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“It wasn’t the princes who sent me, My Lady. It was Lady Fallon. She insisted I get you ready for tonight’s feast. Mourning for the House of Bruin is over. The lords of all the Houses will be in attendance for the Crownspire.”

Alarm simmered into full-blown panic. Lady Fallon—the imperious princess of Hiraeth—was the eldest sibling of the princes and matriarch of the House of Bruin.

We’d had formal introductions the day we arrived.

If looks could kill, she’d be a very accomplished assassin.

Before my name had even left Nico’s lips, she’d waved me off and delivered the news of their father’s death to her eldest brother.

I’d become the most inconvenient houseguest from that moment on.

Several days had passed, and I’d been mostly ignored. Only Nico and Luca had tried to check on me. Though I’d yearned to comfort them, I’d placated them with reassurances, sending them off to mourn with their family.

Why had Fallon taken an interest in me now? I’d convinced myself she’d all but forgotten I existed. “I appreciate the offer, but?—”

“If you’re about to dismiss me,” she interrupted, “let me stop you right there. I mean no disrespect, but I’m here at Lady Fallon’s behest.”

“Yes, I understand, but I don’t need a lady’s maid. I’m not feeling like myself tonight, so I’ll save everyone the hassle and have dinner in my room.”

“No, you’re not understanding me. Tonight is no ordinary feast. Tonight is the Crownspire—it marks the transfer of power from the steward to the rightful king.

Lady Fallon has insisted on your presence.

To put it plainly, I serve her, not you.

You’d be doing us both a favor if you allow me to dress you, do something nice with your hair, and teach you what’s expected of an honored guest in our realm.

Lady Fallon will be damned if some human girl disgraces the House of Bruin during a time like this. ”

“Are you telling me I don’t have a choice?”

She huffed a relieved sigh. “I knew Cook was wrong.You do have a brain under all that pretty hair. Now, let’s see what we’re working with.” She ripped the shawl from my shoulders and looked me over. “Umm... let’s get started. We’ll need all the time we have. You talk, I’ll work.”

She spun me around and sat me back down in front of the mirror. An ink-smudged reflection greeted me. No wonder she’d questioned me—I was a complete mess.

“Er… excuse me, My Lady. I think I’ll need some help if we’re to have you ready in time.

” Mirabelle crossed to the window and flung open the shutters, hands on her hips as she stared out at the fading light.

“Well, come on now, don’t be shy,” she scolded, seemingly to no one.

The flutter of wings was the only warning before a flurry of birds swarmed through the open window.

“What in the bloody hell?” I mumbled, crouching lower in my chair. Tiny birds circled the high ceiling once before settling on every available surface.

“Now, I was thinking of weaving her locks back from the crown and leaving a cascade of curls over one shoulder. Maybe a few pieces to frame her face,” Mirabelle said, deftly arranging strands of hair as she talked.

“I think that sounds?—”

“Yes, yes, I knew you’d all agree.” She ignored me entirely, responding instead to the chatter of the surrounding birds.

“Rook, you hold this strand while I start on the other side.” She gestured to a small purple finch perched on the mirror, who instantly took flight.

Tiny wings fluttered around my head as he picked up pieces of hair with clawed feet.

“Oh. Okay. The birds are going to help. Nothing unusual about that at all,” I murmured to myself. Apparently, all manner of logic was out the window here.

I sat still as Mirabelle and her flock of helpers cleaned the ink from my face and applied rouge to my cheeks and lips to match the dress laid out on the bed.

“Such a beauty,” she cooed as she pulled the corset laces unbearably tight.

The stays dug into my skin from breast to hip, cinching my waist before flaring out at the hips.

The heavy crimson skirts spilled in voluminous waves, each pleat giving subtle contrast in varying shades of red.

“Once everyone sees you looking the picture of health, the rumors will die down.”

“Rumors? There are rumors about me?”

“You’re the first human to set foot in Hiraeth in centuries, and you think people aren’t going to talk?

But don’t mind your head about it. The only excitement we servants get is castle gossip—it’s harmless, really.

There’s talk that you’ve got... the Tribulation,” she whispered the last part into my ear as though someone might be listening.

“Some think that’s what sparked the new illness plaguing the peasants in Dunharrow.

But they’re just looking for someone to blame for all this death and hardship, rather than risk saying what’s really causing it. ”

I tensed. My arms instinctively rose to shield my exposed décolletage, as if she could see the sickness burning in my blood. “Then what is causing it?” I asked, trying to deflect.

Mirabelle froze mid-tug, and the birds fell silent. I glanced over my shoulder in time to see the color drain from her face.

“I may have been too bold, My Lady.”

“No, please continue. You did say you were here to educate me on Hiraeth.”

She leaned in close. “Between you and me,” she whispered, “not everyone in this court is an ally of The Seven. The Bruin princes have been away for far too long. Males lose their crowns when they’re off conquering the cosmos.”

The chill returned despite the roaring fire and the pleasant company. Mirabelle had been a welcome distraction, but the unease was back with a vengeance. “Are you saying the princes aren’t safe here?”

She hurried to tie off my laces and ushered me back to the chair, fidgeting with my hair as though nothing had happened. “All I’m saying is keep your head. You seem like a smart enough girl. Just be mindful—these are dangerous times. And it’s still not clear whether The Seven can fix that.”

I turned to face her after she slid the final pin into my hair. “Tell me more,” I pleaded, grasping her hands. “Something feels wrong here. What do you know?”

“I’ve said too much already.”

“Please, Mirabelle.”

She drew in a breath, about to speak when the groan of ancient hinges interrupted us. My bedroom door opened again, followed by the rhythmic clicking of heels across the slate floor.