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A veline Corasande Caelan had been a prisoner before, but never in so lovely a cage. By appearances, she was in a luxurious bedchamber. It was twice as large as her childhood bedroom with white marble floors bedecked with opulent carpets and walls papered in a white and gold rose motif. Despite the room’s comforting display, Cora knew the truth. She was stuck here. The room was certainly an improvement upon the wagon she’d been kept in after she was captured at Centerpointe Rock, but it didn’t change the fact that she was on trial. It was a quiet trial, one of secret conversations and endless questions held behind the closed doors of this gilded prison, but it was a trial nonetheless.

And Cora was getting godsdamned tired of it.

She strolled from the mahogany bureau to the plush bed, ignoring the quiet company of the ever-present guard who stood before her closed door. With an aggravated sigh, she sat at the edge of the mattress. The comfort of her seat helped take the edge off her restlessness, not to mention the slight throb she felt in her still-recovering ankle. Thankfully, getting trapped under a dead horse had resulted in only a few sprains and not fractures.

Almost a month had passed since the battle at Centerpointe Rock. After her injuries had been tended to, nearly every waking moment had been spent trying to prove her identity and the—at least partial—innocence of her brother, King Dimetreus. They’d both been hauled off the battlefield and taken into custody. King Verdian of Selay had become their captor. Nameless men and women had become her inquisitors, asking her to recount everything about Duke Morkai, his magic, her childhood, and her brother while they listened with intimidating silence. She was certain the only reason she and Dimetreus hadn’t been sent to the dungeon upon arriving at Verlot Palace was because Teryn Alante, Prince of Menah, had intervened on her behalf.

Thoughts of Teryn did strange things to her heart. She wasn’t sure if he made it sink or flutter. Both perhaps. She was sure of one thing though; she needed to stop thinking of him as a prince. With his father dead, he was king now. Or would be soon. She hadn’t a clue how he’d fared since the battle. When last she’d seen him, he’d been wounded. It hadn’t been the deadliest of wounds, but it didn’t stop her from worrying about him. No matter how many times she’d hounded her captors with inquiries, no one would say a damn word about Teryn’s well-being.

Today no one had said a word to her at all. This was the first day she hadn’t been visited by inquisitors at the crack of dawn. She couldn’t help but assume the worst. That King Verdian had made his decision regarding Cora and her brother’s fate.

Panic rippled through her, mingling with a flash of anger. Curling her fingers into fists, she pushed off the bed and marched to the nearest window. At least, she intended to march. As her first hard step on her right leg sent a sharp pain through her ankle, she forced herself to slow. Keep her steps even. Careful. She’d only been given the go-ahead to walk on it this week. She supposed she should feel grateful that her wounds had been tended to at all.

She reached the velvet-draped window and tugged the curtain aside. Morning sunlight winked back at her, rising over the sprawling mountains in the distance. Her nerves stilled at the sight of those mountains, at the thought of those forests. What she wouldn’t give to be transported straight there, to escape these stifling walls and fill her lungs with early summer air.

Can’t I? a small voice inside her asked. Can’t I just…leave?

She remembered what she’d done at the battle, how she’d somehow managed to cross time and space, bringing her from beneath the dead horse that had pinned her legs, to the rock where the duke had stood. It had happened in the blink of an eye.

And yet, the more time that passed between then and now, the more she began to doubt it had truly happened that way. Surely there was another explanation for it. She’d heard of witches who could astral project and astral travel, but those powers were rare. What were the chances Cora had accomplished such a feat?

Besides, even if she could disappear, she knew she couldn’t. She’d made her choice. Now she had to see it through. At least there was one way she could experience what stood outside her prison. Sort of.

Pressing her forehead to the cool glass, she closed her eyes and extended her senses outward. It didn’t take long to connect to a sense of warmth. Hoofbeats echoed the pound of her heart. She could almost feel the soil beneath her feet, smell the dew-speckled leaves glistening beneath the morning sun. Then a voice came to her, formed from feeling, shaped into words.

I’m still close by .

Her lips curled into a sad smile. Even though she was a prisoner, it gave her comfort to know that Valorre, her unicorn companion, was free.

The door opened behind her, and her connection to the unicorn vanished. Forest trees and dewy leaves dissipated as her senses returned fully to the room. She turned away from the window just as a young woman entered.

“Is this her?” the girl asked the guard. She appeared to be perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. She was dressed in maroon velvet; a simple gown but far too fine to mark her as a lower servant.

The guard nodded. Without a word, he exited the room and left the two women alone.

Well, that was a first. Save for her use of the toilet, there was always a guard around, even while she slept. Or tried to. For someone who once had to rely on a sleeping tonic to achieve some semblance of peaceful slumber, trying to rest while being watched was no easy feat.

The girl dipped into a deep curtsy. Her face was alight with a bright smile as she rose. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Princess Aveline.”

“Cora.” The word slipped from her mouth before she could take it back. She’d gone by Cora for the last six years. Princess Aveline still felt foreign to her. Forgotten. Forbidden. She hadn’t even liked the name before she’d fled her childhood home and had preferred the nickname her mother had given her. After she’d started her new life with the Forest People—a commune of witches and Faeryn descendants who scorned royals—she’d discarded her former title. Buried it deep alongside her past.

But she wasn’t with the Forest People anymore. She’d relinquished her chance to return with them after the battle when she’d chosen to defend her brother instead. In doing so, she’d turned her back on magic. On her true self. On Cora . But Cora had never belonged with the Forest People. Not truly. Had they known she was a princess when they’d found her wandering the woods alone as a child, they never would have accepted her into their midst. The question now was: did she belong with the royals either?

“Cora,” the girl echoed. “Ah, that’s what the prince calls you, isn’t it?”

Cora’s pulse kicked up at her mention of the prince. Of Teryn. Her mouth fell open, her tongue prickling with the questions she was desperate to ask. How was he? Had he recovered from his wounds? But the girl was already speaking again.

“I’m honored you would allow me to call you Cora in private,” she said, smile widening. “I assume it’s a name reserved for your dearest friends, and I do hope you will consider me a friend, for we will be spending much time together. As for me, my name is Lurel.”

Cora frowned. “Why will we be spending so much time together?”

A blush rose to her cheeks. “Silly me. I should have explained myself better. I’m your new lady’s maid.”

Cora’s pulse hammered. If she’d been given a lady’s maid, did that mean…

She swallowed her hope before it could fully rise. Until she met with King Verdian himself and heard from his lips that she and her brother were pardoned, she would assume nothing.

A knock sounded at the door, and Lurel bounded over to open it. Three older women entered the room, bearing several boxes each. They paused to curtsy, then proceeded straight for Cora. She stiffened as they set their boxes down at her feet and began to assess her with furrowed brows. Emotions flooded her at once, an odd mixture of aversion, curiosity, and dread. She realized then that her mental shields were down; she’d lowered them to connect with Valorre. The emotions she was experiencing now were coming from the three women who were circling her with furrowed brows, hmm -ing, huffing, and whispering amongst themselves.

With a deep breath, Cora focused on the marble floor, firm beneath her feet. She imagined the air around her thickening, growing denser and stronger until it felt like a protective shroud. With her mental shields back in place, the unwanted emotions faded away.

Being a clairsentient witch had its benefits, but there were times when it was highly inconvenient. Her empathic ability to feel the emotions of others had served her numerous times, but in everyday situations, it was a hassle that required constant vigilance to block out unwanted outside stimuli.

And now that she was trying to reclaim her place as a princess amongst royals who feared magic, it was a secret she kept to herself.

The women continued to circle and assess her like a horse up for auction, making her discomfort grow. Were they determining her coffin size? Deciding on which length of rope to use at her hanging? Perhaps she was jumping to ridiculous conclusions, but if someone didn’t explain why she was the sudden object of these women’s scrutiny, she would lose every last shred of good sense.

“Pardon, but what is your purpose in being here?” Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but the three women didn’t balk.

“I’m so sorry,” Lurel said, wringing her hands as she approached. “I’m off to a terrible start at being your lady’s maid, aren’t I? I’m so used to serving Princess Mareleau, and she—well, I forgot that you haven’t lived as a princess for quite some time.”

Cora clenched her jaw to keep from snapping at the girl, who still hadn’t answered her question. One of the women lifted Cora’s arm and ran a measuring tape from her armpit to her wrist. That was when Cora understood. She hadn’t been fitted for clothing since she was a young girl. “You’re seamstresses.”

Lurel nodded. “You're being fitted for a new wardrobe by Princess Mareleau’s personal dressmakers. Ordered by King Verdian himself.”

She raised a brow. “Why would he do that?”

“Rumor has it that Selay and Khero are allies now. He’s helping you reclaim your title as princess. Of course he would want to help you look the part. You can’t return home looking like that.”

Home . She was…going home?

“I’m surprised you weren’t offered finer clothing sooner. Or a bath.” Lurel’s tone was devoid of disgust or condemnation, but it made Cora bristle just the same.

She glanced down at the plain gray dress she wore, one she’d received upon arriving at the palace, along with a nightgown and undergarments. She’d been given a daily ewer for washing, but her hearth was never lit unless she requested it. Since she was too proud to beg anyone here for help, she’d donned her cloak on cold mornings instead, and today was no exception. It was the same cloak she’d worn during the battle, and the wool was stained with soil and blood. She splayed her hand, noting dirt caked under her nails as well as the loose strands of frizzy hair that floated about her face.

Now she understood the emotions she’d sensed from the seamstresses. If they were used to fitting the Princess of Selay, they had their work cut out for them with Cora. They didn’t bother having her undress and they seemed loath to touch her or her filthy clothes more than necessary.

After a few more basic measurements were taken, the women stepped back and began holding bolts of fabric and even some finished dresses next to her as if testing the colors against her skin tone.

“These are Princess Mareleau’s old dresses, Highness,” one of the seamstresses said, addressing Cora for the first time. She held up a gown of gold taffeta and squinted at it before giving the dress a nod and taking it to the bed.

“More like rejected designs,” the eldest woman muttered, a wry smirk on her face. That earned a titter from the other two.

“I can’t imagine why Mareleau would reject any of these,” Lurel said, tone wistful as she watched the women lift dress after dress and hold it next to Cora. The seamstresses were careful not to let any of the gowns come within an inch of her current ensemble.

Once they seemed satisfied, they packed all their things back in their boxes. “We’ll have these gowns hemmed and adjusted by evening, Highness,” one said. “They won’t be perfect but they’ll do until you get home to your own dressmaker.”

There was that word again: home . She tried to associate it with Ridine Castle but forest trees and archery seemed more suited to it.

She shook her head. Maybe someday she could return to just being Cora, forest witch, friend to unicorns, and poisoner of enemies. Not yet. She’d chosen her brother. The safety of Khero. Until she knew both could flourish without her, she had to stay. Had to be Princess Aveline.

“You must be exhausted after everything you’ve been through,” Lurel said, rousing Cora from her thoughts. Only now did she notice that the seamstresses had left and had been replaced with servants hauling in a large washbasin and pitchers of steaming water. “Now, come. Let’s get you washed and styled. We’ll have you feeling like a princess again in no time.”