CHAPTER 1
The last thing I want to do today is turn someone to gold.
But as I pull on my gloves and take one last look in the mirror, I’m not afraid of what will happen if I do.
I smooth down the blue fabric of my dress and run my fingers along the swirled silver threads running through it. I chose this color because Royce will be wearing blue at today’s ceremony reinstating him as a captain in the Royal Armada.
I’m amazed at how well the dress fits. I finally found a tailor who was willing to take my measurements and touch my golden skin. He’d had a cursed grandmother—he knows curses aren’t contagious.
Now I just have to convince everyone else. And that starts by not wearing a veil for my first major public appearance since recovering my father’s cursed gold.
I tuck a few stray hairs back into the golden braid fashioned across the top of my head. Just behind it nestles a silver crown made up of twisted and climbing filigree roses. It had been my mother’s first crown. Each rose once held a ruby at the center, burrowed into the metal, but those spots are empty now; the stones were sold off long ago to keep the palace from running out of money, though my father hadn’t been able to bear parting with the crown itself.
I straighten it one last time, ignoring the way the metal weighs down my head more than the veils ever did, and go over the faded words inked onto the crumpled pages of King Kalisrov’s journal, which I’d found in the library with the other historical documents.
Never appear in public without a crown, the tiny script reads. That had been his top rule, as it showed everyone who was in charge.
I read on. You should be so comfortable in your crown you are able to sleep in it with no discomfort.
I scoff. I’ve barely mastered keeping the thing on my head. But as I look away from the fraying pages to the mirror, I can’t help but wonder if he’s right. Will the nobles respect me more now that I’m wearing one?
There’s only one way to find out, so I throw my shoulders back and head out the door toward the great hall.
Already a crowd has gathered beneath the gleaming chandeliers that swing above the aisle leading to two thrones. The nobles bow as I pass. But I hear mumbles about me not wearing a veil and how they always knew I was gold through and through. I tune them out and bustle past, concentrating on not letting my head dip low enough to let my crown slip. Wearing the crown instead of hiding my face is just one small step to show them I won’t be a ghost in the shadows anymore—that my father and I are here to rule.
But I see the judgment in their eyes each time their gaze flicks up toward me. They don’t think I can do it. Or they don’t want me to. Because they still believe a cursed person is a ruined person. They assume I’m going to infect the kingdom and make it weaker than my father already did when he asked for the ability to turn everything he touched to gold.
I ignore them and straighten my shoulders as I arrive at the throne next to my father’s. My throne is smaller than my father’s, and the wooden seat isn’t comfortable for more than a few moments. I try unsuccessfully not to fidget. I cross and uncross my legs. Wasn’t one a sign of hostility and one of welcoming? If I’d had tutors when I was younger, I would know. But they’d all left after my father turned me to gold when I was seven.
Despite what the nobles think, I’m trying very hard to educate myself and be the ruler Lagonia deserves, but there is still so much to study—and most of the month I’ve been back has been spent caring for my father, hiring new guards, and learning how to run a palace. I’ve only been able to sneak in a few books on the subject—like King Kalisrov’s journal. I just pray it’s enough to get me through today.
Past the dais, Lady Lucar looks down her nose at me as I switch my legs back and forth trying to figure out what to do with them. I settle for crossing them at the ankles and shoot Lady Lucar the most regal look I can manage. She looks away quickly, so either my aloof air of power is coming across . . . or she believes the rumor that says I can turn people to gold simply by looking at them.
Trumpets sound, echoing through the domed ceiling of the hall before reverberating back down. My father, King Midas, appears in the doorway. He’s shaved the scruffy beard he’d grown while I was gone, exposing the skin around his once strong jaw. Wrinkles have taken up residence under his eyes and across his forehead. He looks like a man twice his age, a leftover side effect of being cursed by Dionysus, and another reminder of why the nobles don’t want us to rule.
He’s flanked by his new advisor, Tilner, who was hired on Royce’s recommendation. He’d been Royce’s father’s most trusted steward before he’d been sent away after Royce’s father was cursed, ruining the Denes family and leading people to attack the house and attempt to burn it to the ground.
My father and I had worked to hire him together. It had been our first joint venture. The first time we’d worked on anything together since the day his unthinking embrace made me a golden statue.
It had been difficult for both of us. He’d trusted my uncle Pheus as his advisor, and my father was still reeling from the revelation Pheus had helped Captain Skulls steal his gold, a betrayal that led to my uncle’s death.
Tilner shadows my father down the aisle. He has a way of disappearing from view behind his king but is always there to offer a steadying arm whenever needed—an arm I had hoped my father wouldn’t need.
I thought bringing back the cursed objects my father turned to gold would make him stronger—and he had received an initial boost of strength when they were reunited. But he’s still tethered to that infernal treasure, still looks to the tower that once again holds it, more than at me. And the gold still drains him, siphoning away his strength.
He takes my hand as he reaches the dais. I help him settle into his seat. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment before sliding past them to the tower once more.
I squeeze his hand, bringing his gaze back to me, knowing he’s trying just as hard as I am to be the leader Lagonia needs.
His eyes move to the crown on my head, eliciting a small smile, and I wonder if I remind him of my mother.
He gives my hand a weak squeeze in return before turning back to the room.
“Bring forth the candidate, Royce Denes,” he says. His voice barely reaches the nearest chandelier.
The tall doors swing open to reveal Royce, his strong jaw set resolutely as he steps forward. As he strides forward, his sturdy form takes up all the space my father seemed unable to fill. He holds his hat under his left arm, right above his sword hilt, while his right arm rests stiffly against his side. Behind him, his crew waits in two lines. Together, they press forward.
As they near, sunlight glints off the golden threads woven through Royce’s coat. But that’s nothing compared to the gleam of the golden tassels perched on each of his shoulders.
I straighten my shoulders. I’d purposefully requested Royce wear a jacket with gold on it, to show that the monarchy wasn’t afraid of it anymore, that the metallic sheen doesn’t make us recoil in fear.
But I barely notice the gold because my heart leaps when I see Royce’s bright blue eyes. He’s gotten a haircut since I last saw him. Gone are the long blond locks that the sea breeze would drag across his temples. He looks more refined now. Tamer.
We’ve barely seen each other this past month. I’ve been busy helping my father run the palace, and Royce has been training to rejoin the armada.