As the days passed and it became clear the little girl’s skin would not return to normal, they kept her locked away inside the palace for fear of what others would think of her, of what greedy or superstitious people might do, though the girl was just seven years old. And they counted themselves quite lucky that her skin was the only reminder of the curse others could see. For what they discovered soon after about the little girl was not to be spoken of. This they kept secret.
And since the little girl’s father could no longer turn things to gold, everyone believed him when he said the curse was gone. So the kingdom went back to normal, and the little girl and her father, King Midas, lived happily ever after . . . or so everyone thought.
CHAPTER 1
I’ve only ever turned one person to gold, and that was an accident. It was before I knew what I could do, before I knew that people were right to fear me.
Although the nobles don’t know about my powers, money still changes hands at the tables before me as they bet on how long my newest suitor, Duke Wystlinos, will last. Some brokers even take bets on whether he’ll scream when he sees me.
I roll my eyes—not that anyone can see it beneath my thick veil. Only one of my former suitors, Lord Primtim, had screamed. Thankfully, we’d been out in the rose garden, where most people couldn’t hear.
The light coming in from the stained glass windows reflects off the sliver of golden skin visible in the gap between my gloves and sleeves. I quickly yank the material down before folding my hands back in my lap like I always do to keep from touching things.
You can never be too careful. Not when it comes to gold. Or to curses.
I pray that a trip out to the garden is all it will take to dissuade Duke Wystlinos. Once he sees my skin, he’ll flee like all the rest, and I can retreat to the library to read about the mythical island of Jipper that I’ll never get to visit.
I stifle a yawn. I was up too late reading last night, trying to put Duke Wystlinos’s visit from my mind.
“Don’t let the duke see you yawning like that, Kora,” my cousin Hettie says. She towers over me as she leans on the chair beside mine. She inherited the same height as her father and mine, while I share my mother’s more petite frame.
Her auburn curls bounce and her curvy lips pout forward as she plops down and pulls a platter of grapes closer. A servant brings her a tray full of cheeses, dark brown barley bread dripping with honey, and several olives that threaten to roll off as the servant’s hands become shakier the closer he gets to me.
“Good morning, Hettiana,” I mutter, putting extra emphasis on her full name. I’m the only one who uses it—and only to annoy her.
She ignores me. “We don’t want you scaring Duke Wystlinos away until he’s had a chance to see what other maidens the kingdom has to offer.” She sighs dramatically. “Then again, I suppose that’s what you want, isn’t it? Me, an old maid like you.” She examines the remaining grapes in the cluster before selecting a particularly plump one.
What I want is to put an end to the suitors—Hettie can have whichever one she wants. I’d let Hettie marry Duke Wystlinos in a heartbeat, but with the palace coffers what they are, Uncle Pheus made it quite clear that I’ll need to marry into wealth to give my family any hope of holding on to the throne. He’d pushed me to accept an offer from the duke, should one be made, because in addition to deep coffers, Wystlinos will bring stability to the kingdom as it continues its recovery from the Orfland Wars.
Hettie knows the state of the kingdom as well as I do, which is why she’s hoping some dashing lord will come along and take her far, far away from Lagonia. And I can’t blame her. How many times have I dreamt of leaving since my father turned me to gold ten years ago?
I just wish Hettie wouldn’t bring up all my suitors so often. But since she’s one of the few people in the world who isn’t afraid of me, I tolerate her and her single-mindedness.
She squishes her barley bread into the pools of honey that have slid off the top.
I look away. I already ate this morning in my room. It’s too hard to eat in front of others when you’re wearing a veil, and my stomach is in knots anyway.
“I wouldn’t mind being the hostess of all those parties Duke Wystlinos throws,” Hettie continues. “I’ve heard he brings in performers from as far away as Kalakhosia.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes again. I’ve received invitations to his parties because I’m the princess, and it’d be a grave insult to be left off the guest list entirely. Though, as a cursed girl with golden skin, it’s understood that I’ll never attend.
A voice at the back of the main hall cries out, “His Majesty, King Midas,” and I wish I’d tried a little harder to avoid this meeting. To avoid exposing myself to one more duke or lord who will spread tales about me and look at me in disgust. Maybe if I asked my father—really asked—he would stop the parade of suitors. That is, if he could stand to be in the same room as me for more than ten seconds.
After my skin reverted to gold, our relationship effectively ended. He couldn’t stand the sight of me—still can’t—and it broke my heart. The times we talk now are mumbled greetings necessitated by the presence of others in the room. Otherwise, we avoid one another entirely.
It’s not like I expected my father to apologize for turning me to gold. It was an accident, one he wishes didn’t happen as much as I do. But he didn’t even come to comfort me when the nightmares began. He didn’t take my hand and tell me that it would be all right, that we’d get through this together. He left me to deal with the curse alone. I’ve never figured out if it’s due to guilt or disgust, and I’ve never had the courage to ask because I’m not sure I want to know.
All around the hall, benches and chairs scrape across the stone floor as the nobles rise to their feet.
Right in front of the dais where I sit is Archduke Ralton, with his polished bald head on full display. As expected, he’s positioned near the king’s table. He wants to see me fail, to make sure the monarchy stays weak. I’ve even heard rumors he’s gathering funds to raise an army against my father. Ralton keeps saying we need to focus more on fighting the pirates pillaging our coasts and less on finding me a husband, which my uncle always points out is due mostly to the fact Ralton doesn’t want a strong line of succession in place. As both my father and the kingdom grow weaker, it becomes more likely the archduke will make a bid for the throne one day—and we may not be strong enough to stop him.
That’s the other reason Duke Wystlinos is here.
He’s Archduke Ralton’s nephew. They supposedly had a falling out a few years back, but Uncle Pheus seems to think having a blood relation in line for the throne will appease Ralton. Or at least make him think twice about attacking.
I turn my gaze to the figures working their way down the main aisle. I can just make out my father’s stooped form clinging to my uncle’s arm. Long gone are the days when I could spot him in any crowd due to his stature and merry laugh. People call me a ghost because of the way I cling to the shadows of the palace, but the moniker applies more to my father. His skin is as pale as mine is gold.
While his legs struggle to shuffle forward, my father’s eyes dart again and again in the direction of his tower. The same tower where he probably spent most of the morning sitting in a small wooden chair next to the twelve objects he’d turned to gold years ago. Minus me, the unlucky thirteenth object.