The corridor ended in a T. Scarlet turned right and found an alcove that dropped into a bright stairwell. Once the door had shut behind them, Scarlet shook out the tablecloth and draped it around Winter, doing her best to knot it into something that resembled a cloak, hiding the blood and the princess’s recognizable beauty. Deeming her work passable, she grabbed Winter’s hand and headed down the steps. As they reached the second landing, the walls changed to rough gray-brown stone. They were underground, in the sublevels of the palace.

Three floors down they emerged onto a platform lit by glowing sconces. Before them were silent magnetic rails. Scarlet approached the ledge, peering each way down the tunnel.

She spotted a second doorway, arched and trimmed with phosphorescent tiles. The entry into the palace corridors, as opposed to the dull servants’ entrance.

Something clicked. The magnets started to hum. Heart launching into her throat, Scarlet held out her arm and backed Winter against the wall. A bullet-shaped shuttle emerged from the tunnel and glided to a stop on the tracks. Scarlet held still, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t see them, wouldn’t even glance their way.

The shuttle door lifted with a hiss of hydraulics and a giggling noblewoman stepped out, wearing a flamboyant emerald-green gown that glittered with jeweled peacock feathers. A man followed in a tunic stitched with runes similar to those worn by the thaumaturges. He reached over and squeezed the woman’s backside. She squealed and swished him away.

Scarlet didn’t breathe until they’d stumbled to the door and their laughter faded in the stairwell.

“That was not her husband,” Winter whispered.

“I really don’t care.” Scarlet lunged toward the shuttle. “Open!”

The shuttle didn’t move. The door didn’t open.

“Open, you stupid piece of junk!” Digging her fingers into the crack of the door, Scarlet tried to pry it open. Her injured finger throbbed for the first time in days. “Come on. What’s wrong with this thing? How do we—”

The door opened, nearly knocking Scarlet off balance. A robotic voice said, “Transport to Artemisia Port E.”

Goose bumps rushed along her skin, but she urged Winter inside, silently thanking whatever invisible ally was helping them. Climbing in after Winter, Scarlet collapsed onto a bench. The door breezed shut, sealing them inside. As the shuttle lifted and began to glide down the tracks, Winter added, “For escape.”

Scarlet swiped her damp forehead with a dirty sleeve. When she felt her panic settle down enough to speak, she asked, “What happened back there? In the menagerie?”

The strength that had entered Winter’s eyes just as quickly extinguished. “The queen sent him to kill me,” she said, “but he killed Ryu instead.”

Scarlet unzipped her hoodie, trying to cool her burning skin. “Why does the queen want to kill you?”

“She believes I am a threat to her crown.”

Scarlet snorted, an exhausted sound that didn’t carry half as much derision as it should have. “Really? Has she ever heard you talk?”

Winter turned questioning eyes on her.

“Because you’re crazy,” explained Scarlet. “Not exactly queen material. No offense.”

“I cannot be queen because I am not of royal descent. Her Majesty is only my stepmother. I have none of her blood.”

“Right, because that’s what’s important in a ruler.”

Though there were two monarchies in the Earthen Union—the United Kingdom and the Eastern Commonwealth—Scarlet had grown up in Europe, a democracy made up of checks and balances, voter ballots, and province representatives. She generally figured, to each his own, and clearly the countries of the Union were doing something right to have gotten through 126 years of world peace.

But that wasn’t the case with Luna. Something was broken with their system.

The shuttle began to slow. Scarlet glanced toward the window as the rocky black cave opened up to an enormous spaceship port bustling with activity. The tiled floor glowed, casting the shadows of countless ships against the dark walls. But this dock was crowded and huge, with several more sets of maglev tracks bringing in more shuttles every second. Cargo was being unloaded on another set of tracks, food and goods coming in from the outer sectors, by men who yelled at one another in abbreviated orders that sounded like another language.

“Bay 22,” Scarlet reminded herself as their shuttle door opened. “Try to fit in.”

Winter glanced at her, a moment of perfect clarity and even humor in the look.

She was right. They were filthy. They were bloody. Winter was a well-loved princess who was prettier than a bouquet of roses and crazier than a headless chicken.

Fitting in would be a miracle.

“You could use your glamour,” Scarlet suggested.

The connection severed and Winter turned away. “No. I couldn’t.” She stepped out onto the platform.

Scarlet followed, relieved that she didn’t see anyone wearing rich finery and donning ridiculous headpieces. This was a place for trade and cargo, not aristocrats, but that didn’t mean they were safe. Already she could sense the workers pausing, looking again, staring.

“You mean you won’t,” said Scarlet.

“I mean I won’t,” agreed the princess.

“Then at least keep your head down.” Scarlet adjusted the tablecloth material over Winter’s hair as they moved away from the rails.

The port was enormous, stretching far into the distance. Hundreds of dark alcoves lined either side, numbers carved above them. Scarlet scanned the cargo as they passed, her eye catching on words of war.

SMALL ARMS AMMUNITION

DELIVER: LUNAR REGIMENT 51, PACK 437

THAUM LAIGHT, ALPHA GANUS

STATIONED: ROME, ITALY, EF, EARTH

Ammunition. These were weapons destined for Earth to aid in Luna’s war efforts.

Don’t react, she told herself, fists clenching. Every fiber in her body yearned to find a weapon and set fire to every crate in this port.

Don’t react. Do not react.

Steadying her breath, she forged ahead, Winter trailing beside her. She caught E7 stenciled on a wall to her left, E8 on her right. Almost there.

It took every ounce of willpower not to sprint to Bay 22.

“Can I help you?”

They paused. A worker stepped toward them wearing filthy coveralls. “What are you…” He caught himself, his gaze landing on Winter, or what he could see of her down-turned face. “I … forgive me. Your Highness?”

Winter looked up. Color flooded into the man’s cheeks.

“It is you,” he breathed. “I didn’t … can I help you, Your Highness?”

Scarlet bristled. No one else had noticed them yet. She grabbed the man’s arm before he bowed. “Her Highness does not wish to be gawked at. If you want to help, you can escort us to Bay 22.”

Anxiety flashed across the man’s face and he nodded, as if he were afraid of her. Maybe he thought she was a thaumaturge in training.

“Y-yes, of course. Right this way.”

Scarlet released him and shot Winter a cool glare, gesturing for her to hide her face again. The man’s stride was stiff as he led them past hovering cargo platforms and crates on complicated tracks. Scratching his neck with his free hand, he glanced twice over his shoulder.