“Euthalia, wake up. We’re ready,” Tertulyn whispered in my ear. My first lady-in-waiting, doing her duty as always. She couldn’t know she’d woken me from the nightmare instead of the dreamthink. Or that starting my day this way meant it would be certainly cursed.
No one believes in omens or curses anymore. Or hope, for that matter. In this, too, I am alone.
Euthalia is a mouthful, but no one calls me that except for Tertulyn so it doesn’t matter. Only Emperor Anure has the rank to address me by my given name, and I avoid conversation with His Imperial Nastiness to the best of my ability. Tertulyn has called me by my name since we were children, but only when no one can overhear, as etiquette demands.
As if she’d whispered them into my ear along with my name, the concerns of the realm immediately flooded my mind. The emperor’s emissary should have returned in the night and would want an audience with me—something I’d been dreading, as he never brought good news. Rumors had spread of slave uprisings, possibly even rebellion, as unlikely as that would be, that had the emperor both angry and insecure in his power. The worst possible combination in a man like him.
If I believed a rebellion could succeed, I would rejoice in the battle to come. But I had no hope of that. No one could defy Anure’s vast power and ability to destroy the least whimper of resistance, as all those kingless and queenless lands testified, crying their hopelessness to me every night.
No, such rumors meant the Imperial Tyrant would only tighten his fist—one that already strangled us nearly to death. The prospect of worse to come made me inexpressibly weary, and I hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet.
Nevertheless, I had to face the day. A realm awaited the sun of my presence, after all.
I opened my eyes and pasted a serene smile on my lips. Tertulyn—already wigged, gowned, and decked in fresh flowers—stood a decorous three steps back from my bed, hands folded over her heart. All equally polished and lovely as morning dew, my five junior ladies awaited in a ring around her. They’d all been up since well before dawn to dress themselves before attending me. And yet their eyes sparkled as brightly as the birds that had shown me the sun on the sea, pretty painted lips curved in delighted smiles.
Though I was only twenty-six, they made me feel old. If a witch offered me a magic potion to remove the last ten years and restore my youth—and the innocent belief I’d had then, that my life would be a good one—I’d down it without question. Even if it meant my death the next day.
No, that was a lie. I would never shirk my duty to Calanthe, not even for such a fantasy. Not without an heir to take my place. No matter how old and tired I felt.
Making sure my smile matched my ladies’, I sat up. “Good morning, Tertulyn, ladies. Who is our guest today?”
The ring of women parted and Tertulyn swept a gloved hand at a young girl wearing the cascading sky-blue wig and gown of a Morning Glory, curtsying with a practiced deep knee bend. I’d kept my father’s custom of inviting a maiden from one of the outlying villages to attend my morning ablutions, though only because my adviser, Lord Dearsley, had insisted. In those dark days following my father’s death, when I’d first taken the orchid ring and throne, the song of Calanthe so startlingly loud in my thoughts, I’d been less sure of myself and my decisions.
“The people regard it as the highest honor,” he’d urged. “They hold competitions at festivals to select these girls. Think of it: every town and village, even the tiniest islands, choosing the loveliest girl, the brightest and most talented, all vying for the privilege of sending their Glory to the capital, to the palace itself, to attend the queen! For most of these girls, this will be the one and only time in their lives they will leave whatever humble place birthed them. And You and I understand it’s more than that. You have your connection to Calanthe and Her people.” He paused meaningfully, to allow room for the truths we didn’t speak aloud. “But You know that not everyone feels it. Certainly not those who come from refugee families. You cannot take this away now, Your Highness, especially at this time, with their king so recently relegated to the waves, particularly for no reason.”
“I do have a reason,” I’d told him, resolved to meet the uncomfortable subject head-on, no matter that he was a man much older than me. “I understand that this ‘privilege’ came with … an unsavory price.” Though I’d been only a girl myself—and a thoroughly protected one at that—I’d also never been ignorant. The land herself spoke to me, and the Flower Court gossiped incessantly. The sport of information exchange in the palace might as well be one of those village competitions, the way everyone vied to be the first to know some bit of news.
All knew the Morning Glories who’d attended my late father, King Gul, left again with their petals more than a little bruised. And many whispered that more than a few villages celebrated new citizens three-quarters of a year later, Calanthe delighting in the births of more of Her children. Something that had not occurred since I ascended to the throne, for obvious reasons. Disconcerting, I can tell you, to know that though I am the only legitimate child of the late King Gul, my part-blood half-siblings might number in the tens, if not hundreds.
Not that it matters, as I am the only child of my mother and thus the only possible heir to the orchid ring and throne. Unless I can find another. When I was but sixteen, that bothered me far less than it does now.
“The girls will suffer no bruising at Your hands,” Dearsley had pointed out.
“I have no use for them.”
“The custom is old,” he’d said, with a meaningful dip of his head to the sea. “You risk making Your people fearful and unhappy. Calanthe will feel that and respond to it. You are new to having sole responsibility for the land, but this custom is important. Change it at Your peril.”
“Even if I don’t draw their virgin blood?” I’d asked sweetly, my sarcasm far more overt in those days.
“A queen has other ways.”
I knew full well, in my bones, that Calanthe didn’t care about the Morning Glories and the rituals of men like my father. But I keep Calanthe’s secrets and She keeps mine. Dearsley had a point that the superstitions the people observed had weight, whether they affected Calanthe or not. I kept the custom, despite the inconvenience. And I kept up appearances. The Morning Glories were not the only virgins in service to the arcane requirements of the Orchid Throne.
“Welcome, Glory,” I said. “You may assist Me from My bed.”
An earnest, if awkward young thing—weren’t they all? Though surely I’d never been so innocent—she tripped a little over her lavish hem in her haste to oblige. That’s what came of dressing a simple girl in an elaborate confection of a gown for the space of a few hours. Ridiculous how the styles had billowed in imitation of my own.
Accustomed to such bumbling, one of my ladies snagged her by the elbow, preventing her from careening headlong into me. A fortunate catch, as I would have had to be severe with her over the lapse. I’d already begun the day with bad luck—I didn’t need to add ruining the best day of this young girl’s life. Never mind that attending me shouldn’t be anyone’s best anything.
“If I may, Your Highness?” Recovered from her near disaster, though blushing prettily—and as only those who’ve never suffered severe consequences for their errors can—Glory offered a gloved hand to me. I took it with my left, letting her see the famed orchid ring, a treat possibly greater than any other. It hadn’t left my hand since the day my father took it from his and threaded it onto my finger with his dying breath. What would happen to it—and Calanthe—upon my own dying breath didn’t bear considering.