Because today, she would see him again.
She glanced out the window; it was still morning. Never had a day crept slower.
Jenny finished lacing Aria’s sleeves and began fastening sections of her hair. The princess’s mint-green gown, commissioned especially for the tournament, bore the styles of summer, with sleeves that draped at her elbows and a skirt split at the front across a white underskirt. Her wide neckline traced a line beneath her collarbone and didn’t close until just before the points of her shoulders. Her mother had warned that, without gloves, full sleeves, or even a shawl, Aria would freeze in the wind. Perhaps she would, but she hadn’t been able to resist a last breath of fresh air before the heavy winter descended. Besides, the curse froze her often enough no matter what she was wearing; winter had become her companion long before the season arrived.
A better reason for the dress was that the green reminded herof Baron’s eyes, and the style was more flattering on her than any of her other gowns.
Now I sound like one of those damsels from Eliza’s poetry, she thought.
“Aria!” Eliza gasped, hands pressed to her mouth. “You’regorgeous!”
Too generous a description—Aria’s eyes were sunken, revealing her for the tired skeleton she was—but if she was merely bones dressed for viewing, at least the viewing was elegant.
“Have you prepared yourself, Eliza?” Aria glanced coyly over her shoulder.
Eliza spun once more and leaned, dizzy, against a bedpost. “For what?”
“For when Henry wins the joust and declares to the entire court his intention to be your suitor.”
Eliza turned as red as crushed tomatoes. Jenny’s composure cracked into a smile.
“He has promised no such thing,” Eliza said demurely. “Though when I see him before the joust, I shall be sure to remind him the most romantic acts are performed by a hero before a crowd.” She raised an eyebrow. “And what of your mystery baron? Will you finally reveal him to me today?”
“Perhaps.”
“PerhapsIshall just look for the man with two brothers and a crow.”
“His brothers he may bring to court, but I doubt the bird will attend.”
Jenny laughed, fumbling a pin. She righted it in the next moment, then stepped away. As requested, she’d left most of Aria’s hair flowing down her back, taking only sections from each side to braid with ribbons and pin at the center. It was not as formal a style as Aria usually wore to court, but sheremembered the way Baron stared at her when she’d visited his estate—and that day, she’d worn her hair down.
“Why have you kept him secret all this time?” Eliza whined. “Is it Christopher Hatcher? It’s Lord Christopher, I’m certain. He hasn’t quite inherited yet, but hewillbe a baron.”
Secret.The word pierced Aria’s ribs, and she shifted beneath the blow. There was no reason to keep her correspondence with Baron a secret; they were both unattached, eligible members of court.
Though one of them had been removed from title because he bore a witch’s mark.
Hypocrite, her quill accused. The stroke it made seemed bolder than others, a thick, dark line marring the parchment of her imagination.
She was not ashamed of Baron. Not ashamed to be friends with a Caster.
Hypocrite.
Jenny helped Eliza dress, and they spoke of suitors and love, Eliza pestering the maid about her own romantic interests but earning no information beyond a mischievous smile. Jenny always seemed relaxed around Eliza while remaining formal around Aria.
Aria nearly joined the conversation, then stopped. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
Once Eliza was ready at last, she and Aria left together, though Aria made her way to the kitchen alone. Eliza had her own secret rendezvous with Henry—earlier than Aria’s meeting with Baron, since Henry was a tournament participant and Baron was not.
The kitchen buzzed with chatter, active as a hive. Everyone looked forward to a joust, including servants, who were relieved from duties during the event and allowed to stand behind the banisters at the edge of the field. Cook wouldn’t attend—she carried no love for sporting events—but she would keep her staffbusy so their few hours of absence wouldn’t matter. Aria didn’t want to be underfoot in the chaos, so she ducked into one of the nearby servants’ quarters to wait.
To stave off exhaustion, she paced with purpose. She thought if she refused to sit, no matter how her body begged, she would be fine.
She didn’t remember sitting.
She didn’t remember closing her eyes.
But she woke sprawled against a servant’s bed, with a curious maid hesitantly prodding her awake. Heart thundering, Aria sat up, feeling a wave of nausea.
