Amora lay in the courtyard garden and let the young dragon rest its head on her chest. The hatchling had brown scales and claws sharp enough to tear stone, but with her it only breathed slow and warm. She scratched under its jaw. It made a sound like a purr. This was the true love she wanted, and she knew her mother would never allow it. Her mother ruled by fear. The Queen of Hearts had bent the great silver Jabberwock with terror, chained it, screamed it into obedience. It had an egg given by its mate before the Queen had it killed off many years prior and Amora had hatched that egg. Amora had done the opposite of her mother. The hatchling loved her. That was the secret she hid, because a daughter whose beasts obeyed out of affection made her mother look weak. Amora had a unique gift of love and empathy, she could bend men’s minds to love and feel hope, she could stop wars with that power. A shadow fell across the roses. The Queen of Hearts stood at the garden gate. Her red buns towered under the golden crown, and the hearts on her gown seemed to mock the ones stitched on Amora's own dress. "Get that creature off you," the Queen said. "You look like a stable girl." Amora sat up slowly. The hatchling pressed against her side and hissed at the Queen. "You will marry the prince from the eastern lands," the Queen went on. "Within the week. He is coming to sign the papers. Wear something that shows off your beauty." "I don't love him," Amora said. "I've never even met him." The Queen laughed. "Love. Do you hear yourself?" She stepped closer, and her heels crushed a fallen rose. "You will marry where I say. That is the end of it." Amora's heart pounded. She thought of the prince, a stranger with a treaty in his hand. She thought of the true love she was searching for, and knew it would die the moment she signed. So she stood. She put her hand on the hatchling's back. "No," Amora said. The word rang across the garden. The Queen's face went pale, then red. "You dare refuse me?" "I refuse him," Amora said. "I won't marry a man I don't love. Not for a treaty. Not for you." The Queen's black glove shot out and seized Amora's wrist. The hatchling snarled and snapped at her arm. The Queen jerked back, and Amora saw real fear cross her mother's face. Fear of the beast that would not obey her. "You think that thing protects you," the Queen hissed. "I will have it caged by morning. And you will be locked in the tower until the prince arrives. We will see how bold you are then." She swept away, calling for the guards. Amora dropped to her knees beside the hatchling. She had said no, and it had cost her everything. Now her mother knew her secret. The dragon that loved her was marked for a cage, and Amora for a tower. She had one week and no plan. But she had refused, and she would not take it back.

By morning the guards had come. They locked Amora in the highest tower of the dark red castle. Rose vines climbed the stone below her window, but the door behind her held a bolt she could not reach. The dragon hatchling had slipped in before they sealed it. It sat on the windowsill now, brown scales catching the gray light, watching her pace. Amora had one week and no plan. Her mother ruled by fear, and no one at this court would stand against the Queen of Hearts. But she had one person left who might. Her aunt. Mirana the White Queen ruled her own castle far from here. She had platinum hair, almost white, and a crown of silver crystal. Years before Amora was born, the two sisters had hated each other. Then, somehow, they had made peace. They had loved each other again. Amora did not know what broke that love the second time. She only knew her aunt had once been kind, and kindness was rare in this kingdom. Amora sat at the small table and found paper and ink. Her hand shook as she wrote. "Dear Aunt Mirana," she began. She told her everything. She told her about the dragon that loved her instead of fearing her. She told her about the prince, the treaty, the tower. She wrote that she wanted allies who valued gentleness over cruelty. She wrote that her mother meant to cage the hatchling and force the marriage. "You made peace with her once," Amora finished. "If anyone can reach her, it is you. Please help me." She folded the letter. Then she looked at the hatchling. "I need you to carry this," she said. "To Chessflower Castle. To my aunt." The hatchling tilted its head. It made the low sound it made only for her. Amora tied the letter to its leg with a strip of red silk torn from her gown. She stroked its jaw one last time. "Fly fast," she whispered. "And come back." The hatchling spread its wings. It climbed onto the sill, looked back at her once, then dropped into the open air. Amora rushed to the window. She watched the small brown shape rise over the rose vines and beat toward the pale horizon until it vanished. The letter was gone. She had done the one thing she could do. But when she turned from the window, her stomach dropped. The dragon was her only guard. Now it was miles away. Her mother had promised to cage it by morning. The Queen would send men to the tower and find the creature missing. She would know Amora had sent it somewhere. And a dragon flying free toward the White Queen's castle would tell her mother exactly who Amora had asked for help. Amora pressed her hand to the cold stone. Her plea was flying to safety. So was the only proof of her defiance.

Two mornings passed. Amora slept badly and woke to hooves on stone. She ran to the tower window. A white carriage stood at the heart-shaped gates below, drawn up beside the red rose bushes. And beside the carriage crouched a dragon. Amora's breath caught. It was her hatchling. But the small brown creature was gone. In its place stood a full-grown beast, its scales gleaming silver and brown, its wings folded high above the roses. Two days ago it had fit on her windowsill. Now it towered over the guards, who kept their distance. She knew at once whose work this was. Only one person could make a thing grow with kindness instead of fear. Her aunt. Mirana stepped down from the carriage. Amora had not seen her in years. Her aunt's hair fell almost white, and a silver crown caught the gray light. She did not shout at the guards. She did not need to. She lifted one hand to the huge dragon, and it lowered its head to her palm like a tame horse. The guards backed away. The whole courtyard seemed to hold still around her. Then the great doors of the castle opened. Amora's mother came out fast, her red skirts sweeping the steps. The Queen of Hearts stopped before her sister. Amora gripped the stone sill. She waited for the shouting, the guards, the cage her mother had promised. She could not hear the words. Her aunt spoke first, calm, her hands open at her sides. Her mother's shoulders were stiff. She pointed once at the dragon, then at the tower. Mirana shook her head slowly. She reached out and touched her sister's arm. She kept talking. Whatever she said, Amora saw her mother's shoulders drop, little by little. Amora pressed her face to the bars. This was what she had asked for. Kindness reaching her mother where nothing else could. Then it happened. The Queen of Hearts stepped forward and pulled her sister into her arms. The two women held each other tight beside the roses. Amora had never seen her mother hold anyone. Her eyes stung. Below, Mirana looked up. She found the tower window and found Amora. She lifted her hand and waved, a small, sure gesture, as if to say the danger had passed. Amora waved back with both hands. The dragon lifted its huge head toward her and made the low sound it had always made only for her. It knew her still. A short while later, the bolt on her door scraped open. A guard stood aside. Amora walked out of the tower on her own feet. But in the courtyard, her mother was already speaking again, quieter now, and her aunt was nodding. Amora caught two words as she came down the steps. The prince. The marriage still stood. Her cage was open. The wedding was not gone.

The throne room was empty when Amora entered. Red roses climbed the dark walls of the keep, and the heart-shaped windows let in thin gray light. She had come down from the tower on her own feet, but the wedding still stood. So she waited here for her mother. She meant to ask, plainly, for the marriage to end. Her red boots made no sound on the stone. She folded her hands over the laced hearts stitched on her gown and stood before the throne. Doors opened at the far end. Her mother came first, red skirts sweeping, the golden heart crown high on her curls. Behind her walked Amora's aunt, Mirana, the White Queen, calm in ivory. Amora had learned to trust that calm. Her aunt had freed her from the tower with soft words alone. "You wish to speak," her mother said. Her voice was quieter than before, but the marriage sat between them like a closed gate. Amora opened her mouth. Then a figure slipped past both queens and ran straight at her. A young woman caught Amora in her arms and held tight. Her hair was platinum, almost white, braided loose down her back. Her pale boots skidded on the stone. She smelled of cold air and travel. "Cousin," the young woman said. Tears ran down her face. "I have not seen you since we were about four." Amora went still. Lumi. Mirana's daughter. She had been a small memory, a name her mother never spoke. Now Lumi clung to her as if no years had passed. Amora's arms rose and closed around her. "Lumi," she whispered. Her own eyes stung. For the first time in that cold red room, she was not alone against her mother. Mirana watched them, her hands open at her sides. "I brought her to meet you," she said. "Family should know family." Amora held her cousin a moment longer. Then she stepped back and faced her mother. The fear that had shaken her in the tower was gone. Lumi stood at her shoulder now. "I will not marry the prince," Amora said. Her voice did not break. "You gave me life and I love you but please let me choose my own love." The Queen of Hearts stared at her daughter. Her gloved hands worked at her red skirts. For a long breath she said nothing. "The prince arrives tomorrow," she said at last. "He has already left the east. I cannot turn him at the gate without insult." She lifted her chin. "Meet him. Sit with him one evening. Then, if you still refuse, I will hear you." It was not freedom. But it was a door left open. Amora bowed her head. "One evening," she agreed. Lumi took her hand and squeezed it. Amora squeezed back. Tomorrow the prince would come, and she would have to face him. But she would not face him alone.

The prince's carriage rolled up to the heart-shaped gates at dusk. Amora stood on the stone stairs outside the dark red keep, her mother beside her. Red rose bushes crowded the walls. Amora smoothed the laced hearts on her gown and waited. She had agreed to one evening. One evening, and then she would say no. The carriage door opened. A young man stepped out. His hair was blond, his eyes pale blue. A lion glinted in gold thread on his dark tunic, and a black cloak hung from his shoulders. He climbed the stairs and stopped before them. Amora curtsied. Her mother watched, gloved hands folded, saying nothing for once. The prince took Amora's hand. He bent and kissed it. "I have heard of your beauty, Princess," he said softly. "I was not told a lie." Amora drew her hand back. She thanked him with a small nod. But the words sat wrong in her chest. He had crossed a kingdom to praise her face. He did not know her at all. She did not want a love built on that. She wanted someone who would ask what she feared, what she loved, what she kept hidden in the tower nights. The Queen of Hearts smiled her tight red smile. "Come, Prince Lionel. Dine with us." She swept toward the doors, skirts hissing on the stone. Amora saw her mother's hope. The Queen wanted this to work. It would end the fight, close the gate, make the whole thing tidy. Inside, candles burned along the long table. Prince Lionel sat across from Amora and spoke of his lands, his horses, his hunts. He was polite. He laughed at the right moments. But he never once asked her a question. Amora ate little. She thought of the dragon that loved her, of the letter she had sent, of everything that made her herself. None of it lived at this table. When the plates were cleared, the Queen looked at her daughter. The question hung in the air without words. Amora set down her cup. "Prince Lionel," she said. "You have been kind. You came a long way." She kept her voice steady. "But I cannot marry you. You praised my face at the gate. You know nothing else of me, and you have not tried to." The prince blinked. His cheeks went red. "Princess, I meant no—" "I know," Amora said. "That is the trouble." Her mother's hands clenched on the table. For a long breath the Queen said nothing. Then she rose. "You gave me one evening," she said. "You have given it." Her jaw was tight, but she did not shout. "I will not force him on you." Amora's heart lifted. The marriage was over. Prince Lionel bowed stiffly. But the Queen turned to her daughter, her eyes hard. "You refused a prince, Amora. Now every crowned house will hear you sent one home. Who will come for you after this?"

The morning after the prince's dinner, Amora walked into the garden of the dark red keep. Red rose bushes climbed the walls. An idea had come to her in the night. Prince Lionel had crossed a kingdom for a bride. She did not want him. But her cousin Lumi might. If Lumi liked him, no one had come all this way for nothing, and the crowned houses would have their wedding after all. Her aunt Mirana sat on a stone bench among the roses. Mirana was the White Queen, Amora's aunt, who had freed her from the tower with calm words instead of force. Her platinum hair fell loose over her white gown. Beside her sat Lumi, Mirana's daughter, her braid pale as her mother's, her white boots tucked under the bench. Lumi was pulling petals from a rose and letting them drop. "I am tired of waiting," Lumi said. She did not see Amora yet. "Every girl I know has someone. I want a husband. Someone brave. Someone who will look at me." She sighed and dropped another petal. Amora stopped on the path. This was easier than she had hoped. "Then I may have news for you," she said. Lumi turned. Mirana looked up, her gray eyes calm. "A prince came to my keep," Amora said. "Prince Lionel. He rode across a kingdom to find a bride. He is blond, blue-eyed, and kind at the table." She sat between them. "I refused him. But I think he should meet you." Lumi's eyes went wide. "Me?" "You want a husband," Amora said. "He wants a wife. Why should he leave with nothing?" At that moment boots crossed the stone. Prince Lionel came through the roses, his cloak over one arm. He had lingered at the keep, unsure whether to leave. He stopped when he saw the three women. His eyes moved to Lumi and stayed there. Lumi stood. She smoothed her gown. "You are the prince," she said. "I am." He bowed. Then he did what he had never done for Amora. "May I know your name?" "Lumi." She smiled. "Do you truly ride and hunt? Tell me." He stepped closer and began to speak, and this time he asked her a question back. Amora watched them lean toward each other over the roses. It was working. The prince was pleased. Lumi glowed. Mirana touched Amora's hand. "You are clever, niece," she said quietly. "But look at your own face." Amora watched Lumi laugh at something the prince said. She had solved the problem. The prince would not go home empty. Her mother would be pleased. Yet a small ache sat in her chest. She had found love for everyone but herself. She rose and left them to the roses, more alone than before.