Still, she persisted. Somewhere, new information would lead her to an answer, a weakness in the curse that would allow her to crack it open.
By day, she made certain not to repeat her worst mistake and obeyed her father with exactness.
Which meant she chose a suitor.
“He’s perfect for you!” Eliza squealed.
Aria smiled, a more subdued response. As her sister skipped around the room, she held still, allowing Jenny, her lady’s maid,to dress her in a fashionable but impractical gown with buttons Aria couldn’t reach.
“Eliza,” Aria said, “you’ve not even met Lord Kendall.”
“No, but Ryelle Mormont claims he possesses thedreamiesteyes. ‘When he holds a maiden’s gaze,’ she says, ‘he captures their very soul.’”
“A man with a jar of souls beneath his bed. Every girl’s dream.”
Silently, Aria willed Jenny to hurry. As if sensing it, the maid finished buttoning Aria’s bodice in record time and reached in to fasten her necklace. As she did so, their gazes met, and the younger girl paused, frowning.
“You look tired, Your Highness,” she whispered.
When Jenny had first come to the castle—almost a year earlier—as a starving, barefoot girl of twelve, she’d refused to speak beyond single-word answers. Now she could be prompted into conversation, usually by Eliza, and though still thin, Jenny at least filled out her maid’s shirt and trousers. She remained formal at all times and performed her duties diligently.
Aria found it easy to befriend any member of the castle’s staff. So why did her voice sometimes die in her throat when addressing Jenny?
She knew the truth.
A truth her father forbade her to speak of.
Even Eliza did not know—because Eliza, along with the queen, had been on a visit to Patriamere when Jenny had first arrived at the castle, when the starving girl had looked into the eyes of a king and pled for mercy from a man she called “Father.”
Jenny was more than a maid. She was Aria’s half sister.
“I’m fine,” Aria whispered back.
Lying. Mark.A chill touched her skin, and she clenched her jaw to keep it from chattering until the invisible frost retreated.
“Back me up, Jenny,” said Eliza.
Clearly she’d made some argument about true love that Ariahad missed. Rather than repeating it, Jenny simply murmured that it wasn’t her place, to which Eliza gave a good-natured harrumph. Then she ducked into her adjoining room, returning with a bundle of fabric weighing down her arms.
Technically, Aria didn’t require a chaperone to meet with a suitor—it was an outdated requirement, as were arranged marriages or year-long engagements—but she was counting on Eliza to carry most of the conversation because her own attention would be focused solely on lastingat leasthalf an hour without sleeping in front of her new suitor.
After completing the final touches on Aria’s ensemble, Jenny transitioned to readying Eliza, and Aria sat at her writing desk, her mind wandering where it always did these days.
To a certain green-eyed former baron.
Guillaume Reeves had made no attempt to contact her since their single encounter at Eliza’s ball. That night, she’d spent her waking hours prowling the empty halls, dreading the moment when a trap would be sprung on her just as it had been the night she’d returned from Morton Manor.
But nothing happened. Baron’s single cup of miracle tea truly seemed to come with no strings attached: no surprise curse, no attempt at blackmail, no ill side effects—at least none beyond the unfortunate fact that it did not last forever.
What was she to make of that?
“Aria?”
Aria shot to her feet, banging her hip painfully into the corner of her desk. She pressed one hand to it, grimacing. Eliza and Jenny both stared.
“Daydreaming about my dreamy-eyed suitor. Are you ready at last, Eliza? It won’t do to keep Lord Kendall waiting.”
“Yes, yes, I’m ready. Although, the periwinkle dress may have—”
