My mother goes to the stove where a kettle sits steaming. My father motions for me to move away from the doorway. He walks to the front room.

“I’m going out to the front garden to pull down the lines,” my father says.

“That’s woman’s work,” the other man says.

“It is,” my father replies. “But my wife is getting your tea.”

The man huffs. The front door opens, and a moment later my father cries out.

“Sophia!”

The man in the front room clambers to his feet and out the door. “Where is she?” he barks.

“I saw her! There!”

The man’s boots pound the ground as he runs in whatever direction my father has pointed to.

My mother wraps her arms around me as my father sweeps over in a silent rage.

“They came looking for you,” he says through gritted teeth. “They have guards posted at the end of our street.”

My mother steps aside. I’ve never seen him so angry.

“Is it true you assaulted one of the suitors and fled on foot?” my mother asks.

“I didn’t have a choice,” I say.

“How could you put us in this position?” my father asks.

“What about the position you’ve put me in?” I can’t believe that they are making it seem like this is my fault.

“We put you in a position to succeed in finding a good match. You could have wooed the king himself. You would have been chosen by someone.” My father rubs his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed.

“You don’t even know what happened up there! It was worse than anything I could have imagined. Some of those men were older than Grandpa, and some of them were looking for two girls at a time.”

My mother looks as if she’s going to be sick. “It’s disgusting, Morgan,” my mother says to my father. I’m struck silent. She so rarely expresses any doubt about the king’s laws or the ball itself.

“You have broken the law,” my father says. “Do you care for nothing except your own selfish desires?”

The words strike me like an open hand. I stagger backward into a chair at the kitchen table; a dizzying torrent of utter despair washes over me. My father hasn’t even bothered to ask me if I am okay.

“You put us in a terrible position, Sophia. We can’t defend you. The palace may think we’re complicit.” He glances at my mother and then back to me. “You can’t be here when the guards return.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” I ask, bewildered. I look at my mother, who hangs her head.

“You’ve given me no choice.” My father’s eyes are wild and searching. He slumps down, and my mother puts her arm around his waist. “Your friends probably found suitors. You come home dirty, disheveled, and wanted by the palace guards.”

“The king humiliated Liv in front of everyone, tossed her aside like a piece of garbage, and you’re worried about my dirty clothes?”

“Her family is not one of means, Sophia,” says my father. “They tried their hardest to make sure she was prepared, but they failed her. I did not want that for you. I have worked hard to make sure you were ready and now … now you’ll be a forfeit.”

My mother shakes uncontrollably. She rushes to me and holds me close. “No! I will not allow it!” She clings to me, digging her fingers into my back.

“There are no other options, Eve.”

“I’m not going back to the palace,” I say. “I’ll leave if that’s what you want, but I will not be a prisoner to the king.”

My father stands firm, and I watch him. This man who I adore so very much has turned into someone I don’t want to know. His words crush me. I walk to the back door in a haze.

“Wait,” my mother says, rushing to block the door. “Please, we can hide her. We can make her apologize to the king. We can—”

“She has to go, Eve.”

The pain of this is too much. I begin to weep as my mother screams at my father. “Morgan, stop this! Stop it this instant! This is our child. She needs us to—”

“To what?” my father snaps. “To continue to break the law? To continue to defy the king? Her best chance is escape.” He flings the back door open wide. A gust of cold air stings my face. “Go. Get as far away from here as you can.”

I look into his eyes. The tears stream down my face, but I keep the urge to scream and sob bottled up.

“I can’t protect you here,” he says. “Neither can your mother. You have to go, or we will all be dead.”

“And if I leave it will just be me who ends up dead?” He doesn’t answer, and I am again taken aback. He knows this. He’s willing to let this happen. “You can’t keep me safe because you’re too afraid to stand up to the king.”

My words hurt him. His eyes brim with tears. He blinks them away. “Please, go while you still can, before the guards return. This is the best chance for all of us. Your mother and I can avoid suspicion if I tell the guards that you never made it home.”

I want to scream, to shake them and tell them to open their eyes, to see how wrong this is. I step out onto the stoop. The door closes and locks behind me. My mother’s cries ring out inside the house, and my father’s muffled voice tries to calm her as she screams my name.

I walk to the street, tears streaming down my face and an anger growing in the pit of my stomach, so hot it courses through me like a raging fire.

I stay close to the buildings to avoid the patrols and lamplighters. Behind closed doors, I imagine some girls are feeling the keen sting of rejection, while others celebrate their matches, none of them knowing what the future will bring.

Even as my head swims with my father’s words, I can only think of my friends. Liv and I will be outcasts, and while I don’t know what has become of Luke, whatever happened is my fault. He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.

I pull the cloak in around me, and the lavender scent envelops me, reminding me of the girl from the crypt. Five miles west. That’s where I need to go. It is the only place I can think of.

There is only one road leading west that extends right up to the city’s border. As I make my way there, the rumble of carriages and horses puts me on edge. The king’s men are searching for me, but how many of them could pick me out of a crowd?

The farther away from town I get, the fewer people there are. After a while I am alone, and all I can think of are my parents, of Erin, of what has happened.

On the road behind me, there is the chatter of men’s voices, and I quickly take cover in a small grove of trees just off the road, pressing myself against a tree and trying not to breathe. Their voices carry as they stop at the edge of a steep embankment across from me.

“Are we sure she was at the ball?” one of them asks.

“Her parents said she was, but she’s too old,” says another. “Look at her hair. It’s white as a sheet.”

I peer around the tree. Guards. They are all looking down at the embankment.

“She’s seventeen. That’s what her mother said. Described her clothing and everything. It’s a shame, sending her to the ball dressed like that.”

One of them nods. “Well, we’ll need a cart. And one of us should go back to the house to make sure her father doesn’t come down here.”