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time.
Lyn.
They could marry soon. Preparations for a wedding had been in the Royal family’s press book since she was sixteen; they could pull it out in a month if they wanted to.
    The media would love and loathe that. It would give them a month’s worth of blanket coverage, but they’d have less time to speculate over her dress, the colour scheme, the music . . . there was nothing like a Royal wedding to spark a media storm. And one with
two
beautiful brides? It would be a frenzy! An enormous celebration. Street parties and teacups printed with their faces and photographs in all the magazines. It thrilled her to think about it.
    She had to get planning! No high street dress would do this time, she needed a top designer. She wondered if House of Perrod would be free. Who was she kidding? They would drop everything for her . . .
    Voices interrupted her reverie. ‘What are we going to do, Ander?’ It was her mother’s shrill voice. Eve could sense her over on the far side of the room, pacing in a circle, her high heels tapping on the floor. It was strange to have her there, but then Eve remembered – they must have come to meet Lyn. Of course they would need to meet her before they announced an engagement! She couldn’t remember her mother ever caring about her in a way that felt maternal – nannies and Royal advisors had raised her. But she could imagine her parents caring about who she married. They would be so relieved.
    Her father was in the room too, and he sat in the throne he brought with him from place to place.
    ‘We can’t
do
anything,’ came her father’s reply. ‘The Hunt has been called.’
    ‘But you’re the King. Surely you can stop this? How can we trust those quacks to come up with the cure for our daughter when
she
is involved! Your vile sister Emi—’
    ‘DON’T say her name in this Palace,’ the King fumed. ‘You can’t be sure . . .’ He paused, and then whispered, ‘That you won’t be calling her presence right into this room.’ There was only one name that could fill her father’s voice with such fear. Her aunt, the exiled Emilia Thoth. At eighteen, she left the Palace, allegedly to go to university in Gergon. Instead, at twenty-one she staged a coup to steal the crown – an attempt that ended with her official exile from Nova.
    Emilia didn’t believe in the contract that bound the Royal family’s power to Nova’s elected government. The agreement turned them into figureheads, held in the utmost regard but unable to exploit their full capacity for magic. The result was peace and democracy for the country. It worked perfectly.
    Only Emilia and her power hungry followers didn’t think so. The whispered rumours said she still lived in Gergon, where a royal family ruled with fists made iron by magic. Gergon never verified claims that they harboured Emilia – to do so would be tantamount to starting a war – but it wasn’t hard to guess that they’d want her there, in their back pocket, in case anything went wrong in Nova.
    Because the one thing the King and Queen couldn’t get away from was that Emilia was next in line if anything happened to Eve.
    ‘We’ve sent a team of agents after her through the Summons,’ continued the King. ‘We’ll find her and stop her before anything can happen to Evelyn.’
    ‘You don’t know that! And what of the other Participants? They’re all at risk now.’
    ‘Someone will just have to cure Evelyn before she causes too much damage and then Emilia will be banished back to wherever she came from. The Participants know the dangers when they sign up.’
    ‘Ha! Do you think they’re prepared for dangers like your sister? She will stop at
nothing
to eliminate the competition
.
’
    Her father squirmed in his throne. ‘There are ten Participants competing against her – and still others that haven’t joined yet. Besides, Zol will win.’
    ‘He had better. Where is that man, anyway? I need to talk to him about his wretched son.’
    As