The ballroom is filled with what is left of Maven's court. For the most part, it consists of people around our age, their parents all split off to support The Rift or no one at all. The "Court of Children" is what others have come to call us. 

Loud music plays; something old, practically ancient. But it is beautiful. People are dancing and smiling for the cameras which lower silvers are carrying around, broadcasting this for all to see. For Cal to see. 

Maven takes my hand, leading us to the middle of the floor. My gown swirls as we glide about the emptied floor, the court watching us. 

"You look beautiful this evening," Maven murmurs, pulling me against his chest. 

"I can say the same about you." He twirls me around in a circle. My skirts spin out like purple lightning crackling. It's impossible to miss the oohs and ahs from the crowd. 

Maven laughs. "It seems everyone is thinking the same as me." His crown of silver flames sits atop his midnight black hair, shimmering against the lighting. 

I smirk. "Perhaps."

Every few minutes, the videographers stop in front of us or to the side, recording each and every movement. At first, I don't mind it very much. But as the night wears on and I am followed around as I get a drink or sit on the dais, observing, my skin begins to crawl. Something's not right. 

Maven picks up on my unease. He reaches a bone-white hand out and places it on mine. "You okay?" he whispers. 

I chew on the inside of my lip. "Too many cameras," I sigh. "I feel like everyone in Norta is staring at me."

He nods slowly. A clock chimes. It's ten at night. This revelry is supposed to last for a few more hours but I have no idea how I am to deal with it with everyone stalking me. 

"I can't just send the cameras away."

"Yes, you can." I stand up from my throne. 

"What are you doing?" Maven hisses, standing behind me. 

People are looking at us now. I plaster on my most winsome smile. Through gritted teeth, I say, "I'm sending them away. It is my birthday and I should have some sort of a say in what is going on here." His hand brushes against mine but I pull away slightly and head down the steps and to the ballroom floor. 

I weave through the throng of people, and find one of the cameramen. Tapping him on the shoulder, I get his attention. He whips his head around, a hood covering his face. That's to be expected, I suppose, so that no one harasses him or his fellow workers during an event like this. 

He clears his throat. "Your Majesty, what can I do for you?"

The music in the back ground seems to fade. "Can you and your crew leave now?"

"Why?" He asks. I let a bit of lightning crackle in my right palm as I smile gently. He recoils. "Yes, my queen."

"Thank you." I turn around, heading back towards the dais. Maybe it's because the cameras are going to disappear, or maybe it's the exhaustion from the past several days setting in at once, but everything feels slow. As if I am walking through a pool of thick water. 

I walk towards a guard and pull the sword from his hand. I think he grunts in protest. He says something that I cannot hear. But I yank the sword from his hands and walk away. Towards the middle of the floor.

Maven is walking or running or dancing to me but it's all a blur. Everyone gives me space as I draw the sword out, testing its weight in my hands. I hold it away from myself, aiming the blade at my chest. My hand begins to shake. 

What am I doing?

From across the room, that hooded figure is smirking. Samson Merandus. Elara stands next to him, her eyes fixed on me as the sword's point presses against my chest. I am suddenly aware of what's happening. Of what I am about to do. But I can't move. The blade presses deeper—I am pressing it against my own chest. Now, it cuts through the fabric and pricks my skin. Panic rises in me but I cannot move a muscle besides the arm Samson or Elara must be controlling. 

Everything goes silent. I can't even wince at the pain or blood beginning to drip down my dress. Slowly. This is what Elara wants. Me to die slowly, at my own hands. She can take no blame if there is no evidence. Guards are rushing towards me but they stop short. From the corner of my eye, Maven is there. 

Before I can blink or cry out at the blade pressing deeper, through my skin now, Maven tackles me. I drop the sword; or Elara makes me drop it so I do not inadvertently kill Maven. He throws the sword to the side and people scream and stumble back. He pins me on the ground, holding me down as I thrash in his grip. Elara must still have some control over me because I feel myself punching him. Reaching for the sword. I try to stop it. I scream, but I doubt any sound comes out. I feel possessed. Like I am in my brain, but not my body. 

Maven's eyes flash in terror. "Mare!" he shouts. "Listen to me!"

"Her," I rasp between my attempt to fight him. I land a blow across his cheek. 

You can stop this, Elara says in my head. Reach for the sword. Do not let him stop you.

Maven gets even more on top of me. He presses a hand against my bloody chest. His other hand capture my wrists, holding me back. "Mare!" He bellows. He shakes me a bit. "It's me. I'm right here. Don't listen to her!" He uses all his strength to keep me down. "Guards, seize Elara and Samon Merandus and put them in the holding cells!" 

I struggle against Maven's grip. My mind wants to stop fighting. My mind is thankful he stepped in. But my body fights him, kicking, trying to punch and scratch him. But he stays on top of me, keeping a hand on the wound that could have been fatal if he hadn't knocked me to the ground.

From my spot on the floor, I can see screaming and running. Samson falls to the ground and the guards have him in chains. Elara begins running, but another guard rams into her, a long syringe in hand. As soon as the syringe goes through her neck from the back, my muscles begin to go slack.

Elara passes out and lets go of all control she had on me. 

My body goes limp as Elara's ability is silenced in her sleep. Maven lets go of my wrists and rolls off of me. But he keeps a hand on my wound. The other pushes the hair from my face. He looks down at me. "You're okay. You're okay," he repeats over and over. A bruise is already forming on his cheek from when Elara made me punch him.

My voice is raw from screaming. "I'm sorry." My chest hurts and I feel blood dripping down my bodice, destroying that little servant's hard work. I try to move but groan at the pain. 

Maven pulls me onto his lap. "It's okay, Mare. Just stay awake. A healer is coming."