In Veil, no king or queen is born to the throne. The Great Loom decides. Every few years it weaves a new tapestry, and the face in the silver thread becomes the next monarch. Mira, a seamstress's daughter, was sweeping spindle-dust in the workshop when the new cloth was unveiled. She glanced up and forgot how to breathe. Woven in living silver was a girl with her exact face. Hers. Before she could move, two royal guards stepped through the door and looked straight at her.

Mira's first thought was simple: run. She dropped the broom, ducked under the loom, and bolted out the back door into the crowded market. The guards shouted behind her. If the Loom really wove her face, the whole kingdom would soon be hunting her, and she wanted answers before she let anyone put a crown on her head.

Mira ran until her legs burned, then realized running only made her look guilty. She stopped in the square, turned to the guards, and raised her hands. "I'll come," she said. "But I'm asking questions the whole way." At the palace she questioned everyone, learned an advisor had bribed the loom-keeper, and exposed him. The court named her queen, won fair and square.