eyes and breathed, deeply and slowly, just as Karlyn had taught her. She did it a few more times just for good measure.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes and surveyed her situation. It was no better, but she felt more equipped to deal with it. Or, at the very least, she felt well enough to leave the washroom floor.

Shakily, she stood up and went to the bedroom. She bolted the door, which made her feel a little better. At least if anyone wanted to come get her, they'd have to get through some sort of barrier first.

She tried to sit down on the bed, but found herself too agitated to stay still. She began to pace back and forth across the room, which felt better.

She thought of Karlyn again, remembering what she had asked Maren the night she met her: "Do you want to survive?"

Maren had responded angrily, of course, she did!

And Karlyn, gods keep her, smiled at Maren and said brightly, "Excellent. Now get some rest, we have a lot of work to do."

Maren couldn't help but smile, thinking of Karlyn. What would she say if she saw Maren at the palace? Probably something like, "Well, my dear, you're in quite a mess now." But she would've said it in the way Karlyn had of saying things, so Maren knew she was right beside her to help her out of the mess.

Gods above, she missed her so much. Maren would have given anything to be able to talk to her just one more time. But Karlyn was gone. Maren had to ask herself what Karlyn wasn't there to ask, did she want to survive?

Yes, she did.

Next, she had to figure out how she would survive. Before the answer had been obvious, she would survive by learning everything Karlyn had to teach her. Now, she was not so sure what she should do.

She kept pacing and thinking. At a minimum, she could not let what happened during the Selection happen ever again. The Prince told her he could sense her use of the Light, and she had to assume that the other wielders of Darkness could too. Fortunately, the only people who could use the Darkness were the men in the royal family. As far as she knew, there were only four: the King, the King's brother, and the King's two sons. Unfortunately, three of the men now lived under the same, albeit large, roof as she did (she wasn't very familiar with the King's brother, but she thought he might live out east). She would need to practice, and practice, and practice some more to keep better control over the Light.

Additionally, her fate was now inextricably intertwined with Prince Donovan. He knew her greatest secret and had the power to have her arrested and executed at any moment. Even at the Selection, he could have had her arrested when he sensed her power. She actually couldn't imagine why he hadn't.

It appeared that, for whatever reason, it suited his purposes to bring her into his household instead of having her arrested. She could not understand it, but it was obviously in her best interests to do whatever was needed to stay in his good graces.

She glanced at the door to her bedroom. Would he come to her room? She didn't think so, but she wasn't sure. He obviously loathed her—he thought she was an "abomination"—so it seemed unlikely that he would want anything to do with her person. Mrs. Whitley also seemed to be telling her that the Prince would not force her to his bed, but Maren wasn't sure how far that would go. By the very rules of the Selection, she had already consented to be his mistress. Not to mention that he obviously saw her as something less than human, so perhaps his usual sense of honor wouldn't apply.

There was no way to know for now. She resolved to sleep with her door locked, just in case.

But what would happen to her when the year was up? The Prince had told her he'd be marrying her off to someone, as was customary for women in her position. That would not necessarily be an improvement.

Probably it would be all right for a time, but she knew when she had not produced a child within the first year or so of marriage, it would begin to arouse suspicion. And when the second year of marriage rolled around and there was still no child, she would be arrested for sure.

It was true that not all women who were barren were Light Wielders, but it was also true that all Light Wielders were barren. Women who did not have children soon after marriage were always under extra scrutiny. Many were arrested under suspicion of being a Light Wielder. Maren had even heard of some wealthy women buying babies to avoid unwanted questions. She hated that idea, though, and doubted she would ever have access to that kind of money in any case.

Panic started to rise again within her, and Maren viciously tamped it down. The hypothetical problem of producing an heir for some unnamed nobleman was at least two years away. Today, she had far more, very real concerns.

Maren sighed. She collapsed on the bed in frustration. She was supposed to be on her way home with her father after a completely uneventful Selection. Some young women and their families stayed the night at the palace, but Maren and her father planned to depart immediately after the Selection was over. They both wanted Maren to be in the Capital for as short of a time as possible.

At some point, while she was pondering her circumstances, someone knocked on her door and told her dinner was waiting in her sitting room. She ignored it, still too agitated to eat.

Perhaps the Prince could dismiss her without arranging a marriage for her. It didn't happen often, but it did happen if there was some sort of falling out between a royal and his Selection choice. Maybe she could convince the Prince to send her home?

She wasn't sure about that. And even if he did send her home, what would happen then?

At least one of the two princes knew for a fact what she was—and she thought it likely the other was at least suspicious. If she went home, she would certainly be arrested. And if she were arrested, would they arrest her parents too for harboring a fugitive? Probably.

No, she likely could never go home again. That was gut-wrenching. She loved her home, lush, and green in the shadow of the huge mountains just outside their lands. She loved the horses and riding through the woods. She loved her parents and the staff that was like family and—

Dimly, Maren realized she was crying again. She didn't try to stop, though.

She was still crying when she fell asleep.

—

The next morning was beautiful and bright when she walked with her father out of the palace and into the drive, where the speeder was waiting to take him away.

Before the trip to the Capital, Maren had never seen a speeder before. She knew they had such things in the south of the kingdom, but the roads in the north were far too rough and unreliable for speeders to be practical. Besides, electricity was rare enough in the countryside that recharging the batteries would be difficult or impossible.

Maren found travel by speeder rather unusual, but at least somewhat more comfortable than a horse-drawn carriage and a lot faster. Still, she disliked relying on a driver and would have preferred to ride a horse. Unfortunately, a lady arriving for the Selection on horseback would've attracted far more attention than the much more common speeder.

"How was the banquet, Father?" she asked as they walked outside.

"It was...interesting. You know I'm not one for Court politics, but watching it play out was quite entertaining. And the King is quite a lot more boisterous than I remembered from the last time I was at Court," he said.

"Do you remember that long ago?" she said with a smile.

He laughed, "If I try hard enough, sometimes I manage. And how was—" he stopped, realizing no doubt, that asking about her first night as mistress to the Prince would be extremely awkward.

"It was fine," she assured him. "I spent it alone," she added, seeing his skeptical face. She felt it best to omit the part about skipping her meals and spending a good part of the night in tears. She would rather not worry him.

"If he hurts you..." he said quietly, jaw clenched.

"I'm sure he won't," she lied. "I'll be just fine. And you need to leave, or you'll never get out of the city."

Her father embraced her. "It's not too late to make a run for it," he whispered in her ear.

Maren shook her head, pulling away. It was terribly tempting to run, but she knew that would not improve her situation. Even worse, running would endanger her parents, and she was determined not to let that happen.

"Tell Mother —" she started.

He grimaced.

"Mother will be happy," Maren insisted. "There will be a wedding next year." Her stomach dropped at the thought, but she managed to keep her tone light and a smile on her face.

"Should I send her a telegram?" Maren asked.

Her father frowned. Telegrams weren't particularly reliable that far north. The lines were not well maintained and messages often got lost along the way. Or they sat at the telegraph office in the town of Clifton for days until someone got around to delivering them.

"No, it'll be best if she hears it from me," he said.

Maren nodded. "Don't worry, Father, it will be all right."

She didn't believe that at all, but she thought she might be able to convince her father she did.

He just sighed and then took her hands and squeezed them.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you, Papa," she said. She hadn't called him "papa" in years, but somehow it seemed the only thing she could call him at that moment. "Tell Mama I love her too."

Maren wondered if she would ever see her father again as he got into the speeder that would take him away from the Capital. It did not seem likely at that moment.

"My lady?"

It was Lucy. She had escorted Maren to see her father off and was now waiting to take her back into the palace.

With a heavy heart, Maren nodded to Lucy and silently followed her back to the Prince's rooms.

She felt very much like crying again, but resolved not to until she was alone.

She wished her father could have stayed longer. Even if he couldn't have helped her in any meaningful way, it would have been a comfort to have at least one person she knew at the palace. Instead, she was alone, and he would be making the long journey home by himself. It would take half a day in a speeder for her father to reach the town of Blackstone. Then at least six days (possibly more, depending on the weather) on horseback to reach her home.

Where her mother would be like waiting.

Maren sighed. She could almost see her mother, having heard that riders were coming, rushing outside to meet them. But then she would see only one rider. It would break her heart.

Maren bit her lip to keep from crying at the thought. Fortunately, they had finally reached the Prince's apartment.

Once they entered, Maren turned towards the guest quarters that had been assigned to her.

"My lady?"

"Yes, Lucy?" she said, pausing.

"I do hope it's not too forward of me, but I wanted to say...try not to be too sad, my lady. Surely, the Count and Countess will come to Court sometimes. I'm sure you'll see them soon," Lucy reassured her.

Maren smiled kindly at the maid, but shook her head. "I'm afraid not. It's a rather difficult journey from our family's estate to the Capital. I don't think I will see them for quite some time," she explained.

"Oh, I am sorry, my lady," Lucy said with great sympathy.

"That's all right. Thank you, Lucy," Maren replied and rushed into her rooms to again weep for everything she'd lost.