I walk quickly back toward my room, my head lowered while my feet chart the familiar path. I am so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I fail to notice the King and his entourage until we nearly collide at the bottom of one of the main staircases.

I stumble back at his approach; he's large and imposing as he descends the stairs toward me, flanked by his personal guards. My mouth goes dry and I sweep a curtsy, keeping my eyes trained on the floor and hoping that if I duck low enough, he might pass me by.

No such luck.

"It's Lady Abby, is it not?" The voice that just minutes ago ordered my arrest now speaks to me directly.

I swallow, attempting to coat my parched throat and stand up straight, clasping my sweaty hands together in front of me.

"Your Majesty," I say. "You are looking well." Hatching murder plots becomes him.

He is dressed in his signature crimson, the gold buttons affixed to his vest polished to a fine sheen. As I look up at his cold, black eyes, so unlike Meg's, a blinding fury causes my vision to spot and extinguishes my lingering fear. The King stands impassively, stroking his immaculate silver beard as he regards me.

"I'm glad I ran into you," he says. "I have a favour to ask."

"Certainly," I begin, but he has already turned to dismiss his guards.

The men melt away and stand at a safe distance, their gloved hands loosely gripping the hilts of their swords. I bite down a sneer and turn to give the King my most charming smile, wiping my palms on the folds of my dress.

"Walk with me."

He marches down the last of the stairs and turns briskly toward the courtyard. I have to scurry to keep up with his long strides.

"You've been a good friend to my daughter," the King remarks as we walk into the afternoon sunlight.

"She has been a good friend to me," I tell him, choosing my words carefully.

"As you may be aware, she is engaged to Lord Grayson. I am most pleased with the match. At long last, we can unite the City and the Outer City."

"I was informed. The ladies are all looking forward to the engagement party tomorrow night."

"Then I am sure you know that my daughter is reluctant to form the union." He stops in his tracks and turns to me, his fearsome gaze full of challenge.

I stay an arm's length away, waiting, keeping my face impassive.

A few moments pass. He is waiting for me to say something.

I speak haltingly, "Young women are prone to romance."

His grey brows furrow. "A princess is not afforded the luxury of romance. Megra has a duty, and she must realize that."

I nod slowly, not sure what he is driving at.

"My daughter is confused. I have tried to set her on the right path, but she is too much like her mother: strong-willed and stubborn. I do not wish to force her down the aisle—I would prefer that she marry Grayson of her own volition." The King watches me and I force myself to maintain eye contact, ignoring the burning feeling of disgust welling up inside me. "Do you understand what I am saying to you?"

"You want me to talk to the Princess about marrying Grayson." The words taste bitter on my tongue.

"No, I want you to convince her to marry Grayson, without any fuss." His tone suggests that this is not up for discussion.

"As you say, your Majesty, the Princess is strong-willed. I cannot change her heart." The King may have the power to place a warrant on my head, but he is truly mad if he thinks he can control Meg's feelings.

He is silent for several seconds, studying me, before he turns and continues deeper into the courtyard. I reluctantly trail after him, watching as he bends and plucks a flower from the path, holding it to his nose and breathing in its scent.

"Do you know who your duty is to, Lady Abby?" He keeps his eyes on the flower, twisting the delicate stem in his meaty fingers.

"To the Princess," I say.

"Wrong." His face has grown hard and the flower bends in his hand.

He swivels his head to look at me and I take an involuntary step back.

"Your duty is to me. Every citizen of this city is under my rule. Without me, the City would fall and crumble into dust."

The head of the flower pops off with a flick of his thumb, floating to the ground and landing at my feet. Something about those pathetic petals stirs an uncontrollable rage within me and suddenly, I am feeling everything.

The cruelty of the King. The cowardice of Will. The suffering of my people. The courage of Meg.

"The City would still stand without you," I hear myself say. Any trace of anxiety I once felt at my proximity to the King has vanished. I thrust my chin up at him, no longer caring what this pitiful man can do to me. "Not everyone is ruled by fear and intimidation."

His expression darkens, his eyes flashing with a barely constrained fury. I stand my ground, glaring at him as I gesture to the rest of the flowers growing around us.

"You can pluck the head off one flower, but do you see how the rest still flourish? They don't need your permission to grow; they don't grow for you, for me, for anyone."

"Stupid girl," he hisses. "You wish to make an enemy of your King?"

"I don't wish to make an enemy of anyone, but as I have already stated, my duty is to my Princess. Whatever she chooses, I will support her."

My arm flies out instinctively to block the incoming blow. My eyes widen in disbelief when my forearm collides with the King's, the back of his hand mere inches from my cheek.

For a fleeting moment, he looks as shocked as I do. His arm lowers and his face clouds over with suspicion. I gulp and take a step back. I should have let him strike me. What lady would possess the reflexes to block such an attack?

"If you will excuse me, your Majesty," I say quietly, "I must be getting back to the parlour."

He says nothing as I turn and walk back across the courtyard, increasing my speed as the force of his glare burns into my retreating back.

Why couldn't I have controlled my temper? Why couldn't I have just blindly agreed to the King's request? Internally, I curse Will for fighting with me right after we overheard the order for my arrest. As if the stress of the entire situation wasn't bad enough, I had to go and complicate matters further by falling for a rich rebel with hopeless trust issues.

My hands clench and unclench at my sides. All of our grand plans are collapsing around me, and I can't even keep it together long enough to have a civil conversation with the one man who has the power to eliminate us all. The window to rescue Meg and raise an army keeps shrinking and my presence isn't helping matters.

Suddenly, staying behind in the Palace doesn't seem like such a good idea after all.

The next morning, I toss and turn in my bed, flipping my pillow over and lying back down on the cool linen. I barely managed to sleep a wink all night and the sun is already streaming in through my window.

Groaning, I roll onto my stomach and bury my face into the bedclothes. Thoughts of Will keep me awake and my chest aches with a heaviness I haven't felt since the night of the fire.

I need to face him. After spying on the Board meeting and my subsequent mouthing off to the King, it is of the utmost importance that Meg and I get out of the Palace as soon as possible. I hate to admit it, but we need Will's help.

In the back of my mind, I feel a twinge of fear over the manhunt underway for the Runner. The King said to use any means of interrogation necessary; have Lieutenant Griss and his guards managed to track down my friends? Is Harry all right? Is Lara?

I finally give up on sleep, throwing my pillow across the room in frustration. I sit up, rubbing my fingers against my temple while I try to quiet the pounding in my head.

Sighing, I slide out of bed. After padding over to the washroom, I splash some water on my face and slip on a lightweight dress that falls just above my ankles. I sit down at the vanity and attempt to braid my hair, noting the bruised colour beneath my eyes. The engagement party for Meg and Grayson is tonight and I already know Vitrola will scold me for my appearance.

I slip from my bedroom and make my way up to the library, determined to steal a few hours of peace before I have to see Will and the King at the party. When I arrive at the seventh floor I expect to find Meg waiting for me, her nose buried in her latest novel, but the room stands empty, abandoned but for the shelves stretching high into the alcoves of the ceiling. Walking among them, I feel small and unimportant.

I sigh to myself as I settle into the cushions of the familiar couch. Total anonymity is exactly what I need today, knowing that half the King's guard is out scouring the streets for me.

Looking in all the wrong places.

As I read, I become absorbed in the story, my worries gradually ebbed away by the plight of a fictional heroine. I don't realize that I have fallen asleep until I am jolted back to the present by Sera, who has the sense to jump back when I lash out instinctively.

"Gods, Sera." I rub my eyes forcefully with my hands.

"I knew I'd find you here. Come on now, Miss Abby. The party is starting in a few hours, and we need to start getting you ready." She picks up my book from where I dropped it and tucks it under her arm, gesturing for me to come with her.

"Right, the party," I say, reluctantly rising to my feet and trailing after her back down to the fourth floor.

Less rushed than she was before the ball, Sera is gentle as she washes and dries my hair, even taking the time to paint my nails a deep red.

I hold up my fingers to admire the glossy sheen as she carefully arranges my locks into an elaborate twisting rope and drapes the heavy mass over my shoulder. She flits around me like a bird, placing a pin here and there. When she has finished, she sets a thin gold band on top of my head, positioning it so that it sits across my brow.

"Lovely," she says finally, satisfied.

Together, we select an emerald dress and I slip it on. The skirt is made up of what looks like dozens of layers, all floating on top of one another and flying into the air with every motion I make. The neckline is modest but the back is open and a high slit runs up the side of the skirt so that my leg pokes through when I walk.

I briefly wonder what Will would think of the dress and then shake my head to refocus my thoughts, closing my eyes patiently while Sera applies a layer of kohl.

"Well?" I say, opening my eyes.

"You look perfect."

We both turn at the sound of someone knocking on the door. Sera strides over to open it and admits a timid-looking housemaid.

"Pardon me, miss, but the Princess requests your presence in her chambers." The girl dips a curtsy while keeping her eyes lowered.

"Very well." I thank Sera before I stand and follow the girl toward Meg's room at the very end of the hall. The door swings open and I am admitted, stepping over the threshold while the maid ducks her head and slips away, shutting the door silently behind her.

Meg sits at her bureau, her charcoal-black hair brushed to a silken sheen and arranged in an intricate updo. Wearing an ivory gown and with her lips painted scarlet, she looks absolutely beautiful.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I need to get out of here." In one graceful movement, she stands and begins pacing the length of her expansive chamber, the train of her gown sweeping behind her as she turns.

"It won't be much longer now," I promise.

"How much longer, exactly?"

"Soon."

"I can't take much more of this, Abby. Really, I can't." She looks down at her hands and I notice them shaking.

"What happened?" I ask her.

She sighs, clasping and unclasping her long fingers in an attempt to alleviate the tremors. "My father spoke with me yesterday afternoon."

"Ah." I move to sit on the bed, careful not to wrinkle my dress as I perch. "What did he say?" He must have sent for her soon after the conversation we shared in the courtyard.

"I really think he may have gone mad. If I don't put on a pleasant face tonight, if I don't follow through with this wedding, then he's going to have me punished." She shudders. "The things he said, Abby—they were absolutely horrible."

"What did he say?"

"He threatened to give his guards free range over my bedchamber; told me I would be cast out into the Wastelands. I knew he always despised me, but I am still his daughter. How can he treat me this way?" Her voice breaks as she speaks and I feel my heart twist painfully in my chest.

I clench my hands into fists at my side. Maybe the King really is starting to lose grip of his mind. Perhaps he senses that his power over us is slipping and these threats are a desperate bid to regain control.

"You have to move forward," I tell her. "Play the part of the compliant princess for just one more night. Soon we will be far away from here and none of this will matter anymore."

"Can't we leave tonight?" she begs.

I don't think I've ever heard her plead before; she is usually so calm and collected.

I stand and walk over to her, reaching up to place my hands on either side of her face and forcing her eyes into mine. She is half a head taller than me and I have to tilt my chin to look at her, but I manage it.

"Listen to me, Meg. You can do this. It's a show, that's all. All those people out there? They're just an audience. They don't control you. Grayson doesn't control you. Your father doesn't control you. You are stronger than all of them."

Her brown eyes are warm where her father's are cold. "I'm scared."

"I'm right here with you." I lower my hands and lace her cool fingers with mine. "I won't let anything happen to you." I take a deep breath. "You can trust me."

She nods slowly, squaring her shoulders and squeezing my hands with hers. "All right," she says, her voice still shaking. She breathes deeply and tries again, steadier this time. "Let's go put on a show."

Once again, the Hall is swarming with people. I shoulder my way between two old men, my eyes scanning the room as I look for the dessert display. I am just about to reach for a tiny cake with yellow frosting when a familiar figure steps up next to me.

"Care to dance?" Will asks.

I curse my traitorous heart for thudding so loudly in my chest. He is dressed immaculately, in soft suede pants and a white linen shirt under a vest, his best handkerchief—a vibrant green—knotted about his throat. He has trimmed his beard and hair recently and smells of sandalwood.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment," I say, tearing my eyes away from him and looking back toward the yellow cake.

He calls my bluff and grabs my hand, pulling me onto the dance floor, knowing I won't make a scene.

His warm hand encircles my back, tugging me close while we spin in a slow circle. My blood boils beneath my skin at the contact and I concentrate on glancing about the room at the other couples, at the decor, at my neglected cake. Anywhere but at Will.

"What did you do?" He speaks in a low voice, close to my ear.

My head snaps over to stare at him. "What did I do? You're the one who—"

His grip tightens in warning. "I meant, what did you do to the King? He's been staring daggers at you all night."

I allow my gaze to casually sweep the room, resting for an instant on the King sitting atop his ornate throne at the front of the Hall. Tonight, he is wearing a champagne-coloured vest and is surrounded by Board members, all with similar pinched expressions on their faces and whispering among themselves.

The King is staring directly at me, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair. I quickly look away and back at Will, pretending not to have seen.

We dance away from the King and toward the opposite end of the room, Will's hand warming my bare back.

Once we are a safe distance away, he speaks again. "Well?"

I offer an inconsequential shrug. "We had a small disagreement."

"When did you even have cause to speak with him?"

I feel an irrational jolt of annoyance at the question. "Right after I left the surgery yesterday. He pulled me aside and told me to convince Meg to marry Grayson."

His eyebrows rise. "And what did you tell him?"

"In so many words, no."

I think I may have seen his lips twitch in amusement but it happened so quickly that I can't be certain.

"I don't suppose it occurred to you to simply go along with him, being that we are down to mere days before we leave?"

"You can't really blame me for not being entirely rational. I was a bit upset at the time."

I feel him tense.

"I need to talk to you," he says, his words barely audible.

"We're talking now."

"I mean, when all this is over."

"It doesn't matter." I tear my eyes away from him and spot Meg dancing past us, escorted by Grayson. She sees me looking and rolls her eyes. I watch as Grayson leads her toward the stairs and tugs her reluctantly upward.

"It does matter," Will is insisting.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say through clenched teeth. I can't stay here and listen to him rationalize why we can't be together. Gods damn him if he thinks I will give him my blessing to behave like an insufferable twat.

Even if the insufferable twat is an incredible dancer.

We twirl in silence as the song comes to a close. I allow myself a moment to shut my eyes and breathe in the scent of sandalwood, basking in the memories of being tangled up in his cool sheets.

"Enough," I say, whether to myself or to him, I can't be certain. I pull away, his hand slipping from my back. Without his touch, my exposed skin feels suddenly cold. I draw a shaky breath and chance a look back into his eyes, feeling my heart ache at what is reflected there.

"Come find me when we can talk about moving Meg," I tell him.

Before he can say anything more I turn away, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing tray and then fading into the crowd.

I situate myself against a wall, sipping my wine and watching the party. I risk another look toward the King, relaxing slightly when I see he is no longer watching me. Instead, his crowned head is bent to listen to a guard whispering in his ear.

I start as a hand grabs hold of my wrist.

"Sera?"

My handmaid is white as a ghost, her eyes wide and screaming. "Miss, please, you must come with me. Immediately."

I nod and put down my drink, following her from the room. I expect her to stop in one of the quieter areas of the first floor, but instead she leads me to the main staircase and hurries up the steps. I hold my layered skirt above my feet and follow wordlessly. We bypass the offices on the second floor and disembark at the servants' quarters on the third. A couple of footmen, their arms laden with delicious-looking trays of food, give us a strange look as we pass by, but Sera ignores them, ushering me into the laundry room.

I bite down my questions, waiting as she checks the hall and then shuts the door behind us.

"What is it?" I ask, finally.

"They're coming for you. You have to leave. Now."