The knock came just as I’d begun to enjoy the silence.

For once, no one was demanding anything of me. No lectures from Collins, no whispered warnings from Buckley, no nobles with smiles too sharp to trust.

Just lonely, quiet.

I looked up from where I sat near the window.

Another knock.

“Come in,” I called.

Wulfric’s servant, Wesley, stepped inside. He wore his usual uniform—a simple black suit, his hair slicked neatly back—and carried a bundle of apple blossoms fresh enough that I could still smell the garden on them.

“For you, Your Highness.”

I took them carefully. “What’s this for?”

“There’s a note attached. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters His Majesty requires.”

Wesley bowed once more before leaving, and I waited until the click of the door before pulling the letter free.

For the inconvenience of Sir Walton and the assurance he’s been dealt with:

I’m told you have a maidservant, a woman named Penelope. She’s been invited to work for you in my castle and should arrive within the week.

Thank you for the dance,

Wulfric

My heart raced. I read it once, then twice, and a third time.

Penelope is on her way.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. For the first time in what felt like weeks, something in my chest loosened.

I set the flowers on the vanity and pressed the note flat against the tabletop, staring at the neat handwriting.

Thanks to Wulfric, maybe this time things were changing.

I shut my eyes.

That dance still lingered in my mind more than I cared to admit. The steadiness of him. The way he’d pulled me back from the edge when the room had begun to close in.

And now Penelope was coming.

I counted down the days until she arrived, waiting by my room window each morning for the carriage.

When it finally came, I rushed as princess-like as I could down the halls, Buckley in tow.

By the time I made it to the courtyard, the carriage had only just stopped. I was halfway down the steps before a servant had even opened the door.

Penelope barely had one foot on the ground before I threw my arms around her.

I expected a warm hug in return, but instead she pulled back.

My heart dropped.

She cleared her throat, tilting her head toward the servant still standing nearby.

“Your Highness,” Penelope said formally, “I’m so happy to see you again.”

She curtsied.

“Oh—Yes. I am as well.” I smoothed out my dress. “Why don’t we take a walk into town?”

“Whatever you wish.”

The words were sour on my ears.

I led the way past the gate with the two of them following, into the quieter streets of the kingdom. Once we were clear of wandering eyes, Penelope finally spoke again.

“Your Highness, might I ask for a moment alone with you?” she asked, glancing toward Buckley.

“Buckley, could you find us a table at a tearoom?”

“Of course, My Lady. I’ll find one at The Ivory Parlor.”

Buckley bowed and walked away. The moment she was out of sight, Penelope threw her arms around me.

“Collins said I had to act properly if I was going to come,” she whispered, squeezing me tighter, “but I missed you too much to wait.”

I laughed and hugged her back.

“I missed you too.”

She pulled away just enough to study my face.

“Have you been okay? Really okay, not princess okay. Have you met any princes? Been living in luxury? Have they been feeding you grapes and dressing you in silk?”

A smile tugged at my mouth.

“Not at all.”

Her face fell immediately.

“Winslet.”

“It’s been… a lot.” I let out a breath. “But it’ll be okay now.”

“Well, then I demand every miserable detail. Start with the prince.”

“He’s a king, remember?”

Her eyes widened. “No prince?”

“Don’t sound so excited.”

“How can I not? You’re in a castle, dancing with a king, getting flowers—”

We started walking, her just a step behind me. 

“How did you know about the flowers?”

She grinned.

“You’re glowing.”

I gave her a look.

She laughed. “Fine. Lucky guess. Tell me everything.”

We talked all the way to The Ivory Parlor.

Penelope filled me in on everything I’d missed — the baker’s wife had finally caught him watering down the cream, Mrs. Alder’s son was courting a girl from the next village, and apparently old Mrs. Graves had taken to wearing too much perfume.

By the time we stepped inside, I was laughing hard enough that my sides ached. For a short time, I almost felt like myself again.

The Ivory Parlor was warm and softly lit, the air sweet with vanilla and steeped tea leaves. Buckley had already claimed a corner table, half-hidden behind a velvet curtain.

“Thought you’d want something private,” she said.

“You thought right.”

Penelope slid into her seat and looked at me with a wicked grin.

“Well? Is he handsome?”

Buckley said nothing as she sipped her tea.

Heat climbed my cheeks. “He’s…kingly.”

Buckley smirked into her teacup.

The three of us fell into easy conversation. For a while, everything was light. The clink of porcelain, the warmth of the tea, and the soft murmur of the room around us.

Then a group walked by.

Lady Fabienne and her cluster of silk-draped women.

She said nothing, didn’t even stop, but her gaze slid over me. Just one look and it was enough to make my stomach turn.

By the time she’d passed, the warmth of the afternoon had begun to drain from me.

Later, as the light outside softened into evening and I returned to my room, someone knocked at my door. I expected another servant, but instead, Sophie stood there.

“Sophie?”

Her eyes were red as she stepped inside quickly, wringing her hands so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

“She’s dismissed me.”

I blinked. “Who?”

Her face crumpled.

“Lady Fabienne.”

Oh.

A cold unease slid through me.

“She said I displeased her,” Sophie whispered. “I don’t even know what I did.”

Tears spilled down her face.

I guided her toward the chair by the vanity.

“Sit down first.”

But she barely seemed to hear me.

“There’s a dinner tonight,” she said in a rush. “Important nobles are attending. She was supposed to introduce me, to bring me in with her, and now—”

Her breath hitched.

“I have no one.”

I frowned. “No escort?”

She nodded.

“I can’t go alone. I’ll make a fool of myself. I don’t know any of them, and Lady Fabienne was supposed to help me.”

Something about it prickled at me. Fabienne’s look earlier and now this.Still, Sophie looked genuinely distraught.

I sent for Buckley and Penelope.

Buckley’s face darkened the moment I explained.

“No.”

That was all she said at first.

Penelope turned to her. “No?”

Buckley folded her arms. “My lady, this is clearly some sort of setup.”

Sophie’s face fell.

“It’s not you,” Buckley said, though I wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “It’s Lady Fabienne. She doesn’t breathe without a reason.”

Penelope frowned. “Or Sophie is exactly what she looks like right now. A girl who needs help.”

Buckley looked unconvinced. “What did you do to make Fabienne cast you off?”

Sophie lowered her gaze.

“I must have upset her somehow.”

That wasn’t an answer.

I exchanged a glance with Buckley.

Every instinct in me said be careful. But then I looked at Sophie again—shaking hands, tear-streaked face and I sighed.

“I’ll go with you.”

Buckley’s head snapped toward me.

Penelope smiled faintly. “Looks like we’re all going.”

The dinner was, somehow, worse for being normal.

We arrived and nothing happened. No whispered remarks or cruel glances.It was all polished silverware and careful conversation.

Appetizers came and went.

The nobles spoke pleasantly enough. Yet the longer everything remained normal, the tighter the knot in my stomach became.

I glanced down the table and more than one chair sat empty. I was beginning to think, maybe once, everything would go smoothly then the doors opened.

Lady Fabienne entered first. Beside her, Sir Walton. He wore the same sleazy smile and oily confidence. Two other women followed behind them, Ruby and Evelyn, the women from the tea room.

Fabienne’s eyes met mine from across the room.

And slowly, she smiled.