The ballroom was quiet, except for the sound of brooms sweeping up the diamond dust. The servants moved in hushed circles, casting nervous glances at Vesper. They didn't understand what had happened. They had seen their confident, terrifying mistress turn into a sobbing, bleeding mess in the span of a single minute.
Vesper sat on a velvet chair near the balcony doors. A blanket—a real, wool blanket, not a velvet drape from a mirror—was wrapped around her shoulders. Her hands were bandaged where the glass had cut her.
Kieran stood beside her. He hadn't left her side for three hours. He stood differently now. Before, with the Reflection, he had stood at attention, like a soldier serving a general. Now, he stood closer, his body angled to shield her from the wind and the staring eyes of the staff.
"They are confused," Vesper whispered. Her voice was hoarse from screaming. "They are wondering where the Queen went."
"The Queen is sitting right here," Kieran said softly.
"No," Vesper shook her head. "They want her. The one who didn't cry. The one who didn't bleed. I saw the way they looked at her, Kieran. They respected her. They look at me with pity."
Vesper looked down at her bandaged hands. The Reflection—the Usurper—had signed treaties, ordered construction projects, and jailed criminals. She had been efficient. Vesper didn't even know where the keys to the treasury were.
"My Lady?"
Vesper jumped. The head steward, a man named Morris, was bowing in front of her. He looked terrified.
"My Lady," Morris stammered. "The... the council is waiting in the library. They say the treaties with the Northern Lords need your signature immediately. The 'Duchess' promised them an answer by midnight."
Vesper felt the panic rise in her throat like bile. The Northern Lords were brutal men. The Reflection had likely charmed or threatened them into submission. Vesper didn't know how to do either.
"I... I can't," Vesper stuttered. "Tell them to wait."
"They will not wait, My Lady," Morris said. "They say if you do not sign, they will march their armies home."
Vesper looked at a silver tray on the table next to her. For a second, she saw her face in the reflection. It looked pale, haunted, and weak. She felt a phantom pull, a desire to jump back into the mirror where it was safe, where she didn't have to deal with angry lords or expectations.
"She is better than you," the memory of the Reflection's voice echoed in her mind.
Vesper squeezed her eyes shut. "Kieran, what would she do?"
Kieran knelt in front of her. He took her bandaged hands in his.
"It doesn't matter what she would do," Kieran said firmly. "She was a lie, Vesper. She would probably manipulate them or threaten to kill them. Is that who you want to be?"
"I want to be strong," Vesper whispered.
"You broke the world to get back here," Kieran said. "You fought a demon made of magic and won. That is strength. Now, go in there and tell them the truth. Not her truth. Yours."
Vesper took a deep, shaky breath. She stood up. Her legs were still wobbly, and her dress was torn, but she nodded.
"Okay," she said. "Let's go to the library."