Something pained lies behind Madam Himura’s tone; it’s clear her fall from grace has hurt her far more than she lets on. But I have little sympathy to spare her. I’m reeling from the news about Mistress Eira. Her beautiful, serene face floats across my vision, twisting a clot of horror under my ribs. Because no matter how much she let me down, I still cared for her. Had hoped she’d be spared after the Moon Ball even though Madam Himura is right—my actions condemned them both.
“Honorable members of the court!” A magnified voice rings out across the garden, the music trailing away. “Presenting our Heavenly Master, our gods’ blessed ruler and commander of all beings who walk the mortal realm, the Demon King!”
Clothes rustle as we all sink to our knees. As we wait for hoof-fall, my mind still whirring from Madam Himura’s revelation, I note grimly that I’ve heard the King’s official announcement so many times I could recite it in my sleep—
I take a sharp breath.
Tonight’s announcement was different.
Demon King. The royal announcers have only ever called him the King before—because why clarify? Of course any King of Ikhara would be a demon. I try to tell myself it doesn’t mean anything as the King’s hooves sound, muffled by the grass. Yet, I know well enough by now nothing in the court is done without intention.
When we lift our heads, the King stands on the pagoda, arms wide. “Moonchosen,” he calls. “Come join me.”
I don’t move.
Whispers slink through the crowd. There’s an awkward cough as the wait stretches on.
“Moonchosen,” he repeats, harder now.
The title seems to be a condemnation. Chosen for what? Greatness, my parents told me. Power and purpose, according to Ketai. Luck, for my customers back in our herb shop. For the King and his court: the gods’ blessing. A Paper Girl tied to her Demon King.
Madam Himura jabs her cane into my side with only a mild attempt at discretion. “Go!”
I lurch to my feet. Demon eyes glint at me everywhere I turn. The thrum of my heart pools into the soles of my feet as I pad through the packed gathering. Only the guards remain standing, ready to act upon a second’s notice.
When I reach the pagoda, I finally lock eyes with the King.
His arms, draped in matching black and gold, are still flung wide, and as I get closer, I notice they’re trembling. His smile seems stretched, weird and shaky at the edges, as though it’s pinned to his face.
The King is nervous, I realize.
Why?
A dark premonition wings to life in my chest.
My shadow grows heavier as I step up to join him on the pagoda. The moment I’m within reach, he grabs for my hand. I instinctively flinch away, making him fumble before he captures my fingers.
He addresses the expectant crowd. “Members of the court. My fellow demons. After an ugly yet necessary afternoon, I am pleased to bring you something more… joyful.”
The way he speaks the word makes it sound anything but.
“As your King,” he says, “I’ve always tried my best to unite our three castes. As a court, we strive for unity. Patience. Peace. We work hard to ensure every demon and human is able to take his proper gods-given place in our great kingdom. Yet here we are, at war with those we once considered friends. Have our efforts been for nothing?”
The stillness deepens. My gaze skims the audience—latching on five figures kneeling directly in front of the pagoda.
The Paper Girls.
They stand out in a sea of demons. Each of their faces—even Blue’s—is painted in shock, but it’s Aoki’s expression that breaks me. Tears stream down her face. Her mouth hangs open in a silent scream. She’s grasping a fistful of her robes as if it’s the only thing stopping her from flying to her feet and running from this place. Running from the King.
From me.
And I know then that my premonition is right.
Wondering why I sent them back to you, perhaps?
Yes, my King.
Don’t worry. You will find out soon enough.
The King’s maniacal grin pushes wider, his nails digging into my skin, and for a second, I feel pity so strong it blisters everything else away; pity for this sad, half crazed demon, every bit as trapped as I am, forced to wear a mask, day in, day out, until he’s worn it so long it’s welded to his skin. How can he even breathe if it’s every bit as suffocating as the one he’s forced upon me?
The King called me haunted. But he is the one who lives as a ghost, a shadow self inhabiting a dying world.
“The gods have spoken to me!” the King exclaims. “In this time of conflict, we must come together even stronger than before. In place of discord, we must cultivate harmony. And so it is thus I announce, just as the gods have blessed me with an heir, they also blessed me with the Moonchosen’s return for a special purpose. In eight days, under the prosperous eye of the full moon, Lei-zhi will take her place at my side as my wife—as our Paper Queen!”
For one long beat, nothing happens. Everything is frozen: the garden, the audience, my soul, the air.
Then a few tentative cheers break through, before, in a sudden wave of noise, the crowd goes wild. The force of it drowns me. Like at the execution, the demons shout and roar and drum their feet so wildly it’s impossible to tell whether they are excited or alarmed, joyous or mad with rage. Frenzied faces stare out at me, but my eyes are fixed on my friends.
Aoki is a wreck. She shakes her head slowly, hands shaking where she’s clutching her chest, as if trying to hold together a breaking heart.
Back when we were Paper Girls, she told me that the King had said he was considering making her his Queen. Now here I am, exactly where she fantasized about being.
Aoki’s dream.
My nightmare.
As the King holds our arms aloft in fake celebration, a single thought floats to the forefront of my mind: the character concealed within my robes. The single word scribbled in Lill’s messy hand.
Love.
It’s what I see on Aoki’s crushed face.
It’s what I hoped to share one day with the person I’d marry—not through force, but choice.
Not a husband, but a wife.
A girl with warm catlike eyes and dimples in her cheeks when she smiles, which is not often, but when it does happen it feels like magic. A girl who gave me hope when everything seemed lost. Who drew me up when I thought I might forever be on my hands and knees, crawling blindly through the dark. A girl who taught me a heart could be as powerful as a blade—even if, right now, it feels like the worst thing of all. Because while a blade may only be broken once, a heart can be broken eight thousand times over.
Still holding our hands high, the King hisses at me from the corner of his lips.
“Smile.”
EIGHTEEN
WREN