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Eventually, Clarimonde gave up on the boudoir. Instead, she turned her attention to the hallway just outside of it, which branched off into a different part of the house. She had been certain, before, that Tertia’s bedroom was in that direction.

Do I dare to enter Tertia’s bedroom? Clarimonde wondered uneasily. The spell that tingled on her skin was more than secure, she knew. But the idea of wandering through Tertia’s room in the heart of the lady’s own realm felt… terribly dangerous. Surely, Clarimonde wasn’t arrogant enough to think that she could manage it without being discovered?

No one else will do it for me, she thought. Not Winnie or Bellamira, and not Lord Foxglove. If I do not do it, then it will not be done at all.

Clarimonde squared her shoulders… and started down the hallway.

A moment later, she was standing in the gallery, staring at Prince Albert’s sad expression once again.

Clarimonde blinked.

“What is happening?” she murmured to herself.

Clarimonde lingered for several seconds, retracing steps within her mind. In no way should the hallway on the other side of Tertia’s boudoir have led back to the gallery—and she was absolutely certain that she had not taken a wrong turn. And yet: Here was Prince Albert, weeping upon Tertia’s saintly shoulder.

Clarimonde headed for Tertia’s boudoir once again. This time, as she angled for the hallway beyond, she slowed her stride and watched her surroundings intently.

There was a bend in the hallway, she thought, beyond which only darkness could be seen. By the time she reached the corner, it had once again become the gallery.

Suddenly, Clarimonde understood what was happening.

“The House will not allow my exploration,” Foxglove had told her.

Clarimonde was not yet so invisible, it seemed, that Hollowvale itself would overlook her. And the realm had no intention of allowing her to wander.

Clarimonde narrowed her eyes at Prince Albert. “How… irritating,” she muttered.

It was admittedly more than irritating—it was an obstacle that had to be overcome, one way or another, if Clarimonde hoped to find the dratted harp at all.

She crossed her arms, still staring at the painting as she thought.

“This is rather like the carriage, isn’t it?” Clarimonde asked the prince.

He didn’t respond. But of course, she didn’t truly expect him to do so.

“You must simply practise paying attention to people and learning what it is that makes them happy,” Mother Barclay had told her.

What on earth will make Hollowvale happy? Clarimonde wondered. Surely, nothing that she could offer it. As far as she could recall, the realm had attached itself to a violent, vainglorious rook; an equally vainglorious, bloodthirsty muse; and…

…and to one very eccentric English lady.

Nothing about Lady Theodora Wilder should have attracted a realm like Hollowvale, Clarimonde thought. And yet somehow, Theodora had commanded its loyalty for several decades, at the very least, until something about the situation had changed.

Her name, Clarimonde realised abruptly.

The rook had given up her name and lost her lordship. The Hollow Lady had embraced her other half—and surely, that experience must have changed her enough that she was forced to choose a different name.

Perhaps, Clarimonde thought, Secundus had not overthrown the Hollow Lady at all. Perhaps instead, Hollowvale had little taste for those with less than perfect certainty. And who could possibly be certain of themselves while trying to decide on the new person that they hoped to become?

The understanding sent a sharp shiver of awareness down Clarimonde’s spine. If she was right, then there was something that she could offer Hollowvale after all.

“I have a name that cannot be moved,” she told the gallery slowly. “I am given to believe that is uncommon.”

For a moment, Clarimonde wondered if the Hollow House was even listening…

…but as the silence closed in around her, she noticed that the grandfather clock had skipped a tick.

“I am betrothed to your lady,” Clarimonde said—now far more firmly, and with growing confidence. “Whatever rules she has set down for other visitors do not apply to me.” She lifted her chin and stared down the wilting prince in the painting. “I am Clarimonde Betony, and I will wander where I please.”