The morning light sliced through the small bedroom window, prying Vivienne from a deadweight slumber. A dull, merciless pounding settled behind her eyes, and her mouth felt like parched sandpaper. She pushed upright, only to have her stomach lurch in protest, a wave of nausea threatening to claim her.
Her memories surfaced in fragments, scattered like shards of broken glass. Nothing fit together quite right.
She glanced down at herself. She donned the same navy gown she’d worn to the audience with the King, now crumpled and wrinkled beyond recognition. Gone was the bodice Lewis had cut away during her panic. Her fingers traced the mess of her tangled hair, still knotted with rogue pins. A flicker of alarm jolted through her.My mother’s ivory comb. Where is it?Vivienne inhaled sharply, then her eyes landed on the dressing table. There it sat, pristine, untouched. Her shoulders sagged in relief.
The muffled sounds of movement drifted from below. She dragged herself upright, her limbs lead-heavy, and trudged toward the commotion.
Lewis sat at the dining table, utterly composed, a clear opposite to the disaster Vivienne resembled. He had laid out a modest spread, a steaming cup of coffee, a meager slice of dry toast, and a spoonful of honey. She hated how infuriatingly fine he looked.
He had changed clothes. Fresh linen, crisp waistcoat. Even his face was smooth-shaven, a picture of effortless composure. Meanwhile, she reeked of sweat, ale, and something far worse she wasn’t ready to identify. With a groan, she collapsed into the chair across from him.
"Well, look who's returned to the land of the living," Lewis chirped, his lips quirking to the side.
Vivienne shielded her eyes from the sunlight and muttered, "How much did I drink last night?"
Lewis sipped his coffee leisurely, as if relishing her suffering. "Remember how mathematics isn’t my specialty?"
She blinked slowly. "So a lot, huh?"
He shrugged. "Once I lost count of your drinks, I stopped mine. Figured one of us should remain functional."
She winced, lifting the coffee to her lips. "I don’t remember much."
"Probably for the best." He leaned back in his chair, looking far too entertained. "You sang, danced, and—" he smirked, "treated the entire tavern to a spontaneous lecture on historical architecture."
Vivienne paused mid-sip. "Singing and dancing?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Was I any good?"
Lewis snorted. "You certainly thought you were."
Vivienne set her coffee down. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "How did I get back here?"
Lewis crossed his arms. "I told you I could carry you up the stairs. And that was after carrying you home from The Pelican."
She stared at him.Did he seriously carry me across half the city? The Pelican is at least a mile, maybe two, from here. So… gardening does pay off.
Vivienne sighed, rubbing her temple. "Well, thank you. And… sorry."
Lewis raised his coffee in mock salute.
Her eyes drifted to the mantle clock. She squinted, forcing her brain to process the numbers.
Her stomach dropped. "It’s noon?" she gasped. "We leave in less than twenty-four hours, and you let me oversleep?"
Lewis’ brows shot up. "Let you?" He scoffed. "Viv, neither storm nor goddess could have woken you before now."
She buried her head in her hands. Being this hungover when there were a thousand things left to do was an absolute disaster.
Her head snapped up, the motion making her head swim. "Oh, my gods—Briar!"
Lewis leaned back, unconcerned. "Already handled. Picked her up this morning. She’s at the bakery, where Johanna is currently stuffing her with enough pastries to put on ten pounds before she lets her leave."
Vivienne exhaled, relieved.
She hesitated. "Did you tell her about…?"
