the morning silence like a royal war cry. I jolted awake in the attic, dust motes dancing through cracked sunlight. Below, doors slammed open. Clarissa's shriek of delight pierced the air. "The royal envoy! They've come with the decree!" Her heels hammered across the floorboards in a frenzied rhythm. Mother's voice joined the chaos, sharp with excitement. "Clarissa! Your hair! Your dress! Quickly!" They let me out only to clean the hearth for the royal announcement. Father shoved a bucket of ash water at me, his eyes cold as winter stone. "Make yourself useful for once. The fireplace needs to shine." I'd always been the useful one. The one who cleaned while Clarissa preened. The one who cooked while Mother fawned over her golden daughter. From childhood, they'd made their preference clear-Clarissa was the sun, and I was the shadow she cast. "She's too pretty for her own good," I'd overheard Mother telling Lady Thornwick years ago. "People stare at Marianne and forget Clarissa exists. It's... unseemly." "Perhaps if you dressed her down more," Lady Thornwick had suggested. "Oh, I do. Aprons and soot work wonders." Now, as I scrubbed the stone hearth until my knuckles bled, Clarissa swept past in crimson silk that cost more than most families saw in a year. Her dark hair cascaded in perfect ringlets, adorned with pearls that caught the morning light. Not my pearls-she'd returned those after the engagement disaster. New ones. More expensive ones. "Don't let the ashes catch fire while I'm gone," she cooed, smoothing her skirts. "Though I suppose that's all you're good for anyway." The barb hit its mark, but I kept scrubbing. Last night's betrayal still burned fresh-Riven's mouth on hers, the laughter, the lies. But I'd learned something crucial in the hours since. Clarissa hadn't even kept him. She'd discarded him the moment the guests left, like a toy she'd grown tired of. "You didn't even want him," I'd whispered. Her laugh had drifted up. "Want him? Oh, sweet sister. I wanted to watch you break. Mission accomplished." Outside, the entire village pressed into the square, nobility and merchants alike jostling for position. I slipped through the crowd, hands still black with soot, and found a spot behind the baker's stall. The royal messenger stood on the platform, resplendent in gold-threaded robes. His voice boomed across the square. "By order of His Majesty King Aldric, and by request of His Royal Highness Prince Alexander, a Choice is hereby announced!" The crowd erupted. Mothers grabbed their daughters. Fathers calculated dowries in their heads. "Every noble house may submit eligible daughters for consideration as the future Princess of Solmar. Candidates will be chosen within the fortnight and summoned to the royal palace." Clarissa's voice cut through the noise like a bell. "Finally! I've been waiting for this my entire life." She turned to the cluster of girls around her, all desperate to bask in her reflected glory. "Prince Alexander is said to be impossibly handsome. And wealthy beyond imagination." "Will you enter?" asked Lord Ashford's youngest daughter, her voice breathless with envy. "Enter?" Clarissa laughed, tossing her curls. "Darling, I'm going to win." Lady Thornwick leaned closer. "What about your sister? Will she-" "Marianne?" The name dripped from Clarissa's lips. "The Prince wants a bride, not a scullery maid." The crowd laughed. The sound echoed off the stone buildings like a physical blow. That evening, when the house settled into its familiar rhythm of Clarissa's triumph and my invisibility, I crept to the old writing desk in the servants' hall. My hands shook as I lit a stolen candle. The parchment felt heavy beneath my fingers-a remnant from years past, when I was still allowed books and letters before Father declared education "wasted on girls without prospects." I wasn't doing this to win. Clarissa was right about one thing-the Prince would choose someone with titles, dowries, political connections. But I was doing this to escape anyway. To leave this house of calculated cruelty. The quill felt foreign in my grip after so long. I pressed the tip to my fingertip until blood welled up, dark and defiant. My signature bloomed across the page in crimson ink. Marianne Alder. No titles. No family crest. No lies. Just my name written in blood. I sealed the letter with stolen wax, my thumbprint smudging the royal seal. The courier's box stood near the market's edge, already overflowing with silk envelopes and gilded submissions. Clarissa's had arrived hours ago-hand-delivered by Mother, wrapped in gold ribbon and perfumed with imported roses. Mine slipped in with barely a whisper. No witnesses. No ceremony. Just me and the darkness and a prayer I didn't even dare speak aloud. I'll show them. I'll show her. Back at the house, Clarissa held court in the parlor, already planning her coronation wardrobe. "Red velvet for the ceremony," she declared to her admirers. "With diamonds at the throat. I'll look magnificent next to Prince Alexander." As she basked in premature glory, I returned to the kitchen. I scrubbed floors until my arms screamed and my knees went numb. The house above buzzed with dreams that weren't mine. But I whispered my secret like a prayer, over and over, until it felt real. I didn't care about winning. I just wanted out. And maybe... maybe I wanted to see who the Prince really was.