A trickle of pleasure drops through me as Ina giggles gratefully. Caro looks cross—as if she’s lost a bet. “But do you like it, Jules?” Ina asks. “No Everless girl will tell us the truth. They’re afraid of upsetting me.”
As a little girl at Everless, I was transfixed by the gowns and the jewels that adorned the women, as taken with pretty objects as any girl of better birth. Papa used to call me a little magpie, for the way I collected things—flawed jewels not good enough for Gerling swords, scraps of ribbon, a stray gold earring—and kept them in a bowl on my nightstand. But they were my own stash of tiny treasures. When we were exiled and went to Rodshire, then Crofton, I turned away from such things. I pretended to scorn them.
But now Lady Gold is looking at me as she holds the red dress to her body. Her eyes are on mine, like she actually cares about my answer. I want to reach out and tear the fabric of the skirt to shreds, but I bite my lip and fold my hands in front of me.
“Maybe something gold?” I venture after a few moments. “It’s the secondary color of both your families. And after all . . .” I incline my head meaningfully at Ina Gold, half shocked that I’ve made a joke, and half hoping desperately that either of the other girls will pick it up.
After a moment, Lady Gold does. Her laugh is sudden and infectious, making me smile in spite of myself.
“You know, I hadn’t thought of that,” she says. She turns to Caro. “Gold. What do you think?”
Caro smiles. “It’s a little unconventional,” she whispers. “But gold does look rather lovely on you.” She tilts her head, considering Ina. “I’ll have the seamstresses make one up; in the meantime, let’s keep fitting the others, so they have a model to work off of.” She gestures with her hands, and, sighing theatrically, Ina lifts the green dress from the bed and shakes the wrinkles out, then neatly steps into it and turns so Caro can do up the buttons in the back.
Once she has, Caro folds the fabric of the dress against Ina’s body and instructs me to hold it in place while she deftly inserts pins, never once nicking Lady Gold’s skin. Her voice is no less commanding for being in a whisper.
While I stand blushing, trying to balance keeping a respectful distance from Ina Gold and holding a handful of fabric in place across her chest, Caro and Lady Gold gossip about a hedge witch Caro saw recently, who told her that she would soon reunite with her first and truest love. When Ina teasingly asks her who that might be, Caro blushes and changes the subject to some noblewoman who’s birthed a child with a striking resemblance to her handsome footman.
“Jules,” Lady Gold’s voice breaks through my reverie. “You would know. Is Liam always so dour? Or is it only when everyone else is having a good time?”
The sound of Liam’s name sends an unpleasant jolt through me, and I almost drop the fold of green fabric in my hand. “I—I don’t know Lord Liam well, my lady,” I stammer. I remember that they are outsiders at Everless, though it seems to me that you can never be an outsider when the Queen’s bells ring to welcome you. No one from here would dare to criticize him. “He’s always been . . . distant.”
Lady Gold scrunches her face up, making a show of tipping her nose up high in the air. “I’m Liam Gerling,” she says in an exaggerated, deep version of her own aristocratic accent. “I shan’t talk to anyone at this party. Clearly, my time is better spent sulking in a corner, glaring daggers at anyone who dares to speak to me.”
As I choke back a laugh—I’ve never heard anyone make fun of a Gerling so openly—Caro shakes her head. “His poor mother,” she whispers. “Lady Verissa has proposed a dozen possible brides, I hear, and he turned them all down.”
“Perhaps they changed their minds when they saw what a storm cloud he is,” Lady Gold suggests. “And he just says he turned them down, to cover up the embarrassment. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to marry him, not for all the time in Sempera.”
“Roan got the looks and the personality,” Caro says in a teasing whisper.
“Agreed,” I say without thinking, then hurriedly look down to hide the heat I can feel rising in my cheeks.
Ina seems not to have noticed—or care—but I feel Caro’s eyes on me.
“How long have you known Lord Roan, my lady?” I say quickly. As the words leave my mouth, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind Ina, all pallor and sharp angles and shadows under my eyes. The contrast between me and Lady Gold couldn’t be clearer.
But the princess doesn’t look fazed. “Ah,” she says. “Well, first, call me Ina. And I met Roan when the Gerlings visited the palace two years ago.”
Dimly, I remember that while the Gerlings were gone, Crofton set up a row of lean-tos in the market plaza with games for children, an abundance of music and singing, and as much candied fruit as we could spare. They stood the entire week the Gerlings were away, as a kind of celebration—a desperate attempt at merriment.
“We . . . got along well,” Ina continues. Another of those giggles that simultaneously entrances me and tears at my heart. I know it will hurt me to hear it, but I want to know everything about Roan and Ina.
“We exchanged letters after that,” Ina continues, “but had to keep it a secret; the Queen is supposed to choose who I’ll marry. Actually, it’s thanks to Caro that she chose Roan.” Ina gives the lady-in-waiting a grateful glance. “She’d found one of the letters”—Caro gives a small, mischievous smile—“and the Queen suggested that we forge a closer alliance with the Gerlings before the sun had fully risen. Of course, I never knew about any of this until after the engagement was announced. This one underestimates her influence.” Ina looks lovingly at Caro, who blushes.
“That’s . . . a wonderful story,” I whisper, my chest tight.
“Isn’t it?” The happiness in Ina’s voice is so genuine that I can’t resent her, even though my heart hurts for myself. Once Caro and I release her, she takes a step away from us and twirls, the green fabric lifting in a shining circle around her ankles. It’s not even a finished dress, but her movement makes it look like the most polished of gowns.
“Ina’s whole life is a wonderful story,” Caro whispers to me—a softer version of her normal whisper—as Ina crosses the room to examine our handiwork in the full-length mirror. “You’ve heard about it, surely?”