Beatriz

All day, as Beatriz attends to the myriad appointments to go over details of her wedding tomorrow, she struggles to think of anything other than the vial of stardust hidden in her room. She elected not to use it the night before—it was late, she was tired, and she wanted to take the time to consider how exactly to phrase her wish and also ensure that she is ready for the aftermath.

If it works.

It has to work.

She was careful in hiding the stardust, knowing the risk if anyone were to find it while cleaning. Beatriz doubts Nicolo would have her killed if she was found with the stardust, but she remembers the maid who was executed after finding the stardust she created the last time she was in Cellaria, and she doesn't want to put anyone else in danger.

Nowhere seemed safe enough, considering how thorough her maids were in their cleaning, but Beatriz eventually lit one of the thick candles on the mantel above the fireplace in her sitting room. She waited for the surface of the candle to soften, then pressed the pointed end of the vial into the wax until the entire thing sank inside. Then, when the softened wax was barely cool enough to touch, she used her fingers to smooth the wax over the top of the vial until it looked just as it had before.

Getting it out will prove a challenge, she knows, but if all goes according to plan, she won't have to answer for the mess she makes when she removes it. She'll be gone.

"Princess?"

Beatriz's thoughts are jerked away from the stardust and the candle and she pastes a smile on her face as she focuses on the present—in the palace's vast kitchen with the royal pastry chef in front of her, watching and waiting for a reaction to the slice of cake Beatriz took a bite of some time ago. Vanilla cake layered with lemon raspberry jam and topped with a light lemon frosting.

"It's perfect," she says with a smile. "And I'm sure the king will agree. He does adore raspberries."

Gisella cuts her a bemused look but says nothing. All day, as Gisella has accompanied her on these last-minute wedding errands, she's been quiet, not offering more to any conversation than agreeing with any opinions Beatriz offers. At first, her silence was a relief—the last thing Beatriz wants to do is make casual conversation with a girl planning to kill her—but as the day has gone on, Beatriz has found it more and more unnerving.

The pastry chef beams and curtsies before excusing herself—no doubt eager to get started on what Beatriz is sure is a mammoth project to complete in just over twenty-four hours. As soon as she's gone, the palace's head chef, Ovellio, approaches with a thick square of parchment, passing it to Beatriz with a smug smile.

"The menu for the wedding feast," he says, bowing. "I trust it will meet with your approval?"

Beatriz skims each of the ten courses, and though she only just ate lunch, the menu makes her hungry all over again. It isn't enough to make her consider staying, but it's close. Perhaps when this is all done, she can persuade Ovellio away from Cellaria, to work for her.

Wherever it is she ends up.

"You've outdone yourself, Ovellio," she says, handing the menu back to him. "It will surely be a feast no one will soon forget."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he says, smile deepening. He bows again, then backs away to return to work.

"Where are we off to next?" Beatriz asks, turning toward Gisella, who still seems worlds away.

"The chapel," Gisella says simply before starting toward the door that leads out of the kitchens. Beatriz follows, eyeing Gisella's back as they walk, her pale blond hair done in an elaborate plait that swings with each step. Beatriz's two guards, who waited outside on Gisella's orders while they spoke to the chefs, fall into step behind her, their boots tapping against the stone floor in perfect rhythm.

Gisella's silence shouldn't bother her, Beatriz thinks, hurrying to catch up. Whatever it is she's plotting, whatever secrets she's hiding doesn't matter to Beatriz. She'll be gone before any of them can take shape. Tonight, after she uses the stardust to wish her magic unblocked, the first thing she'll do is wish herself far away from Cellaria, and once she's gone, she'll never spare Gisella another thought.

Every movement requires a martyr,Gisella told her. And you'll make such a lovely one.

The words have been gnawing at Beatriz, giving her the peculiar sense that she's staring at a tapestry too closely, seeing the fine needlework but missing the entire effect of the piece. One thing she knows, though, is that she'd be a fool to underestimate Gisella. Not many people can say that they outmaneuvered the empress and lived to tell the tale, but Gisella has.

It's more than Beatriz herself has ever managed, she realizes with a mixture of irritation and grudging respect.

An idea occurs to her. Perhaps a reckless one, but if everything goes according to plan tonight, she'll never see Gisella again, and if it doesn't…well, she'll be dead soon enough no matter what. It's early in the afternoon, and Beatriz needs to wait until the stars are out before she makes her wish. Five hours, give or take.

"I don't think I can make another decision without more coffee," Beatriz tells Gisella, faking a yawn.

Gisella's brow creases in suspicion, but after a moment she gives a brief nod. "Fine," she says.

"My rooms are closer—allow me to play hostess," Beatriz says, making a sudden right down the palace corridor that leads to the royal wing.

She feels Gisella's suspicion rolling off her in waves, but that's to be expected. She simply needs to present a decoy.

"I received a letter from my mother," she lies, thinking quickly. "Perhaps when you read her words yourself, you'll understand just how dangerous the game you're playing is."

Gisella scoffs, but Beatriz knows her curiosity is piqued.

"If you insist," Gisella says.

When they reach Beatriz's receiving room, her guards wait outside and Beatriz sends the maid who is dusting the bookshelf for coffee and pastries. Both Beatriz and Gisella are all smiles, maintaining the illusion of friendship between them, but when the door closes and their audience is gone, Gisella's smile slips off her face and she turns toward Beatriz.

"Well?" she asks. "Where's the letter?"

Beatriz's own smile widens. "And here I thought you weren't interested in what she had to say," she says, collapsing into an armchair with another fake yawn.

"I'm mostly interested in how it got to you," Gisella says, shrugging. "You must know all your letters are inspected."

Beatriz did suspect that, not that anyone she cares about has been foolish enough to send her letters. She shakes her head. "You truly have no idea who you're dealing with, do you?" she asks with a laugh. "My mother has spies everywhere."

It's only half a bluff—Beatriz knows her mother's network of spies is extensive, but by the same token, if she had so many Cellarians at court to do her bidding, why depend on Gisella to assassinate Beatriz? Perhaps she simply knows how capable Gisella is at killing, but perhaps it's more than that. Perhaps the stretch of her mother's reach is an illusion the empress imprinted upon her and her sisters, one she's never had leave to question. Her mother does have spies, this she knows, but Beatriz suddenly suspects they're fewer and less powerful than her mother has made them seem.

"Let's enjoy our coffee before we wade into such unpleasantness," Beatriz says to Gisella.

Gisella eyes Beatriz for a moment, lips pursed. Finally she sighs and crosses toward the armchair beside Daphne's, lowering herself into it. "You're making everything so much more difficult than it needs to be," she says after a moment.

"Because I want coffee?" Beatriz asks dryly.

"Because you insist on fighting even after you've lost," Gisella says. "It must be exhausting."

Beatriz considers this for a moment. Even if she didn't have the stardust, even if she didn't have a plan, she knows she would still be fighting. She can't help it.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the maid returning with a small, gilded cart on wheels, which holds a brass pot of coffee and three small plates piled high with an array of pastries. Beatriz thanks her and dismisses her for the afternoon and the maid leaves with a curtsy, shutting the door behind her.

"You and my mother have that in common," Beatriz tells Gisella as she pours herself a cup of coffee and helps herself to a dainty tea cake topped with pink icing and dried flower petals. "Finding me difficult, that is. And yes, I suppose it is exhausting, but if the day comes when I am well and truly beaten, Gigi, I'll rest easy knowing I made things as difficult for you as possible. And then I'll take great pleasure in haunting both you and my mother for the rest of your sad, joyless lives."

Gisella absorbs her speech with a placid smile, taking an idle sip of her coffee. "I can't speak for your mother, but I don't think my life will lack joy by any means," she says. "All the more so knowing that I'll need to give your ghost a show and keep you properly entertained."

Beatriz grits her teeth and pops the entire tea cake into her mouth before she can say something she'll come to regret.

"I will miss you, though," Gisella says, as casually as if Beatriz were planning a weekend away in the country.

Beatriz tries not to choke on her tea cake. She swallows and offers Gisella a pointed smile. "I missed you before," she replies, matching Gisella's tone. "But I can assure you, my aim will be better next time."

Gisella's expression catches somewhere between a scowl and a laugh and she tries to hide it behind her cup of coffee, taking another long sip that drains the cup. She sets it back on its saucer.

"Well?" she asks. "Where's this letter?"

Beatriz holds up her coffee cup, still half full. "I'm not done yet," she says. "But if you're so impatient, get it yourself—in my desk, top left drawer."

Gisella gets to her feet and crosses the room, turning her back to Beatriz—a mistake she should have known better than to make. Beatriz sets her own cup down, making not a single sound as the cup hits the saucer; then she is slipping her feet from her slippers and crossing the room quick and silent, grabbing the now-empty brass coffeepot from the cart as she passes by. Gisella is just opening the drawer when Beatriz swings the coffeepot. Gisella is turning toward her, and the coffeepot strikes Gisella's temple with a dull clang. Gisella drops, but Beatriz is ready for that, catching her unconscious body before she hits the floor with a sound that would alarm the guards outside.

Her combat instructor taught her and her sisters that maneuver while the empress looked on, eyes shrewd and judgmental, and Beatriz feels a little thrill, thinking that if her mother could see her now, she would surely regret that.

She wastes no time dragging Gisella into the dining room, closing the door behind her and pushing her into a high-backed chair with carved wooden arms. She goes to her bedroom and pulls out a nightgown, tearing the linen into strips. She uses them to bind Gisella to the chair, using the last strip as a gag. Then she sits down across the table from Gisella and waits.