The fever had broken by morning, leaving Xion weak but clearheaded. Elara had spent the night on watch, her back against the clinic door, and when he woke she was already preparing to leave—efficient, focused, revealing nothing of whether she'd slept at all.

  "Where to today?" she asked as they stepped into the early morning streets.

  Xion had been considering that question all night, during the brief moments fever had allowed him coherent thought. "The Noble District. You need to see how the other half lives."

  "I've seen the Noble District. From outside the compound walls."

  "You've seen the facades." He adjusted the sling Elara had insisted he wear, trying to find a position that didn't make his shoulder throb. "You haven't seen what happens behind them."

  They walked through the awakening city, Xion leading them along routes he knew would avoid cartel patrols. The morning sun was already brutal, promising another scorching day, and by the time they reached the boundary between the Middle and Noble Districts, sweat had soaked through his shirt.

  The transition was stark. Suddenly the cracked cobblestones gave way to smooth marble. The cramped buildings opened into wide boulevards. And everywhere—*everywhere*—was water.

  Xion had seen it a hundred times before, but walking beside Elara, seeing it through her eyes, made the injustice feel fresh and raw.

  The first fountain stood in a small plaza, a marble confection depicting dolphins leaping through waves. Crystal-clear water arced from their mouths in perfect parabolas, splashing into a basin large enough to bathe a family. The excess overflowed onto the plaza stones, running in rivulets toward carefully placed drains.

  Elara stopped walking.

  "It's decorative," Xion said quietly, though she'd already understood. "There are seventeen fountains like this in the Noble District alone. Each one uses more water in a day than a family in the Middle District gets in a week."

  "And the Warrens?" Her voice was very controlled.

  "The Warrens get whatever the Middle District can't afford to buy."

  They stood watching as a noble woman passed the fountain, barely glancing at it. To her, it was simply part of the landscape—as unremarkable as the marble beneath her feet or the slaves carrying her packages.

  "Show me another," Elara said.

  The second fountain was larger, more elaborate. It featured a life-sized statue of some long-dead emperor, water cascading from a massive urn he held aloft. The basin here was surrounded by carefully manicured gardens, each plant receiving more daily water than a person in the Warrens might see in a month.

  Xion felt his shoulder beginning to ache—not from the wound, but from tension. His hands had curled into fists without him noticing.

  "In the Water District," he said, voice tight, "people are turned away from wells because their tokens aren't current. Because their family's water rights were revoked over unpaid taxes. Because they were born to the wrong bloodline." He gestured to the fountain. "And here, they water *decorative plants*."

  Elara's breathing had gone shallow. When Xion glanced at her, he caught the flash of amber in her eyes before she forced them back to blue.

  "Keep walking," he murmured. "Don't look too long."

  But the third fountain was impossible not to stare at.

  It dominated an entire square, a multi-tiered monstrosity that must have cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. Water flowed from the top tier down through increasingly elaborate basins, each carved with scenes of imperial glory. At the bottom, it collected in a pool deep enough to swim in, its surface scattered with lotus flowers that served no purpose beyond aesthetics.

  A group of noble children played near the edge, laughing as they splashed each other. Their nursemaid sat nearby, fanning herself while water—precious, life-giving water—was wasted for the amusement of bored aristocrats.

  "They don't even see it," Elara whispered. "To them, this is normal."

  "It's worse than that." Xion's wound was definitely aching now, pain radiating down his arm in time with his pulse. "They think this is their *right*. That their blood entitles them to waste what others die for."

  One of the children shrieked with delight as another pushed him into the pool. The boy surfaced laughing, water streaming from his expensive clothes. The nursemaid barely looked up.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  Xion watched Elara's hands clench at her sides. Her eyes had begun to cycle—blue to amber to violet and back again—the changes coming faster than he'd ever seen.

  "Elara," he said quietly. "We need to go."

  "No." The word came out sharp. "I need to see this. I need to *remember* this."

  But her control was slipping. The colors in her eyes flashed brighter with each breath, and passersby were beginning to notice. An elderly merchant gave her a second glance. A servant paused in his duties, squinting.

  "Your eyes," Xion hissed.

  Elara squeezed them shut, but not before he saw violet blaze like fire. When she opened them again, they were blue, but her whole body was trembling.

  "How do you stand it?" Her voice was raw. "Watching this every day, knowing what it costs, and being powerless to change it?"

  "I don't." His own anger was a living thing now, feeding off hers, off the casual cruelty displayed before them. "I help who I can. I try not to think about everyone else. And most days, I fail."

  "There has to be a way." She turned to him, and the fury in her face was matched by the determination. "A way to make them see. To make them understand what they're doing."

  "Understanding won't change them." Xion heard the bitterness in his voice. "They know. On some level, they all know. They just don't care."

  "Then we make them care."

  "How?"

  "I don't know yet." Elara looked back at the fountain, at the children splashing in water that could save lives. "But I will. When I take the throne, when I have the power—"

  "When you take the throne, they'll fight you every step of the way." Xion's shoulder was screaming now, but he pushed through it. "This system works for them. They profit from it. They won't give that up without a fight."

  "Then let them fight." Her eyes flashed violet again, held it for a heartbeat longer than was safe. "I'm not afraid of nobles who think wasting water is their birthright."

  "You should be." He caught her arm, pulling her away from the fountain, away from the watching eyes. "They're dangerous precisely because they don't think they're doing anything wrong. They'll destroy you with clear consciences because in their minds, maintaining their privileges *is* the greater good."

  They walked in silence for several blocks, putting distance between themselves and the ostentatious display of wealth. Xion could feel Elara processing what she'd seen, could see it in the set of her shoulders and the controlled fury in her movements.

  Finally, she spoke. "I want to see the Warrens."

  Xion stopped walking. "What?"

  "You've shown me the wealth. Show me the cost." Her voice was steady now, but no less intense. "I need to see where that water *should* be going. I need to see what my family's name has been used to justify."

  "The Warrens are dangerous. Especially for—"

  "Especially for an imperial heir?" Her smile was sharp. "Good thing no one knows that's what I am."

  "Elara, I'm serious. The cartels don't control the Warrens the way they control the rest of the city. There are factions down there, gangs, people desperate enough to kill for a handful of copper. Even I don't go there often, and I'm—" He stopped himself before saying "known there as Master Fen."

  "Then maybe we start somewhere else." She studied his face, clearly seeing the concern there. "Somewhere that shows me how the nobility *really* operates. Not just their waste, but their cruelty."

  An idea formed, dangerous but possible. "There's a masquerade ball in three days. The Larannas estate—Silvanno's mother is hosting. It's one of the major social events of the season."

  "You want me to infiltrate a noble party?"

  "I want you to see them when they think no one's watching. When they're hidden behind masks and drunk on expensive wine." Xion met her eyes. "That's when the truth comes out. That's when you'll hear what they really think about the people they're ruling."

  Elara considered this, her expression thoughtful. "And the masks would hide my identity."

  "They'd hide your face." He held her gaze, making sure she understood. "But masks don't cover eyes, Elara. You'd have to maintain perfect control the entire time. No matter what you heard, no matter what you saw, your eyes would have to stay one color."

  "I can do that."

  "Can you?" He thought of her eyes flashing violet at the fountain, the rapid cycling she'd barely controlled. "Because if you slip even once, if someone sees the royal trait—"

  "I understand the risk." Her voice carried that imperial tone he was learning to recognize. "But I also understand that I need to see this. To witness how they behave when they think they're among their own kind."

  Xion wanted to argue further, wanted to point out all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong. But he also understood her need. She'd spent twenty years preparing to rule these people without ever truly knowing them. Three days at a masked ball, listening to their unguarded conversations, might teach her more than any amount of theoretical study.

  "All right," he said finally. "But we'll need proper clothing. And we'll need to teach you how to move in those circles, how to speak their language without standing out."

  "I had etiquette training."

  "You had imperial etiquette training. There's a difference." He started walking again, his mind already planning the logistics. "Noble society has its own codes, its own signals. One wrong word, one misplaced gesture, and they'll know you don't belong."

  "Then teach me."

  "I will. But Elara?" He stopped, turning to face her. "After the ball, after you've seen how they really are—you're still going to want to go to the Warrens, aren't you?"

  "Yes." No hesitation.

  Xion sighed. "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it."

  "Meaning you'll try to talk me out of it later."

  "Meaning I'll try to keep you alive long enough to make your own terrible decisions." But there was no heat in his words, just resignation. He'd known from the moment she agreed to stay outside the compound that this partnership would mean following her into danger.

  They walked in silence for a while, both processing the morning's revelations. The fountains had done exactly what Xion had hoped—and feared. Elara's understanding had shifted from abstract knowledge to visceral fury. She'd seen the waste, felt the injustice, and her eyes had betrayed the depth of her rage.

  The masquerade would be even more dangerous. Not because of physical threat, but because of what it would reveal about the people she was supposed to rule. And if her control slipped, if those color-changing eyes gave her away...

  But that was a problem for later. For now, they had three days to prepare. Three days to teach an imperial heir how to blend in with the very nobles whose system she intended to destroy.

  As they left the Noble District behind, Xion caught one last glimpse of the massive fountain, still flowing, still wasting, still beautiful in its terrible excess.

  Three days. It would have to be enough.