“Do you ever think about how different Odrend could be?” I ask Alix as we sit out on my balcony one night about a week from our ball. Al-Amir’s ship sails away over a sea that glitters under the moonlight.

The Tajan ambassador departed without the princesses—their things will be sent before my and Alix’s respective weddings, so Zinat and Saffiyah can make their home in Highcaster.

“What do you mean?” Alix asks, sounding bored. He sits on a stone bench beside the railing, reading a book by light of the moon. I perch on the wide railing of the balcony, my back against the marble wall, a leg swinging absently over the edge above the city and my elbow propped on one raised knee.

I shrug one shoulder. “I’m not sure,” I say. “Like… what if we didn’t have to follow Father’s rules? What would Odrend be like?”

Alix twists around to frown at me. “What are you saying, Jas?” he asks. “I’ve never heard you talk like that.”

I sigh heavily, leaning my head back against the wall. “I don’t know.”

“Would you do things so differently than Father?” Alix asks. He puts his book down and turns on his bench. He crosses his arms atop the railing, resting his chin on them.

I bite my lip, thinking for a moment. “I think I’d change our laws,” I say. “The servitude to the crown. It isn’t fair, not when some are treated better than others. I’d negotiate a treaty with Astria.”

Alix gapes at me. “That’s insane,” he says.

I turn my gaze on him. “Is it?” I ask. “The border war costs us more men and resources every day. There’s no reason for it all.”

Alix frowns. “Maybe you could change some things when you become king,” he says. “But a treaty with Astria? Really, Jas.”

Treaties had been attempted. Many kings, my father and grandfather included, had met to negotiate resources and borders over the years. Cities had been plundered and lost, conquered and reclaimed. Both Astria and Odrend mounted preemptive attacks, which inevitably grew into a full-scale war. Odrend and Astria have been at war for the past decade.

My twin has a point. A treaty with Astria is nearly impossible to fathom.

“It doesn’t mean I can’t try,” I say with a sigh.

I can’t sleep. I sit up in my bed and toss the heavy silk blankets aside. Rising from bed, I open the doors to my balcony and step outside. Crickets chirp and I hear the faint rumble of distant thunder. I lean my bare forearms on the railing and look out over Highcaster. The oil lamps flicker in the night, imitating the smattering of stars above.

Something catches my eye, and I look to my left. The hallway adjacent to mine holds my father’s chambers. His balcony window is alight from the lamps inside his bedroom. I cock my head to one side. I’m confused. Father is usually asleep at this hour; there shouldn’t be a light on in his room.

I go back into my room and pull a linen shirt on over my loose pants that I wear to sleep. I venture out into the hallway and make my way to Father’s rooms. It’s a short walk, and my feet pad quietly on the stone floor.

I knock on Father’s heavy wooden doors.

The sound reaches me first. My ears pick up the sound of ragged breathing. I press my ear to the door and catch a sound like a fountain weakly gurgling.

“Father?” I ask, and push the door open.

The smell is unmistakable. The metallic tang of blood fills the rooms. My heart leaps into an erratic rhythm, and I run through Father’s sitting room to his bedroom.

The gurgling sound comes from my father, who stares up at the silk canopy of his bed while he chokes on his own blood.

His throat is cut in a wide red smile. His clothing and the sheets of his bed are so soaked with blood that they are almost black. I yell for a guard, a medic, Alix, anyone, and rush to my father’s side. He chokes and blood bubbles from his mouth, running into his beard and graying hair.

“Father!” I shout. I grab his dressing gown from a hook, and try to press it to his neck. The blood soaks through almost immediately. It stains my arms and the front of my shirt. The king’s eyes flit to me.

“J-Jas,” he croaks. His blood spits up, splashing hot on my cheek. I blink and recoil back from him. His eyes watch me as he twitches, trying to take in breath. My father goes still.

I trip backwards, and something knocks into my bare foot. I look down. My foot has left a bloody print on the stone floor, and next to it lays the dagger my father commissioned for my birthday.

Its filigreed sun shines up at me in the light of the oil lamps. It is covered to the hilt with my father’s blood. I bend to pick it up, and it shakes in my trembling hand.

Alix runs into the room with half a dozen guards. He is disheveled, still in his sleeping clothes. “Jasper, what—” He stops in his tracks. “What have you done?” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I—I didn’t—” I stammer. I drop the dagger, and it clatters to the floor. I stare at my hands, now covered up to the elbows in blood.

Alix looks stricken. His face crumples and he slowly shakes his head.

“Guards,” he says quietly. “Seize my brother.”