The ballroom had shifted.

Music hushed into silence, replaced by the soft hum of glamours blooming overhead. The chandeliers melted into arching vines that shimmered silver-green, lanterns dangling like jeweled fruit, each glass skin faintly glowing. Teachers and council members lined the check-in dais, black suits crisp, passing out slips and thin glass orbs no bigger than fists. Each orb glowed faint with inked names etched across its surface — waiting, incomplete.

The ritual had begun.

Students queued beneath the vine-arched ceiling, laughter pitched too high, perfume and nerves competing in the air. Lanterns bobbed faintly, like they were restless, like they could feel the anticipation pulsing through the room.

When Cassie and I stepped into line together, the hush fractured.

Whispers cut sharp through the hush, quick as fire through paper.

“Are they—”

“She’s with Fairborn—”

“But she’s the Princess—”

Their eyes hooked into my shoulders, heavy. Even when no one dared lift their phones openly, I heard the clicks, phantom or not. My glamour held — emerald eyes, ginger hair in a severe knot, ember-to-white gown alive with a slow fade that breathed firelight against my skin — but the word still gutted me: princess. It slid under the glamour like a knife, pinning me in place.

Cassie didn’t flinch. She never did. Her silver gown cut the light mercilessly, jeweled pins scattering sparks through her honey-gold waves. Without looking away from the arch, she angled her head just enough for me.

“They’re staring again, Firebrand,” she murmured, voice a blade wrapped in silk.

I snorted under my breath, even as heat pressed hard at my ribs. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Her mouth tilted in that smirk — sharp enough to draw blood, softened only at the edges for me. “I like it more when it makes you squirm.”

My chest stuttered. Not anger. Not dread. Something far more dangerous — the tug she always managed to draw from me, citrus-sharp and steadying. I tapped a quick three-beat against the seam of my gown, rolled the fabric between my fingers, braid tugged by a Small Folk fist from somewhere in my updo: don’t spark. Not here. Not yet.

We stepped forward. Side by side.

The line shuffled beneath the vine-arched ceiling, nervous laughter cutting like glass. Council members handed out slips and glass spheres, each etched name glowing faint until matched.

That was when Bree moved.

She cut near the table, obsidian gown swallowing the light, velvet smile sharp. Her fingers slipped across the stack of slips, sliding one into place at the top as though she were smoothing the pile. Too clean. Too rehearsed. Too Bree.

Roran’s hand closed over hers before she could finish the motion. Smooth, soldier-efficient — not rough, but final. His molten amber eyes didn’t shift. “That isn’t yours,” he said, voice low as a furnace hum.

Bree laughed brittle. “What? I was just—”

Naomi didn’t even move. She didn’t have to. One arched brow over violet eyes cut colder than any word. Frost slid through the ballroom like a draft.

Bree faltered. Her smile twitched, then broke. She withdrew, fussing with her gown as if nothing had happened. But whispers already snagged on her like burrs. Did you see?She tried—Embarrassing.

Focus swung back to me and Cassie.

Cassie brushed my hand, deliberate. Claiming. Her smirk flickered, triumph glinting in her eyes. Ours, that look said. Not hers.

And together, we stepped forward to claim our lantern.

Cool glass pressed into my palms, my name faint across its surface. Cassie’s mirrored sphere glowed in her hands. The ritual was simple: join them, strike the wick, let the light rise. Supposed to be modest. Supposed to blend.

We clasped the orb together, my hand folding over hers—

And the world caught.

Light flared, too bright, too sudden. White-gold fire surged upward, not soft but radiant, streaking the glamour-sky until it shattered awake. Constellations blazed alive overhead, gilding every student in molten afterburn.

Gasps cracked through the crowd.

“Oh my god—”

“Did you see—”

“That’s not normal—”

Phones snapped up in a wave, mortal flashes pitiful against the blaze.

My breath caught hard. But this wasn’t wildfire. Not the chaos of curtains burning, guilt scraping raw. This was clean. Controlled. Not destruction — declaration.

And in the sparks spinning upward, I saw them: the Small Folk. Dozens, scattering through the currents like embers. Balancing on sconces, riding chandelier arms, bowing, saluting, mimicking curtsies. To me. To us.

Unspoken crown. Unspoken claim.

Cassie’s grip didn’t falter. Her silver gown burned brighter in reflection, her hair molten halo. For a heartbeat she looked carved from the same white-gold fire.

And for the first time all night, I let them look.

The ballroom held its breath.

No music. No whispers. Just the golden veins crawling the glamour-sky.

Then the hush shattered.

Cheers erupted sharp, ragged. Shrieks tangled with gasps. Phones blinked like frantic stars.

Lucien stood slack-jawed at the edge of the floor, green-hazel eyes wide.

Kess let out a wolf whistle so sharp half the crowd jumped. Her golden eyes gleamed with pride and pure mischief.

Naomi smirked, arms folded. Her look cut clean through me: Told you so.

Ashlyn Dannon alone stayed poised, braid pristine as she marshaled council members to keep the surge of bodies from tipping into chaos.

But the whispers clawed louder than the cheers:

“That was a declaration.”

“It’s official — Quinveil and Fairborn.”

“No wonder she said they weren’t available.”

“The Princess has a girlfriend.”

Not rumor. Not speculation. The flare had sealed it. The refusals, the way her hand never left mine, every glance threaded into a single truth.

And now the entire school knew.

Above us, hundreds of lanterns blurred into one soft golden dome. Except ours.

Ours seared brighter, higher — flaring until it stained the glamour-sky itself.

Cassie’s hand locked on mine, iron-steady. She didn’t watch the crowd. She watched our lantern climb, chin tilted, eyes fierce like she’d lit it herself.

“Told you we’d set something on fire,” I muttered, low.

Her smile tilted sharp. “For once, you didn’t burn it down. You’re welcome.”

Heat tightened under my ribs, the kind only she ever coaxed out of me. “With you, it’s never just fire.”

She leaned close, words steel-soft against my skin. “Let them look.”

So I did.

I lifted my chin, fire humming under my gown, Cassie’s fingers laced tight in mine. Let them look. Let them whisper. Let the whole ballroom see.

Cassie at my side.

Our lantern blazing brighter than all the rest.