We wake the next morning to a flurry of activity in our little cottage. Our cook is in the kitchen below, with an army of maids setting out a lavish breakfast in our dining room. Three lady’s maids, one per room, wake us all and get to work setting our hair in elaborate updos and lacing us into corsets and the fine silk gowns provided by the Crown for our season. Lottie’s face betrays nothing of our secret rendezvous.
Once dressed and fed, we’re shepherded by footmen across the dew-damp lawn to the main palace, where Viscountess Bolingbroke awaits us in a parlor.
“Welcome, girls, to your first etiquette lesson,” she trills as we sit down in uncomfortable embroidered love seats, our skirts fanning out around us. “These lessons will work in tandem with Her Majesty’s to ensure that whomever Bram picks is prepared for the royal duties that await her.”
I expect to set a table or learn English history, but instead she leads us in a series of bizarre exercises, drilling us for hours in riddles, maths, and word puzzles.
We’re given lap desks and sheets of paper. I’ve never been good at sitting down for school, and I keep getting distracted, gazing out the window at the green grass of Kensington Park. It’s busy today, lots of governesses pushing perambulators and women twirling silk parasols. My mind keeps floating back to Emmett. How am I supposed to make Bram fall in love with me when we haven’t been allowed any time together?
I wonder what my parents are doing right now. What about Lydia? Has she been told about losing the house?
Viscountess Bolingbroke raps her bony knuckle on the side of my desk. “Focus, Benton!”
Marion tips her page slightly toward me, and I copy her answers.
I suppose Bram did say he wanted a girl who was clever.
After tea, we gather on the south lawn. The queen is surrounded by a group of ladies-in-waiting, fanning themselves with feather fans, next to a champagne tower. Lingering on the edge of the crowd, I spot Bram and Emmett.
The party falls into a hush as we arrive. I hear whispers of “The six.”
It’s Viscountess Bolingbroke who makes the announcement, but everyone still faces the queen, like she’s the center of gravity and we’re all in her orbit. “What better way to welcome you to Kensington Palace than with a bit of merriment,” says the viscountess. “This afternoon, Her Majesty invited a few select friends to join us for a hedge maze. In the center, you’ll find a small prize. Her Majesty loves a game.”
It is said that games were often how the Others lured humansin order to make bargains with them. They’d ask them to play a round of marbles or jacks or billiards and then enchant the objects to ensure their victory.
There is some debate among underground faerie scholars regarding which games humans invented and which were introduced to us by our strange visitors.
Queen Mor’s face twists into a smile as she picks up a full glass of champagne and smashes it on the ground. “Go!”
There’s a flurry of laughter as everyone takes off into the maze. Olive drags me by the hand, giggling. “Let’s find Bram.”
We run into Emmy first, who is trying to climb the walls. “I see Marion!” Emmy shouts from halfway up the hedge. “Hi, Marion!”
From somewhere I hear Marion’s distant “Hello!”
Greer smacks into my side as she does a full circle in an attempt to go left. I feel a little guilty for laughing. “Should we wait for her?” I ask Olive.
“No!” Olive squeals, and pulls me away by the hand.
Emmy points left. “The boys are that way, let’s go!”
Greer shouts and kicks dirt at us as we sprint away.
We reach a fork, and Emmy and Olive take the one to the left. I veer right alone.
The hedge maze is darker here, and I soon hear the low sound of voices arguing.
I run into a dead end and find Faith and Emmett, standing too close. “Just tell me the truth—” It sounds like she’s begging him.
I turn to go, but they freeze as they spot me. Faith walks away from Emmett, and as she passes me, she shoves me hard enoughthat I stumble backward into the hedge, the prickly branches cutting my arms.
“Faith!” Emmett exclaims in horror and then extends a hand to pull me from the hedge. “Are you all right?” he asks me.
I pull a clump of leaves from my hair. “I’ll survive.”
“Good,” Emmett says. “Now go flirt with Bram.”
“Flirt?” I reply in horror. I’ve never flirted with anyone.
