Page 76 of Blood of the Fairest

Thank god. Although I hope they don't only work as maids here.

I've given some thought to how I want to leave this place when I return to my world. Maybe the real Queen Reinhilde and I have only swapped places, and that bitch will be back, or maybe she's long gone—but either way, Snow White will need some down-to-earth women supporting her.

I pull back my veil since we're alone.

"I think Ingrid could be a phenomenal friend and lady's maid for Snow since they're close in age, but I really want Anika on the Privy Council. How do we make that happen? Can I just wave my hand and make someone a noble?"

Merrick rocks back in his boots, gazing at the tall, flickering candelabras nearby as he considers for a moment.

"Normally, that would be opposed, but…well, the Council may accept your ruling in this case, thanks to Anika's background."

"What background?"

"My niece is of noble birth. All our family is noble in Aurefeld. My brother became a well-loved knight there until he and Aurefeld's king had a nasty falling out—no one knows the true reason. Anika was still a child when the king stripped my brother of his knighthood and ordered him to leave Aurefeld with his wife and daughter. They came to Isenmere, where my brother has become a mere miller—albeit a sometimes drunk and bitter one."

I frown. "I don't get it. If Anika and her parents were born noble in Aurefeld, why aren't they noble in Isenmere?"

Merrick sighs. "I should say nothing against the glory of Isenmere, but…according to some rather vain age-old laws, when a noble from another kingdom wishes to settle within our borders, the status of their birthright is put to a vote between our monarch and the Privy Council. If they have garnered enough Isenmerian favor, their nobility is sustained, and they are welcomed to court. My brother had no interest in appeasing the council's boundless vanity. King Leland's father was still alive and voted against his noble status, and thus Anika has lived as a commoner."

So this kingdom's government is made up of egotistical assholes who ignore real problems to get off on humiliation rituals and performative bullshit?

"I guess this world isn't as different from mine as I thought," I mutter. "Since I'm the monarch now, can I change that old vote and announce that Anika and her family are and always have been nobles?"

"Yes, but…"

"But?"

"The Privy Council may have no choice but to accept your vote sustaining my brother's birthright, but they will still look down on Anika, since she has not earned their goodwill through social gatherings and compliments and such. She simply hasn't had the chance, living as a commoner," he adds with a frown.

"That's so fucking stupid. If anything, the council should be the ones buttering up the nobles joining our court from other kingdoms, not vice versa."

"Alas, the court nobles are a shallow, vain lot who prize finery and beauty above reason. I should know, as one of them," Merrick adds with a good-natured chuckle, straightening his surcoat.

I want to huff that if they're all about beauty, then they only need to take one look at Anika to accept her—because my god, that woman is stunning.

But my attention settles on the gold beading on Merrick's clothes. Gears start to turn in my head as I look at the depiction of Ayna, the Faerie of Pride, in one of the stained-glass windows.

Finally, my lips curl.

"What's that devious expression for?" Eris asks, arching his brow at me from the mirror.

"Merrick. You're a man of excellent taste. Look at the cut of that surcoat. The embroidery, the boot color. Flawless."

He preens. "You flatter me, Verena."

"Tell me, what fabrics do the nobles of Isenmere go wild for?"

He rattles them off easily. "Well, mirrorflax is at the height of fashion, but how could one not love that glossy sheen? Rather expensive, though. Silk and glimmer gauze are everywhere as always, and starlace is still beloved by many of the older noblewomen. Are you perhaps seeking a new wardrobe?"

"Oh, god, yes. Don't even get me started on how badly I want to burn the queen's dresses—but that's not the point," I say quickly. "What about a fabric that's hard to get your hands on? I'm talking extra luxurious haute couture shit."

He puzzles out those last words before his eyes light up.

"There are rumors in Isenmere of a truly exquisite fabric called wispfloss. I myself have never seen it in person, as it is quite difficult to obtain. They say the sole weaver of wispfloss will sell it to almost nobody, for she is quite picky."

"That she is."

I startle and swear at the sound of Wulf's low voice.