A bloodline like that terrified her, and terror made her practical. A hit-and-run, then. Walk in, get the cure, walk out. She let herself dream a little about the lavish life their riches would buy afterwards.
Then she sat down to a meal with her kidnapper.
Lithia felt embarrassed on her own behalf for ever having trusted this woman. When the woman asked her something across the table, she fumed silently at the shamelessness of it — sitting there, passing the bread, as if she had a right to any of this.
Feigning innocence, she asked whether they might visit the Herman Duchy.
Her mother's face changed. Suspicion, quick and careful. That, to Lithia, was as good as a confession.
She covered herself with a friend's name — the friend had gone, the friend had described it, she only wanted to see it once.
Her mother refused, citing the absence of her father.
Lithia smiled into her plate, relieved. She had known exactly which excuse would come.
Then her mother changed her mind and said they would go.
Lithia was left utterly shocked by the response. Her mind reeled. She lay awake that night baffled by the turn, going over her mother's sudden decision from every angle and finding no bottom to it. She weighed the risk, too: a wanted woman walking into the seat of the Herman family, where somebody might recognise her face.
While her mother slept, Lithia looked at her and silently warned her about the cruelty of the aristocracy.
By morning it was done, and she stood ready in a fancy new dress, annoyed at how early the hour was.
Then she gasped. Her mother was paying for the clothes with gold coins.
They had hired one of the rare monthly carriages. They had bought from a famous clothing store.
"You look pretty," her mother said, and Lithia decided she would play along, for now.
Her mother bought them chickpea bread from a street vendor, happily, as though this were an ordinary outing. Lithia scoffed inwardly at the carefree spending. A picnic, apparently. That was what all this gold was for.
Or perhaps, she thought bitterly, the woman was simply relieved to be rid of her at last.
The men from the shop motioned for them to board the carriage.
The journey began with a rattle, in a large wooden wagon, and went on rattling toward the duchy. She held her bear against her chest and blamed Monica for every pathetic year of the life she had already lived through once. She felt no guilt about any of it. It would only be troublesome, she reasoned, if Monica got herself caught.
She hugged the bear tighter. Her resolve set like cooling iron.
They arrived at Haven Street, brilliantly lit, in the heart of the Herman Duchy.
She remembered her mother describing this place — wealth and desire, all of it on display. A city where the night never came. The grand architecture of the duchy glowed under a sky full of stars.
She had hidden herself in a shop doorway to slip away unseen, and realised she had already missed her moment. She waited, listening, until the voices moved off down the street. Then she set her jaw and climbed out, ready to run.
Her escape lasted three steps.
A boy stood in her way, stern-faced, his silver hair very pale under the lamps. He said nothing at all. He simply looked at her with an intense, unhurried gaze.
Caught, she produced an awkward, wide-eyed smile. Be shameless, she told herself. Shameless people walk out of rooms all the time. She struck a cute pose and began her performance of innocence.
The boy remained suspicious. He wanted to know what she was staring at.
She remembered her mother's advice about people like him, and resolved to swindle him with her whole heart. She put on aristocratic airs and convinced herself, thoroughly, that the act was simply reality.
She announced her departure and turned to leave. He did not move.
She smirked. Truly, she could have been a famous actress.
A hand closed on her arm and stopped her.
"Tell me your name," he said calmly.
Panicked, she scrambled for an aristocratic name — any name — and heard herself say, brazenly, "Sophia Herman."
The boy looked entirely unconvinced. "The Herman princess," he repeated.
His eyes went to the shabby teddy bear under her arm, and she could feel him mocking it without a word.
"I have profound taste," she said, and turned to leave again.
A cold voice said, "Get her."
A hand reached for her. A grim-faced man snatched her up off the pavement, and she thrashed in his grip.
"Put me down!"
"That is a bold claim," the boy said. "The real princess was kidnapped. Impersonating her is a grave sin."
Even hanging in a stranger's arms, she was calculating. Caught was fine. Caught still worked, so long as caught meant the palace.
"Shall we proceed to the Herman Palace?" the boy asked, perfectly calm.
Her plan was working. She looked out over the man's shoulder with a delighted expression.
And there it was. The Herman Palace, magnificent, glowing against the night.
"Is this really the place?" she asked, still being carried, awe leaking through her act.
"Put me down. Please."
"I can't let you go," her captor said.
The silver-haired boy smirked up at her. "It would be troublesome if you ran away."
Annoying little kid, she thought, and kept smiling.
In the grand hall, the maids were already whispering. Sir Ian had brought a guest. Who was the little girl, they wondered, when he was already engaged?
A man with a goatee led her through it all, and Sophia was overwhelmed. They must be incredibly rich, she thought — no, they must be so rich it was rude. Her eyes widened over a lion statue of solid gold and she very nearly drooled on the carpet. Then a chandelier, also real gold, hanging like a captured constellation.
Then vases, ornate, gold again.
She turned to the silver-haired boy. "Ian," she said, confused, "what is going on?"
A look of dawning horror crossed her face as she recognised the man waiting for them.
Hercio Herman stood there with a document in his hand.
They told his legend everywhere in the empire — Hercio, the silver lion king, an immortal war god who had once cut a monstrous lion in half with a single slice of his sword.
Sophia sat very quietly on a red sofa afterwards, holding her teddy bear for comfort. She shivered. The aura coming off Hercio and off the men standing behind her was intensely, personally frightening. Their glares felt murderous.
What grave sin, she wondered, could she possibly have committed?
"You."
Sophia looked up with a start.