Lord Murcendor faces me, and I read the amusement in his eyes. “This is supposed to be your makeshift sword? You’re not even holding it correctly. You should have paid more attention during your lessons. . . .” He draws his sword and I am no match for him. I fall to my knees and realize I will die, a princess who has lived a life that is nothing to be proud of. I have failed the Andewyns. I am weak. I am unworthy. . . . I awake with a cry. My skin is damp with sweat. A silken bedsheet is twisted around my torso like a coiled snake, and early morning sunlight streams through the window. Relief floods my chest and I quickly extricate myself from the sheet, deciding that I know exactly what I need to do. Lord Murcendor may have returned to the Opal Palace. But I shall not allow him to return to my dreams. Later that morning, I pass no one as I make my way to the armory. I run a hand over all the weapons, wondering if Andrei will approve when he gets word of what I’m planning.
