The invitations were etched in silver leaf, the kind of extravagant overkill that screamed, “We survived war, so now we party like royalty.”

Celeste twirled one between her fingers as she sat at her dressing table, a half-sarcastic smirk playing on her lips.

“It’s a masquerade, not a coronation,” she muttered.

Behind her, Lisa was on her third attempt to tame Celeste’s hair into something other than chaos. “You say that, but this is the first Blood Moon since the unification. ...