Morning came too quickly. Vesa pulled the curtains wide, and sunlight poured across the room like an ambush. My eyes narrowed against the glare, my head still heavy from too little sleep. Not that I’d really tried. Thoughts had kept circling—pages of plants, crimson thorns, the vines etched into that book. And now, the ceremony waiting just beyond the door.

“My lady.” Vesa’s voice was even, precise. “The bath is prepared. You are expected to be ready.”

Expected. Always expected.

Steam rose from the tub, faint with lavender. I let my hands sink into the water, staring at pale skin, at the streak of green hair brushing my shoulder. Jeanne’s body. My body now. Today would be the last day it carried the name Dorian. After tonight, I would be Jeanne Baret. The name still felt like a costume I hadn’t broken in yet. Was I Jeanne, or Sylvia wearing someone else’s skin?

“Has the hall been prepared?” I asked, sliding lower into the warmth.

“Yes. The master ordered it done at dawn. Your gown is laid out.”

Of course he had. Count Dorian adored order and appearances. Even the daughter he’d written off had to be wrapped in silk when displayed before the court.

The gown was pale as frost, heavy silk stitched with the Dorian crest. Too fine for someone they meant to discard. It dragged at my shoulders, but Jeanne’s body remembered the posture drills—spine straight, chin high, unshaken. At least muscle memory had its uses.

We walked the halls, servants lined like shadows, heads bowed. Whispers stirred, but I didn’t catch them. The gown glittered faintly, my hair a bright slash of green against it. For once, I wasn’t invisible.

The ceremonial chamber loomed, ceiling vaulted, shadows heavy. Four banners hung—Dorian, Valcrest, Marren, Kallix—symbols of decay, steel, storm, and fire. And above them all, the royal crest: Ruin. Power to unravel anything, strong enough to eclipse even the dukes and carve the empire’s shape.

I shook my head slightly. Honestly, was every great family competing to see who could destroy the world in the flashiest way possible?

The air was thick with incense and stone. Nobles filled the benches, silk flashing, eyes sharp as blades. Green hair. Useless gift. The judgment pressed heavier than the gown, though no one spoke it aloud.

“The child of the Dorian house—come forward.”

My pulse thudded as I stepped onto the dais.

The officiant, robed in crimson, unrolled a scroll. “Jeanne of Dorian. Sixteen years of age. Gifted with Growth, as recorded. Today you take your place as ruler of a march under the crown. Do you accept this charge?”

“I do.” Steady. Detached.

“Then kneel.”

The stone was icy beneath my knees. His rod touched my shoulder, runes glowing faintly. Power pricked my skin, the gift inside me recognized. “From this day, you are Jeanne of Baret, Margravine of the Salt Coast. Serve, and be judged worthy by crown and kingdom alike.”

A cheer rose—thin, polite, hollow. Not one of them cared if I ever returned.

“Rise, Jeanne Baret.”

I stood. The name pressed against me like new armor—strange, heavy, but mine.

Father inclined his head the barest fraction, duty discharged, eyes already elsewhere. Mother dabbed her lips with a napkin, gaze drifting past me as though I were smoke. Alive, yes. Present, no.

My eldest brother raised his cup in a lazy toast, smirk tugging his mouth. The youngest glared, still nursing last night’s defeat. Both already looked through me as if I had left.

The nobles filed out, silk rustling, chatter swelling like meaningless birdsong.

Vesa drew close, her words low. “The carriage is prepared, my lady. You leave at first light tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. No long farewells, no waiting. Just one night, then exile to the coast with a new name and whatever fate waited there.

I let out a slow breath. Baret March. Salty soil, storms, pirates—that was the rumor. But it was land. Mine. And land meant plants, ones I hadn’t seen, hadn’t touched, hadn’t catalogued. The itch of discovery stirred again, stronger than fear.

“Very well,” I murmured, straightening the gown. “Let’s see what awaits.”