Kirastasia had always been an impatient, energetic creature, with adventure constantly tugging at her heartstrings like a needy lover pining at the door. She detested staying still; she chafed at the restrictions shackled upon her by her mother, her father, the pack that had collected her like a pretty trinket only to discard her a little while later. Why was she always being used for something? Leaving Kavik back at Saw Tooth had seemed like a whim, but after a night of introspection Kira recognized the restless vigor within herself. When all but lovely Kahlan had forgotten of her existence within that territory, the snowy princess felt herself waning into oblivion. She did not know a life without being under surveillance. What good was she if nobody wanted her? Since birth Queens had warned her of those that would scoop her up as a valuable pawn, but apparently the game had changed. Her status as a bargaining chip had crumbled. If that was the case . . .

The homesick lass had expected someone to be home when she ran back to her kingdom. If even one familiar face greeted her, then the ice damsel would know she existed. She’d feel real again. Yet Malignant’s sickening silence slapped her cruelly across the face. How on earth could she be an heiress with no inheritance? There was a vague sinister quality to the winter bird’s heart . . . an emptiness. She was a creature crafted to invent herself depending on the situation, to thrive and grow within the mirrors of her audience’s gaze. A performer. An actress. An artist. And as long as nobody watched the girl, if her tireless recitals went unseen, then there was only a dark stage. There cannot be art without somebody to see it. An abandoned pack was a pointless pack; Kirastasia might as well have stayed at Saw Tooth and clawed her way out of obscurity there.

Considering her addiction to attention, it came as a surprise to Kira herself that no malice stabbed her heart when she heard Carnival’s keening request for power—if one could call such a speech a “request.” The troubled she-wolf almost appeared pained when she addressed the two males not so long ago. Perhaps that was why the fishnet punkette hadn’t immediately swelled with indignity at the thought of someone sniffing at her throne . . . ah, but that was unfair. Such a quiet, dying pack wouldn’t give her a proper coronation, anyway. It wasn’t as if the dark-eyed darling had secretly thirsted for power the entire time she’d been in Saw Tooth. Kirastasia had never once imagined herself stepping up to replace Queens should her mother one day fail to return. There was also the heartbreaking notion that—despite her bloodline—no one had ever actually intended Kirastasia to rule. She was more crown than queen—a beautiful and ultimately powerless accessory.

She’d grown restless that evening when the two males failed to respond to Carn in time. Unable to stand the pressure, Kirastasia had fled deeper into the shadowy forest, seeking the prison-den where she and Kavik had grown up. The dank dirt walls used to suffocate her . . . yet that night the girl slept more soundly than she had in months. The only reason she awoke was the rich sound of a challenging howl reverberating off the skeletal trees and shattering her dreams. Her heart stuttered in her breast. Carnival had meant it. That had been her voice, singing over Malignant Felicity. Would anyone answer the call . . . ?

Soft paws crept across the terra, calmly carrying the princess to the location of Carnival’s stand. Here rocks littered the ground, some cushy with moss that had withered beneath winter’s dry air. It wasn’t a spot the youngling was familiar with . . . but after her time away, most of these mysterious hallways seemed alien to her. Carnival’s reclining silhouette ahead looked impossibly surreal. Kira approached the older wolfess with her feathery tail swaying gently behind her, bejeweled maple eyes warm. “I’m not here to fight,” she murmured, still unsure of how to act before this unstable creature. “I’m not sure if anyone is left to fight. And if that’s the case, I suppose I’ll have to start calling you ‘Queen Carnival’.”