I long for my room at home, with its big window that faces east. There was a lantern on every table, and the shadows were familiar.
I begged my mother all winter to let me delay my coming-out at least a year. I felt so unprepared for the season and what was expected of me after it, but she refused, saying it would cause nothing but gossip.
When the queen announced the competition for Prince Bram’s hand the day of the Pact Parade, I was relieved. Bram has such a sweet face and gentle demeanor. He seemed like the kind of boy from the books I read.
And being a princess seemed a more palatable prospect than being awife.
Logically, of course, I knew I’d still be a wife, but it was different this way. Easier to stomach.
And I was right about Bram. He’s a dream. He’s been nothing but a perfect gentleman, the model of a prince right out of a storybook. He sent a footman with a handwritten thank-you note yesterday after I had a basket of iced buns delivered to him.
But I didn’t expect to feel so foolish around the other girls. They seem so much more grown-up than me. Faith told me yesterday that she’s kissed at least a dozen boys, and Marion already knows how to run a household and doesn’t need any lights on to sleep.
Even poor, disgraced Ivy Benton seems to have a better chance than I do. Bram couldn’t keep his eyes off her after they danced at the Twombleys’ ball. He wiped the tears from my cheeks when he danced with me, but the sting of watching him with the others didn’t fade.
Sometimes I feel like one day every other girl was given instructions on how to grow up, and I missed the lesson. It’s why I love baking so much. There’s no subtext or secrets in a recipe.
As I work the dough, I think of Bram. On nights like this I play out a little fantasy in my head, imagining that he visits the cottage late at night and finds me the only one awake. We talk for hours, and when dawn breaks, he takes me in his arms and kisses me as the first rays of sunlight dance across the grass.
In my dreams he tells me that he likes me just the way I am, that I’m the prettiest, most special girl he’s ever met.
He’ll fall in love with your smile.That’s what my mother said. I just have to keep smiling. Stiff upper lip.Don’t let them see how scared you are.
The day of the Pact Parade, I clasped my hands in front of meto keep them from shaking. The queen wasn’t as scary as I thought she’d be. She smiled at me kindly and told me I was a very pretty girl. That was nice. She didn’t have to say any of that.
When I told her I wanted a perfect smile, she said she thought it would suit me well. I made the deal in exchange for my fingernails easily. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it seems to bother everyone else. It’s honestly convenient. There’s no more dough stuck down under them.
I take a spoonful of soft yellow butter and smear it across the rolled-out brioche.
The creak of a footstep in the hall makes me jump. “Who’s there?” I whisper.
No answer comes. I’m always imagining things.
I return to my dough. But when I look up again, there’s a figure darkening the doorway.
I shriek and drop my spoon with a clatter. The figure steps into the light. It’s only a footman. I sigh in relief, but he crosses the kitchen with heavy footfalls and grabs me in his arms so tight my ribs are nearly crushed.
I open my mouth to scream, but a vial is tipped between my lips. The liquid slides down my throat, bitter and thick.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the footman whispers.
He scoops me up into his arms, and before I can protest, I am unconscious.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I come to with a gasp. The first thing I register is the pain of rocks digging directly into my spine. The second thing is how cold I am.
I’m shivering under my nightdress.
I blink my eyes open to an ink-black sky, a sliver of a moon, a smattering of stars.
I’m outdoors.Why am I outdoors?
There’s a gasp to my left, a sniffle, someone cries out.
I push myself up and look over to find Marion, Emmy, Faith, Greer, and Ivy, all as dazed as I am, in their nightdresses as well.
There are footsteps in the trees. I grip Ivy’s hand as someone approaches behind us.
Queen Mor’s first lesson has begun.
