Two days after the party, Clara found herself in the garden at last—properly in the garden, with no lectures to endure, no servants hounding her about lessons or linen. The palace had not yet decided what to do with the early spring, so it exploded in fits and starts: one corner a riot of hyacinths, the next still dormant under a frosting of last week's late snow. The air was sharp, but the sun had some warmth to it, and the twin princesses took what comfort they could, sprawling in a patch of sunlight near the old fountain.

Celia had chosen the spot, as she always did, and was now fussing with something hidden behind her back. Clara lay on the grass, face to the sky, fingers sticky with the remnants of honeyed tart she'd pilfered from the morning's breakfast tray. She let the sunlight dry the syrup on her hands, refusing to feel guilty for skipping lessons. Lue, who had been assigned to shadow the sisters today, was at a reasonable distance to give the twins some privacy.

"It's been a week since we did this," Clara said, stretching her arms overhead. The ring on her finger glinted like a threat. "I thought you'd run away to Meridia or joined a convent. Maybe both." She explained in a dramatic tone, her hands making vague gestures in the air.

"You're the one who's been impossible to pin down. 'Queen's study,' 'statecraft lessons,' 'preparatory etiquette breakfast.' You're barely even a sister anymore." Celia didn't look up from her project.

"Most people would count that as a blessing." Clara rolled onto her side, propped her head in her hand, and watched as Celia's tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth—a sign of deep concentration. "Besides, you knew this would happen. It's the natural order." She stated and nodded to herself.

"Natural order," Celia echoed, then wrinkled her nose in a way that suggested she found nature suspect. "No one expected you to win. Atlas had it in the bag, right up until the gods threw you a bone." She set down the thing she was working on: a spindle of twine, a sheet of painted silk, and the unmistakable crossbars of a kite. "So, when did you decide to stop being a sore loser and embrace your destiny?" She asked as she tilted her head.

Clara snorted. "The day after my failed exam, so… never?" She shrugged, picked a grass blade, and made a show of chewing it. "Maybe I just like complaining. Or maybe I want to make sure everyone knows the gods screwed up." She watched Celia for a reaction. The other girl only smiled, slow and sly, and kept threading the kite's string.

In truth, Clara had made a private truce with fate. Since the talk with Marcus Blackwood—since he'd made her peel a sack of potatoes and talk about the real world, not the one spun by rumor and legacy—she'd decided to stop complaining so much about being queen. Or at least, to do it with more style and less drama. She would take what came, and if it meant marrying Zarek Starforge and spending half her life in a snow fort, so be it. Better than losing a finger, and honestly, the man was not the worst of the choices presented to her. He might even be bearable if he learned to crack a joke every once in a while.

Celia finished the kite and held it up. It was shaped like a sea dragon, its body a streak of blue and green, wings iridescent, the tail trailing silver streamers that shimmered even in the weak sun.

"Pretty," Clara admitted. "Where'd you get it?" She questioned as she studied the kite.

"Gift from Prince Eveon," Celia said, a little too quickly. "He thought I'd like it." She added with a small smile.

"You and Eveon have been close for… what, two years now?" Clara grinned, sharp as a cat.

"I mean, it's just a kite, Cee. Unless he hid a marriage proposal in the tail." Celia's cheeks colored, which only made Clara pounce harder.

"Shut up," Celia said, but she was smiling. "He's nice. He's not as bad as you make out to be, you know." She stated as she looked at the kite.

Clara stuck out her tongue. "If he ever proposes, say no for me. I don't want to be related to that chin." She barked, then made a 'bleh' sound at the thought of Prince Eveon even being related to them. That'd be hell for family gatherings.

Celia was the first to laugh, loud and clear, and for a moment the garden felt like it had when they were children, when everything was a game and the worst thing that could happen was a skinned knee or a broken teacup.

Celia stood and unfurled the kite, letting it billow in the rising wind. She moved to the edge of the lawn, gave the line a hard yank, and watched as the sea dragon caught a gust and soared. Clara sat up, brushing crumbs off her skirt, and watched the kite's progress with a growing sense of pride. It looked magnificent against the blue, like a piece of the sky had come loose.

"You were always better at this than I," Clara said. "Remember that time you tied three together and they pulled you halfway down the riverbank?" She asked with a grin.

"That's because I know how to let go. You always try to steer too much." Celia let the string spool out, the dragon rising higher, the tail streaming behind it.

"Or maybe I just don't like falling out of control." Clara made a face.

"I'm not too sure about that," Celia countered, and the two of them cackled.

They watched the kite dance for a while, Clara eating another tart and Celia working the string with practiced ease. A cloud bank rolled in, mottling the sunlight, but the dragon stayed aloft, defiant.

"So, you really think you're going to marry Zarek?" Celia asked, not looking away from the sky.

Clara thought about it. "It's easier," she said, after a pause. "Father wants stability. The court wants drama. Atlas wants me dead, probably. Zarek… he just wants to survive the winter." She turned to Celia. "Maybe I can help with that."

"You sound like a queen already." Celia eyed her.

"Don't jinx it," Clara shot back.

They fell into companionable silence, the kind that only twins or old soldiers can share. Then, without warning, the wind shifted and the kite jerked hard. Celia reeled it in, but the dragon caught on an updraft and whirled, tail whipping, before crashing headlong into the branches of a towering oak at the edge of the lawn.

"Nice landing." Clara clapped.

"It's stuck," Celia groaned, glaring at the tree. She looked at Lue, who was a reasonable distance away, then back at Clara. "Can you reach it?" She asked in a hushed tone.

Clara considered. "I could, but you know I'm not supposed to climb things anymore. Last time, Mother threatened to have the gardener cut down every tree in the city." She replied as she looked up at the kite in the tall tree, and put her hands on her hips.

"I really like that kite, Clary." Celia pouted, eyes wide and sad.

Clara sighed—long, suffering, theatrical. "Fine. But if I break my neck, you get to explain it to Father." She kicked off her shoes, handed the tart to Celia, and limbered up like an athlete preparing for mortal combat.

"Maybe let Lue do it?" Celia offered, but there was no conviction in it.

"No way," Clara replied. "This is a job for the future Queen of Sol, not some fancy-pants bodyguard." She wiggled her fingers, then scrambled up the trunk with a speed and certainty that would have impressed any simian.

The climb was easy, the bark rough but sturdy, the branches spaced just right for a petite troublemaker. Clara moved up, up, ignoring the way her skirt caught on every twig, ignoring the ring's tightness as she flexed her hand. She could hear Celia below, giving running commentary "She's going to get sap on the hem—oh, there she goes!", and Celia grinned to herself.

Lue noticed Clara climbing the tree and sighed.

At the first fork, Clara paused to survey the damage. The kite's head was wedged in a crook near the top, and the string wound around several branches. Clara calculated the risks, then pressed on, increasing the stakes higher and higher. She didn't look down. She never looked down.

When Clara reached the kite, she grabbed the tail and gave it a gentle yank. It resisted, then came free with a satisfying snap. For a brief, glorious second, Clara held the sea dragon high above the world, its body gleaming in the shifting light.

"I got it!" she shouted, triumphant.

Then the branch beneath her creaked.

Clara froze. The wind was stronger up here, and the tree was swaying in the gusts. Clara knew the math—she was forty, maybe fifty feet up, but the nearest thick branch was a good six feet below.

Clara tried to shift her weight, but the branch responded by groaning louder. She looked down, hoping for a miracle, and saw Celia and Lue watching from the ground, tiny and powerless.

"Just drop down!" Celia called. "You can make it!" She shouted like a cheer.

Clara considered her options. She could try to jump for the lower branch, or—

The branch made the decision for her. With a tremendous, splintering sound, it snapped clean off, sending Clara—and the kite—plummeting toward the earth.

Clara had enough presence of mind to tuck in, clutch the kite, and aim for the thickest patch of underbrush. She hit it like a stone in a pond, bounced twice, and rolled to a stop at the base of the tree.

For a moment, there was only the throb of her heartbeat, the rush of blood in her ears, and the taste of dirt in her mouth.

Then the pain hit. It radiated from her left leg, sharp and immediate. She tried to stand, but her knee buckled and she collapsed back, panting.

Celia was there in an instant. "Oh gods, are you all right?" She knelt at Clara's side, hands fluttering uselessly over her skirts.

"I'm fine," Clara lied. "Just… a little bruised." She held up the kite, forcing a grin. "See? Mission accomplished." She grunted with a smile.

Lue arrived, moving faster than she'd ever seen him, face as pale as the moon. He knelt beside her, eyes scanning for blood or bone. He was going to be in massive trouble for not intervening, but he believed Clara could do it, since she had climbed many trees in the past.

"Let me see the leg, Your Highness," he said, voice tight.

Clara hiked up her skirt, revealing the swelling already blooming around her ankle. "Nothing broken," she said, then tried to flex her foot and nearly passed out.

"Your definition of 'broken' is not the same as mine," Lue replied.

"I'm so sorry, Clary. I didn't think—" Celia hovered, wringing her hands.

"It's fine," Clara said, forcing her voice steady. "Better than losing a finger." She smiled, or tried to.

It was then that the audience arrived.

On the other side of the hedge, a small procession had been making its way toward the garden: King Noah, Queen Zia, Atlas, and—unmistakable, even at a distance—Zarek Starforge. They must have heard the crash or Celia's scream, because now they were striding across the grass, their faces a study in disbelief and horror.

Atlas got there first. He took one look at Clara, sprawled in the dirt with her skirts hiked up and her leg bent at an odd angle, and burst out laughing.

"You are a menace to yourself and everyone around you," he said, shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair, then subtly glared at Lue.

Clara stuck out her tongue. "Nice to see you too, Atlas." She responded to her loving older brother.

King Noah surveyed the scene, then turned to Zia. "I told you we should have cut down the trees." He sighed exasperated, then looked at Clara.

Queen Zia did not reply. She knelt beside Clara, her fingers calm on Clara's cheek. "You will be fine," she said, the words both a promise and a command.

"I know," Clara whispered.

Zarek stood a few feet away, arms folded, face unreadable. He watched as Lue fashioned a splint from a nearby stick and bound Clara's leg with a scrap torn from his own tunic.

"You should not have climbed," Zarek said, voice trembling. He kneeled down next to the queen by Clara's side.

"Would you have done it in my place?" Clara forced a smile through the pain.

Zarek hesitated, eyes dark with worry. "No," he admitted. "But I would have caught you." He reached out and laid a hand on Clara's arm; his grip on her arm tightened.

Clara realized tears were slipping down her cheeks. She blinked them away and clenched the sea-dragon kite so hard her knuckles went white.

Atlas knelt beside her, voice urgent. "You could have died, Clara." He stated as he looked up at the tree and the dangling branch on which she had fallen. It was stupid luck, or the gods intervened. Either way, she was lucky.

"I… I know," Clara whispered. "I just wanted the kite—and to prove I could." Her tone lowered more. She didn't think she would have fallen; she thought the branch was strong enough to hold her. She guessed she was wrong.

Queen Zia brushed damp hair from Clara's forehead, her gaze heavy with relief. "You need not prove anything, dear. Not your courage, not your worth." She spoke gently.

Clara forced a laugh. "Tell that to the branch," she muttered, nodding at the snapped limb overhead. Zia managed a small, grateful smile.

Lue knelt in the grass and gathered Clara into his arms as gently as he could. Each movement sent shards of agony through her broken leg. She bit back a cry. Zarek stepped forward; after a look from the Queen, he lifted Clara from Lue's arms and cradled her like a wounded fawn.

The steady beat of his heart against Clara's ear was oddly soothing as she leaned her head against his chest. Though she noticed his heart was beating very fast.

Behind them, Atlas's usual laughter was gone, replaced by a haunted quiet. King Noah barked for healers. Lue and Ken—Celia's guard—hurried to clear the shattered branches, faces pale.

"You did well," Zarek murmured. "Most would have screamed all the way down." He spoke, and then looked down at Clara in his arms.

Clara offered a wry smile. "I was too busy plotting a soft landing." She replied.

Zarek chuckled, low and relieved. "So—about marrying me… are you still willing?" He asked as he watched her face, looking at her.

Clara's breath caught at the question and the pain. "Probably," she managed. "Unless you've changed your mind." She replied in a softer tone. It was hard for her to think about marriage, growing up, but she was determined to become the person the kingdom needed. Zarek could help her. She knew that.

Zarek pressed his lips together. "No. But promise me you'll never climb like that again." He said to her, then looked forward as he carried her.

Clara gave him a weak grin. "I can't promise I won't try—but I'll be more careful." She replied with a slight huff.

The group turned toward the castle—Zia and Atlas supporting the litter, King Noah striding ahead, healers summoned. But Celia stayed behind in the garden, Ken at her side. She stared at the dangling branch—a silent warning—and at the faint, lingering shimmer of magic clinging to its wood, so faint, no one else noticed.

Celia brushed away fresh tears, folded the sea-dragon kite, and followed Ken inside the castle gates, leaving the broken branch—and its promise—in the dawn light.