Chapter One

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          The ice crystals glimmered, spinning in the palm of Kira Winstiel's hand. Each crystal twisted and glistened, moving to take the shape of a snowball. Her skin tinted to a faint blue, the frost expanded from the base of the globe, stretching and twining through her arm like webs. The energy continued to converge at her palms center. Light rose from her flesh in a collection of vines with a life of their own. They licked the sides of the ball as it continued to grow and compact on itself.

Kira's lips twitched, her eyes narrowing, and her pupils consumed her jade irises until no color remained, becoming two black circles within the whites of her eyes. Fire wrapped the sphere of snow in a sheath. Kira's other hand rose from her side, her fingers beckoned the burning ice-ball closer. It rolled slowly, the remaining vines stretched to her waiting fingers. A tinge of pain struck the back of her head, severing the connection to the magic. The burning sphere evaporated in a puff of translucent white smoke as Kira turned to view her assailant.

"Quit before somebody sees you," her Aunt Emma said. She cursed under her breath, kneeling to play with the stained hem of Kira's dress. "You should have let me buy you a nicer dress when we arrived. Or at least we could've had the Spooler make you one before we left. This one—"

"Is the only dress I need or want. It's one day out of my life. When else will I wear the stupid thing? And nobody will see me. The girls are too busy flashing their natural endowments to the gentlemen. And the—" Kira looked over the table at the collection of men who'd gathered in the ballroom for the Coming of Age dance. Most gathered in small groups, sizing up the women, picking off their future wives like they were apples on a branch. Kira puffed a ringlet of hair from her forehead and looked back to her aunt. "Let's say I could get very lucky tonight if I played my cards right. Hell, even if I didn't play my cards right I might—"

"Kira." Emma sighed, lifting herself from the floor and sitting beside her niece. Time had worn her face. Tiny crevices dented the crooks surrounding her dark brown eyes, and ridges twisted and flowed along her cheeks, pulling at flesh until it drooped, empty and tired. Emma's hand brushed through thick strands of hair the color of cotton. Kira no longer remembered the original color of her aunt's hair; time had taken it as surely as it had her youth.

"I'm bored, Aunt Emma." Kira didn't enjoy whining. She found it to be a sign of weakness, but she couldn't help letting out a whimper.

"The King will be here soon and the festivities can begin."

"This is so archaic, bringing our children here like we're cattle for auction. If we wanted to make a statement we—"

"One does not make a statement like that to the King. It may be archaic, child, but it is tradition. All young men and women, in the year of their twenty-first birthday, are to be presented to the King or Queen, and their heirs, of their respective kingdom."

"Yeah, yeah. And so men can present their eligibility to the Guard, if they choose, and woman can present their eligibility to men. It doesn't matter if the King or Queen has heirs. Like the Royal family will ever pick a commoner to wed. We could just as easily find our own matches in our hometowns. Why do we need to come here to the capital, dressed in fancy clothes, to do it?" Kira huffed. "If you think for one second I'll let any here saddle me like a prized mare, you have mistaken me for some other niece."

"That's impossible to do since you're the only niece I have."

Kira slumped against the table, her chin resting on her hand while her other drummed against the cream tablecloth in a steady rhythm. She surveyed the grand ballroom as she'd done thousands of times since they first entered. Women from all over the kingdom of Morag giggled at the strapping men flexing their muscles to pick up even the smallest of items from nearby tables. Hormones floated in the air as if they were feathers from a molting bird.

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