Morning court. Another performance of perfect smiles and practiced curtsies, but today my stomach churns with more than the usual court anxiety. I've managed to postpone Kaliana's introductions for three days, claiming she was ill with summer fever. But even in the Fae realm, where time moves like honey in winter, excuses have their limits.

  Mother's presence fills the throne room like summer storm clouds heavy with lightning. The air itself crackles and bows under her power, pressing down on courtiers until their knees buckle and their heads drop in deference. She doesn't walk so much as glide across the marble floor, her gown of woven sunlight and shadow rippling with each movement. The crown of twisted golden thorns sits atop her hair – not the soft gold of wheat fields, but the harsh metallic gleam of a blade in sunlight.

  The throne room stretches before me, a masterpiece of fae architecture designed to intimidate. Crystal columns soar overhead, each one catching and amplifying Mother's power until the very air shimmers with it. Courtiers line the walls in their finest attire, but their eyes remain carefully downcast. They know better than to meet Mother's gaze directly – those who do often find themselves transformed into particularly decorative fountains or garden statues.

  I force myself to stand straight, though every instinct screams at me to kneel. As Crown Princess, I cannot show that weakness, not even as her magic rolls through the chamber like waves of invisible heat. My spine might as well be forged from iron, unyielding despite the pressure that makes my joints ache and my muscles tremble. A single bead of sweat rolls down my back, and I silently thank centuries of practice for keeping my expression neutral.

  Mother's eyes, when they meet mine, hold the same merciless gold as her crown. No warmth lives there, no maternal softness – only the raw power of summer at its most brutal peak. Her beauty is like staring into the sun: blinding, dangerous, impossible to look at directly yet impossible to ignore. The delicate points of her ears seem sharper than usual, her high cheekbones could cut glass, and her lips, painted the deep red of heart's blood, curve into something that might have been a smile if you'd never seen one before.

  As I watch Mother on her throne of twisted golden thorns, memories of Maeve flood back – how she too had stood here, proud and powerful, before Mother's influence twisted that power into something devastating. I remember the day Maeve first chose her path and showed signs of space-time manipulation, how Mother's "smile" had grown predatory. The crown of golden thorns had weighed so heavily on my older sister, each day stealing more of her light until nothing remained but raw magic and shattered dreams.

  "My daughter," she says, her voice like honey poured over broken glass. Even those two words carry enough authority to make the nearest courtiers sway on their feet. Some of the younger ones actually whimper, their glamours flickering under the pressure. "Where is your sister?"

  The pressure increases, as if the very air is trying to wring the truth from my lungs. But I've spent years learning to breathe through her power, to speak clearly even when it feels like drowning in summer heat. I am her daughter, after all. Her blood runs in my veins, even if she'd never shown any particular interest in that fact until now.

  The question carries lethal weight. I keep my head bowed, buying precious seconds as frost continues to spread beneath my feet. How to explain that I'd hidden Kali away, trying to spare her Maeve's fate? That I'd rather have her hate me as a kidnapper than watch her be destroyed by Mother's ambitions?

  "Still recovering, Mother," I reply, proud that my voice doesn't waver. Frost crystals form and melt in my palms, hidden by the folds of my dress. "The fever—"

  "Has lasted rather long, wouldn't you say?" She moves closer, each step making the floor beneath us hum with barely contained energy. The thorned crown throws fractured shadows across her perfect features, creating the illusion of constant movement, like heat waves rising from sun-baked stone. Behind her, the great windows darken, though it's mid-morning. Summer storms gather at her displeasure.

  The courtiers around us have all sunk to their knees now, unable to resist the crushing weight of her presence. Only I remain standing, though my legs tremble with the effort. Being this close to her is like trying to stand in the heart of a wildfire – everything in me screams to submit, to bend, to break.

  I fight to keep my expression neutral even as memories of Maeve's final days claw at my heart. I see her again, wild-eyed and desperate, her powers tearing holes in reality as Mother pushed her beyond her limits. "More," Mother had demanded, even as Maeve's sanity cracked like thin ice. "Show me more."

  The same words she'd used with me, though with far less interest. I was, after all, her greatest disappointment – the child who'd inherited her Unseelie father's affinity for winter magic. The evidence of one night's indiscretion with the Winter Court's delegation, a political scandal she'd never quite lived down. While Maeve had shown unprecedented power from childhood, I had been the constant reminder of Mother's one moment of weakness.

  The frost spreading beneath my feet now was proof enough of that heritage. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't manifest the pure summer magic Mother wielded. My powers came with a bitter chill, tainted by Unseelie blood. "A diluted bloodline," Mother would say, her voice dripping with disdain. "The price of impurity."

  But I am the Crown Princess now, not despite my mixed heritage but because of it. After Maeve's fall, after Mother's powers had driven her to madness, I had been the only one left. The impure daughter, the living reminder of a diplomatic ball gone wrong, now stood as heir to the Summer Court. The irony isn't lost on me, nor on Mother, whose smile never quite reaches her eyes when she looks my way.

  Even as her power presses against me like a physical thing, even as the air grows so thick with magic it's hard to draw breath, I keep my chin high and my gaze steady. Let her see nothing in my face but the perfect, composed princess I'd trained my whole life to be. Let her find no crack in my armor, no hint of the panic churning beneath my carefully constructed mask. I may be Unseelie-touched, but I am still her daughter, still royalty. And I will not let her destroy another sister.

  But I am the Crown Princess. I cannot break. Will not break.

  Even as her power presses against me like a physical thing, even as the air grows so thick with magic it's hard to draw breath, I keep my chin high and my gaze steady. Let her see nothing in my face but the perfect, composed princess I'd trained my whole life to be. Let her find no crack in my armor, no hint of the panic churning beneath my carefully constructed mask.

  "The healers are confident she'll recover soon," I say, though inside I pray Kali will stay hidden, will learn to control her powers away from Mother's influence. Far from the crown that had broken Maeve's spirit before consuming her completely.

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  Mother's smile widens just slightly, showing teeth too white and too sharp to be entirely natural. "Are they?" she purrs, and in those two words I hear the threat of summer storms, of drought, of forest fires that could consume kingdoms. The windows rattle in their frames as thunder rolls overhead, perfectly timed to her words.

  I hold my ground, remembering Maeve's screams as her powers tore reality apart. Better to face Mother's wrath than watch another sister destroyed by powers she wasn't ready to control. Better to be seen as a failure than enable the same tragedy twice.

  The pressure of Mother's magic increases until breathing becomes difficult, but I refuse to break. For Kali's sake, for the memory of what Maeve could have been, I will endure. Let Mother see nothing in my face but the perfect, composed princess I'd trained my whole life to be. Let her find no crack in my armor, no hint of the desperate need to protect what remains of my family.

  "Dismissed." Mother's eyes, when they meet mine, hold the same merciless gold as her crown. No warmth lives there, no maternal softness – only the raw power that had already claimed one daughter's sanity. I would not let her claim another.

  As I turn to leave, frost spreading in my wake despite my best efforts to contain it, I silently pray that wherever Kali is, she's learning to control her powers at her own pace. Better that than watching another sister burn in the unforgiving light of Mother's ambition.

  The halls of the Summer Court stretched endless and empty before me, each step echoing like a countdown to disaster. The morning light filtered through crystal windows, casting rainbow shadows that danced across marble floors polished to mirror brightness. Three days. I'd managed to hide Kaliana's absence for three days, but even in a realm as vast as ours, questions would soon arise. Mother hardly spared a glance for any of her children unless we proved useful or troublesome, but even she would eventually notice a missing princess.

  My reflection rippled across the polished floor – Crown Princess áine, the "imperfect" heir, the winter-touched daughter who shouldn't have been. Frost spread beneath my feet despite my efforts to contain it, creating delicate patterns that melted almost instantly in the perpetual summer heat of the court. Another reminder of my mixed heritage, of the scandal that had preceded my birth.

  Only one person in the entire Summer Court possessed magic strong enough to help me now – someone whose power was second only to Mother's, though she'd never admit it. Uncle Oberon. The temperature dropped several degrees as anxiety coiled in my stomach. Going to him meant making a bargain, and his prices were always steep, always painful, especially for family. The last time anyone had asked for his help... well, that's why we don't speak of the incident that landed him in that tower.

  But what choice did I have? Mother's "perfect" daughter Maeve had already fallen to her ambitions. I wouldn't let the same happen to Kali.

  The spiral staircase to Oberon's tower loomed before me, each crystalline step humming with ancient magic. My footsteps echoed through the space, leaving trails of frost in my wake. In my hands, I clutched Kaliana's Army uniform, the mortal fabric feeling coarse against my immortal skin. My usual grace was replaced by barely contained panic – a state unbefitting a Princess of the Summer Court, but I was far past caring about appearances.

  The guards posted at the tower's entrance didn't even try to stop me. They'd learned long ago that when Princess áine moved with such purpose, interference was unwise. Frost followed in my wake, crystallizing on the ancient stones like delicate spider webs. Their eyes, I noticed, held a mixture of pity and fear – they knew as well as anyone what dealing with Oberon could cost.

  "Uncle?" My voice carried through the circular chamber at the top of the tower, where books floated like leaves in an autumn breeze and scrolls unwound themselves in mid-air. The air here felt different from the rest of the court – older, wilder, untamed by Mother's rigid control. "Uncle Oberon, I need your help."

  A figure emerged from behind a particularly large tome that appeared to be bound in starlight. Oberon, once the most trusted advisor to Queen Titania, now confined to this tower after "the incident," regarded his niece with eyes that held galaxies in their depths. His silver hair cascaded down his back like a waterfall of moonlight, and his angular features held that familiar mix of calculation and amusement that made him both beloved and feared in the court.

  "Ah, my favorite niece," he drawled, marking his place in the floating book with what looked suspiciously like a human credit card. The casual way he handled mortal artifacts had always unnerved the court – just one of many reasons Mother had banished him to this tower. "To what do I owe this rather dramatic entrance? The frost is a bit much, don't you think?"

  I thrust the uniform toward him, trying to ignore how the room's countless artifacts seemed to turn to watch us. "It's Kaliana. She's... something's wrong. The unbinding spell worked, but her memories..." I swallowed hard, forcing myself to maintain composure even as ice crystals formed in the air around me. "Someone's taken her. Right from under my nose, from within the castle itself. And the magical signature..." I trailed off, unable to voice my suspicions about Maeve's involvement.

  Oberon's expression sharpened, the amusement vanishing like mist in sunlight. He took the uniform, running his long fingers over the fabric. His eyes glowed briefly, reading the magical residue left behind. "Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting indeed. And what exactly are you offering in exchange for my help, dear niece?"

  "Uncle, please," I began, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

  "You know the rules, child. Nothing comes without a price, especially between family." His smile held secrets within secrets, and I was reminded again why Mother had confined him here. "The question is: what are you willing to pay to find your lost sister?"

  My hands clenched at my sides, ice crystals forming in the air around me. The temperature in the tower dropped sharply, but Oberon didn't seem to notice. "Name it."

  Oberon's smile widened, showing teeth that gleamed like polished pearls. "Three things. First, I want the key to the Twilight Archives."

  "But Mother sealed those centuries ago—"

  "Second," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, his voice taking on an ancient resonance that made the floating books shiver, "I want you to tell me exactly what happened during the War of Burning Crowns. The true story, not the sanitized version in the court records."

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Of course he would ask about that – about the day we lost Maeve, about the secrets Mother had buried along with my sister's supposed remains. "And the third?"

  Oberon leaned forward, his eyes burning with an ancient hunger that reminded me uncomfortably of Mother. "The third, my dear niece, is something you already possess but don't know you have. I'll collect it when the time is right."

  The temperature in the tower dropped several more degrees as I considered his terms. Making deals with Oberon was dangerous – he hadn't earned his reputation as the court's most cunning schemer for nothing. But with Kali missing and that haunting magical signature that felt so much like Maeve's...

  "Deal," I said firmly, extending my hand. "But I want your word that you'll help me find her, no matter what it takes."

  Oberon clasped my hand, and magic crackled between us like lightning. The air itself seemed to record our bargain, binding us both to its terms. "Oh, my dear," he said softly, "finding her will be the easy part. The real question is: are you prepared for what we might discover?"

  As if in answer, the uniform in his other hand began to glow with a faint golden light, and symbols appeared in the air around it – symbols that made Oberon's eyes widen in genuine surprise. Ancient runes that I recognized from Maeve's research, patterns that shouldn't exist anymore.

  "Well," he whispered, "this is unexpected. It seems your little sister has been busy." He looked at me with newfound intensity. "Tell me, what do you know about the void?"

  I felt my heart skip a beat. "The Void... That element is not tamable..."

  "Yes, looks like she chose the Sovereign path," Oberon finished, his voice holding both fascination and concern. "And now it seems history might be repeating itself. How deliciously complicated."

  The frost at my feet turned to black ice as fear gripped my heart. Not again. I wouldn't lose another sister to my mother’s cruel ambition.