Thanks for your patience, sports fans. I'm doing my best to keep this thing rolling, but I'm afraid to sacrifice quality for speed. Next chapter is outlined and will be up as soon as I can write it and edit it. Keep following!

(Re-uploaded this chapter due to an error—I started a sentence and apparently forgot to finish it! Ooops!)


I awoke with a start. The sharp slice of sunlight on the wall sent a wave of panic through me. What time was it? Well past dawn, surely. I should have been up hours ago. Dame Olga and my sisters would be yawning to life any minute, and they would expect—

I blinked. Soft blankets swathed my skin. The familiar aches and sores of servitude were nowhere to be found, and I felt clean and strong. In my little room in Dame Olga's attic, the sun, even at its zenith, had never shone so bright.

And someone had me snugly pinioned under a solid arm, his warm body pressing against my back.

I relaxed. I turned my head to observe that sleeping someone. The sun winked at me from the seam in the curtains, extending just its little finger to glisten off the frosted glass and sprinkle light into the room.

Char's freckles stood out in the suggestion of sunlight, brown and beautiful beneath his eyes. Between barely parted lips, I could just make out a few of his teeth. His breath came slow and steady as he slept, and I let it brush my face. I turned away, nestled into him, and shut my eyes to enjoy his warmth.

I heard him breathe deeply once or twice, and then his arm slid across my torso. His hand cupped my shoulder, and he kissed the top of my head. "Good morning," he murmured. His voice tickled my ear deliciously.

"Good morning," I said. "I trust you slept well?"

"Best night of my life," he said, and I heard the grin in his voice. "So far."

I turned to meet him with a grin of my own, and I kissed him in earnest.

When the sun had climbed a little higher and could peer through the curtains in nearly full force, I opened my eyes again. Nowhere could be as wonderful as here in a soft bed with my love, but I really should rise and greet the day. I wriggled to a sitting position, and I noticed something for the first time.

A fire burned merrily in the grate.

I put a hand to my mouth. "Someone's been in here," I said.

Char sat up next to me. "So they have," he observed.

Of course. No wonder the room was so warm, despite the frigid temperatures outside. Nancy or someone had come in, likely at the crack of dawn, to start the fire, as they had every morning of my childhood. How could I have been so foolish as to overlook this obvious flaw in my plan? Had a year under Mum Olga's rule made me forget my life? If by some stroke of luck Nancy missed the extra body in this bed, the upturned sheets in my own empty room would have given us up for certain. I shut my eyes and groaned.

Char snuggled close. "What's wrong?"

"Someone has seen us," I said. "Someone knows we . . . shared a bed. The whole household will have heard by now."

"Is that all right?" He looked worried, but for my sake, not his own.

I hesitated. "I suppose there's nothing wrong with it," I said. "I expect we'll be teased mercilessly. And everyone will assume we've . . ." I blushed and trailed off.

"But we haven't."

"They'll think we have."

"Are you sorry?"

A smile crept onto my face. "No," I said truthfully.

"Then it's all right," said Char. He cupped my face in a hand and kissed me, and then we parted to get dressed.

The smell of fried pork and coffee lured us into the dining room, where Mandy had set a lavish breakfast table. Bacon, boiled eggs, melons and berries, cheese, fresh-baked bread, butter, jams, and a steaming carafe of coffee left barely enough room on the table for two place settings—but they fit, somehow. I wondered who Mandy thought was going to eat it all.

She accosted us as we entered, bobbing a quick curtsy to Char and hooking my elbow in hers. "Good morning," she said. "Please help yourself. Lady, may I borrow you a moment?"

Before I could protest, she had dragged me out of the dining room and all the way to the kitchen, where she fixed me with a grumpy frown. "Well, you certainly haven't wasted any time."

I blushed, even though I'd known what she was going to say. "We didn't do anything," I said. "We shared a bed, but nothing more."

"Hah!" said Mandy. "Without your clothes?"

My cheeks deepened in color. "We had clothes on!" Partly true.

"That's not what Nancy said."

"And Nancy has always been a beacon of truth."

Mandy cocked an eyebrow. "She's observant."

"She saw too deeply, this time. I swear, Mandy, we only slept together."

She waved aside my defense and extracted a small bottle from her apron pocket. "Here."

"What is it?"

"Your new tonic." At my quizzical look, she added, "Until you're ready for a child."

My eyes bugged, and the skin under my face prickled with heat.

"It won't harm anything," said Mandy. "Just pauses things inside. It will stop your bleeding, too, as long as you're taking it."

It was my turn to look skeptical. "Small magic?"

"Family recipe," she said firmly. "Handed down for generations."

"We haven't done anything," I said again, but she pressed the bottle insistently into my hands.

"As you say," she said dismissively. "Take it, all the same. One drop on the back of your tongue will work for a month. Now, listen, this is important. There's plenty here, but it needs to be—shall we say—invigorated from time to time. Look. See the color?"

I swirled the little bottle and held it to the light. A shimmering, milky lilac, like a liquid flower petal.

"It'll lose that shimmer after three days, and it'll go clear," said Mandy. "It only works if it's shimmering. Remember that. When it goes clear, leave it out in the moonlight overnight."

"The moonlight." I shook my head. "A family recipe, Mandy?"

She only pointed an authoritative finger. "One drop. Three days. Moonlight. See me when you run out."

I promised to remember and pocketed the vial.

Nancy and Bertha were in the dining room when I returned. They looked at me, looked at Char, looked at each other, and erupted in a fit of giggles.

"All right, you two," said Mandy. "Find something useful to do."

They scampered out, supporting each other and trying unsuccessfully to conceal their tittering.

Char, bless him, seemed unperturbed. He hadn't touched the food yet but sat patiently with a mug of coffee.

When we'd stuffed ourselves to bursting, Char reminded me that we were wanted at the castle. Mandy insisted we leave the washing-up to her and shooed us out of the manor.

I expected to find the royal family more or less the way I'd last seen them: gathered around a feast and flushed with merriment. When we peered into the dining room, however, only Philip and Cecilia sat at the table, talking in low voices over a modest breakfast. When Philip spotted us, he raised his head and said, "Good morning!" in a loud voice.

Cecilia cut herself off mid-sentence and whirled in her chair. "Ella! Join us for breakfast?"

"We've already eaten," I said.

"Good." Cecilia hopped out of her chair. "Mother wants to see you both. Come along."

We followed, Char looking just slightly perturbed. "See us about what?" he asked.

"Why, preparations for the wedding, of course," said Cecilia. "And household arrangements. There's an awful lot to do." She grinned up at him. "What else would she want to talk about?"

"Nothing," said Char, rather quickly.

The door to the king's study was open, and he hailed us as we passed. He was all smiles and good cheer as he bade us good morning. "I'd like a word with Char, if you don't mind," he told me.

Something flitted across Char's face, but it was gone in an instant. "Excuse me," he said. "I'll meet you in Mother's solar."

The king still smiled at me, and I realized I was being dismissed. I nodded, and Cecilia led me down the hall. The study door clicked shut behind us.

She threaded her arm with mine, and we continued along. I frowned as I thought of the expression that had crossed Char's face and the imperative way the king had dismissed us.

"What are they saying, do you suppose?" I asked Cecilia, who looked wholly unconcerned.

She looked at me, and a glint came into her eye. She looked forward. "You shared a bed, yes?"

I nearly lost my footing. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, it was a bit obvious," she said. "Char's carriage comes back empty. . . . He remains at your manor 'to keep you company. . . .' He couldn't very well do that from a separate room, could he?"

Were our lives private to no one? "Nothing happened," I said. "We shared a bed, but we didn't . . . do anything else."

"It's no shame, Ella. You are to be married, after all."

Married. I started. For some unfathomable reason, the word made my stomach twist. I hated myself for it. How could my emotions betray me so? I loved Char, and in the short time I'd known his family, I was coming to love them, too. I looked forward to life in the castle, the thought of teaching languages, that wondrous library. I would be near everyone I cared about. So what was this sinking feeling? What was I afraid I would lose?

". . . and, anyway, Mama was only nineteen herself when Char was born," Cecilia was saying. "And they'd only been married six months."

She waggled her eyebrows at me. I smiled to show I'd done the math.

"It's perfectly proper that you share a bed," she said. "Papa's probably just asking whether he should expect a grandchild."

"A grandchild . . ." I covered my eyes. I had only Mandy to torment me. Char had two parents and three siblings. "He's receiving the same lecture as I did," I murmured. "Mandy gave me a tonic to prevent childbirth."

Cecilia's eyebrows shot up. "Really!" she said.

I showed her the vial I had tucked away. "Some fairy concoction. I told her I don't need it, but she insisted."

"You don't mean to use it?"

"I will," I said. "Eventually. When it's necessary." I blushed. I supposed I'd have to get used to speaking frankly with Cecilia. She appeared to have no qualms about anything.

The queen's apartment took up a whole wing of the castle. Cecilia led me up a spiral stair, knocked twice, and in nearly the same motion, pushed open the door to the solar.

It was like stepping into summer. I smelled lemongrass and ginger. Two huge windows on opposite walls made the room seem to glow with a light of its own, and the whole place was bedecked in yellow. Rich curtains the color of sunflowers tied back on gold rods. Velvety lemon seat cushions on stools of gleaming blond wood. Even the surface of the broad round desk was amber-flecked marble with a cheery flower motif picked out in gold. Daria sat behind the desk, hands folded, as though she'd been waiting for us to enter. In her room of sunshine, she was radiant.

She beamed at me. "Good morning, dear," she said.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

Cecilia rolled her eyes as she sat beside her mother, and the queen waved a dismissive hand. "None of that," she said. "There shall be no more 'Highness' from you. I am Daria."

"Daria." It felt strange and disrespectful on my tongue, but the queen—Daria—only smiled more broadly.

"That's better. Sit down, Ella, please." She waved at an empty chair, and I took it.

"So!" she said, and she clapped her hands together. "We are to merge households. Why don't we get the tricky bits out of the way, first?" She unrolled a scrap of paper and dipped her pen. "Who are the prominent members of your staff?"

"There's Mandy, of course," I said. "Our cook. Then Nancy is our housekeeper, Nathan is manservant, and Bertha is seamstress."

Daria scrawled across her page. "Very good," she said. "Let's begin with Mandy. How many are in your kitchen?"

"Oh, no, just her." She had misunderstood me. "I've named my full household."

Daria paused, her pen hovering over the page, and looked up at me in surprise. Perhaps she thought I was joking. Four servants was laughably few for the daughter of a merchant.

I didn't mind explaining. "My father recently came into some unhappy financial fortune," I said. "And I've been living with Dame Olga for the past year. We dismissed a number of servants in the move."

Her eyes flashed with pity, but she mercifully did not dwell on the subject. "Well," she said, turning to Cecilia, "four servants we can absorb with no trouble, I think."

"None at all," agreed Cecilia, "although there is the question of who is to maintain authority. You'll want your Mandy in the kitchen?"

"If possible," I said.

"I'm sure Rachel wouldn't mind having another culinary genius around," said Daria. "I'll speak with her and reach an arrangement." She made a note in her book.

"Your housekeeper will want her own staff?" asked Cecilia.

Nancy had commanded the household before our poverty. Though she'd taken her downgrade in good humor, I knew the drop in pay had been hard on her family, and she longed for the comfort of her former position. "I'm sure she'd be honored," I said.

Cecilia nodded and leaned over to peer at her mother's book. "Could she handle a staff of thirty-five?"

Thirty-five! We'd never had more than fifteen in our household. I hesitated.

"She would stay busy, but our staff are experienced," said Cecilia. "I'm thinking of placing her in charge of the first floor. She would supervise daily tasks, and she'd have command of the décor, help plan events, that sort of thing."

Daria frowned at her book. "What about Susan?" she asked.

"Oh, Susan's thinking about stepping down," said Cecilia.

"She hasn't said so to me."

"Well, she hasn't said it to anyone," said Cecilia with an impatient wave. "But all the servants are talking about it, and have you seen the way she gazes out the window? She'd rather be out in the garden, and Ella's Nancy would be a fine replacement." She turned to me. "What do you think?"

"I think she'll be thrilled," I said. "Thank you."

Cecilia reached across her mother and scribbled something in the book. "Now, Char could use a manservant. If Nathan is willing to do it, we only have to consider Bertha." She put the tip of the pen in her mouth.

"Bertha could tend to Ella's room," said Daria. "Claudia will need some help once the princess's suite becomes occupied."

Cecilia grimaced. "There's a reason Claudia tends an empty suite," she said. "But Mary can get along with anyone—Mary Van Eyte, of course. She and Bertha can share Ella's rooms."

"And Claudia will replace Mary in the garden?"

"God, no, Mama, she's half color-blind. Claudia will take over laundry from Annette. She likes Susan. They'll work well together. Annette's got a green thumb, you know. Have you seen her little window boxes?"

"That was Annette?" said Daria. "I thought it was Mary Overbey."

Except for a scandalized huff, Cecilia didn't bother to answer. She was writing furiously. "So that's settled, then. If it's all right with Ella, of course." She paused again to look up at me.

"It sounds perfect," I said. "I shall be glad to have everyone so close by." If Cecilia had so far struck me as rather flighty and impulsive, she was a different person here. With scarce more than a name, she'd placed each member of my household in a position where they would thrive, and she clearly had a personal relationship with many of her servants. My household would feel more at home here than they did in the manor.

Daria retrieved her book, which had migrated to Cecilia's end of the desk, and folded it shut. "Well, that was a neat job," she said. "I hope your staff will enjoy it here. My husband and I have worked hard to maintain a relationship of mutual respect with our household." She folded her hands. "I'll tell you what we've told our children, and what we tell our new employees. We speak politely with our servants. We do not beat our servants. My children do not have authority to discipline or dismiss a member of the household. That responsibility lies squarely between Jerrold and me.

"Likewise, Ella, you will be consulted before any action is taken against a member of your staff. We pay well, and we force no one to stay against their will. We strive to make the castle an attractive place to work." She smiled at me. "Do you find these terms acceptable?"

"Absolutely," I said. "You've been more than accommodating, and I'm certain my staff will be quite at home here. Thank you."

Daria waved away my thanks. "On to our next point of business," she said. "Have you thought about a date for the wedding?"

That wretched knot turned my stomach. "Oh," I said. "Well . . ."

A knock on the door interrupted us, and Char poked his head into the solar. I'd forgotten he was invited to our meeting.

"Just in time," chirped Daria. She waved him in, and he sat beside me, where our arms found each other at once. Cecilia grinned to look at us.

He'd been gone for rather a long time. "Is everything all right?" I asked.

Cecilia's eyes twinkled. "What did Papa want?"

"Nothing of importance," said Char easily. I doubted this and resolved to question him later. "What have I missed?"

"Oh, boring household trifles," said the queen. "We're just beginning to talk about the wedding."

Cecilia clapped her hands together. "A winter wedding will be so lovely," she said. "Imagine the Great Hall strung with silver, flaming punch—oh, you'll have such a cake!"

There was the Cecilia I recognized. Her mother cleared her throat. "Perhaps we ought to let the bride decide all that," she said.

"Oh," said Cecilia, deflating. "Of course."

I shook my head. "I haven't given it much thought at all," I said. "I suppose as long as I can invite whom I please, I don't care too deeply for the details." I glanced at Char, who shrugged.

"If Ella's happy, I'm happy," he said.

Cecilia squealed. "It's settled, then!" she said. "Ooh, do you suppose we can get white lilies from Pu?"

"We shan't know until we have a date," said Daria, and she fixed us with a doting smile. "You'll want it to be as soon as possible, of course."

"Of course," said Char, grinning.

Of course. I smiled.

"We'll need time to send invitations," said Daria, "and for the guests to make travel plans, and to prepare the decorations, order the lilies . . . I think three weeks should give us enough time." She looked at Cecilia.

"More than enough," said Cecilia. "Lilies? In three weeks, we can get Jindar golden mums! Oh, I'll compose the order at once."

Cecilia found a leaf of paper and began scrawling across it. Char and his mother launched into a discussion about noble families I'd never heard of. I tried to mirror their cheeriness, but inside, the festering seed finally began to sprout.

Three weeks. Char would be my husband. I would be a wife. And a mother, how soon after that? Fairy tonic or no, the throne needed an heir, and that heir would be my responsibility for—well, forever. My hearing blurred. My head felt suddenly light.

"Excuse me," I said, getting to my feet.

Char stopped mid-sentence. "Ella, are you all right?"

I smiled wanly. "Just need to gather my thoughts."

"Yes," said Daria, "I know it's overwhelming. So much to do!"

I nodded. "I'll be back in a moment."

I escaped the sunny room and felt I could take my first full breath in the empty, dim stairwell. I sank against the wall. The flagstones cooled my brow.

My future was playing out before me, a horrific charade. A baby forever at my breast. Managing a household, like my mother had done, like Daria and Cecilia were doing. Seeing my husband for a week at a time between diplomatic forays and military duties and God knew what else, while I withered away in a house of stone. I thought of the months he'd spent in Ayortha. How painfully I had missed him. Was that my future? When the curse was lifted, I'd thought I had found my freedom. How long before I found myself in just another prison?

Three weeks. I'd be married.

Who would I become?