The Kingdom of Panem loved magic. Or rather, it loved the people who possessed it. Every generation, the royal House of Baird produced heirs blessed beneath the moon itself. Silver fire. Lunar healing. Dreams that foretold storms and wars. Moon-touched magic flowed through their bloodline like an inheritance older than the kingdom. The nobles revered it. The common folk worshipped it. And the royal family guarded it. Haymitch Abernathy possessed none of it.

Not even the faint traces that occasionally appeared in old noble families descended from forgotten royal branches. The Abernathys had never been magical. Once, they had been wealthy enough that nobody cared. Now they were merely old. And old names, Haymitch had learned, could not pay debts. The Abernathy estate stood on the edge of District Twelve's northern hills, overlooking forests black with pine and mist. It had once been magnificent.

Now it was surviving. The manor's towers still reached proudly toward the sky, but cracks threaded the stone beneath ivy. Entire wings remained closed through winter because they cost too much to heat. The stables held half the horses they once had.

A young baron who carried himself as though nothing in the world could possibly threaten House Abernathy. Haymitch had become very good at maintaining illusions. His father had died three years ago. A sudden fever. Gone within days. Haymitch had been fourteen. The sole heir. The sole survivor. No brothers. No sisters. No mother. Just him.

The last Abernathy. The title had passed to him immediately. Baron Haymitch Abernathy The words still felt absurd sometimes. At seventeen, he spent his evenings balancing accounts instead of attending parties. The study still smelled faintly of his father.

The Royal Palace seemed carved from moonlight itself. White marble towers rose above silver gardens. The royal family spared no expense when celebrating the moon. Haymitch arrived fashionably late. Haymitch immediately regretted coming. He recognized half the room. People eager to discuss politics. Inheritance. Marriage. Money.

He escaped toward the edge of the ballroom before anyone could trap him in conversation. The royal family had arrived. The great doors opened. Moonlight flooded the ballroom. And Crown Princess Lenore Dove Baird entered. For a moment, nobody breathed. Every portrait he'd ever seen of the princess had failed her completely. She looked seventeen. Perhaps eighteen. Dark curls flowed down her back in waves threaded with silver ribbons. Her gown shimmered like starlight reflected on water. Tiny crescent moons glimmered across the fabric. And around her fingertips danced pale silver sparks.

The future queen. The sole heir of House Baird. The daughter destined to inherit the throne. The most powerful moon-touched mage in a generation. Hours later, after enduring enough conversation to qualify as torture, Haymitch escaped onto one of the palace balconies. Cold night air greeted him. Finally. Peace.

The balcony overlooked the Moon Garden. Silver trees glowed softly beneath enchanted lanterns. Moonflowers bloomed across marble pathways. At the garden's center stood an ancient fountain dedicated to the first Baird monarch. And beside it stood the princess. Alone. No guards. No attendants. No nobles.

Just Lenore Dove Baird and the moonlight. She rested one hand against the fountain's edge. Silver magic drifted lazily around her fingers. The moon seemed brighter near her. As though it recognized its own blood. Haymitch considered leaving. Royal princesses generally complicated one's life. Then she spoke without turning around.

"Are you here to stare at the moon, or are you just making a habit of sneaking up on me?" Her voice was like something darkly sweet, touched with the rough burr.