“Shame,” she said, shaking her head as she moved deeper into the room, placing the silks in a heap on the bed. “The kitchen maids are desperate for a bit of gossip about the princes’ new pet.”
“Sorry to be such a disappointment. Maybe “pets” aren’t all that interesting.”
“I mean no offense, My Lady. But it’s not every day The Seven break the rules and bring home a stray human. It’s all anyone can talk about. But not to worry—the night’s still young. Plenty of time for you to tell me everything.”
“Rules? The Seven? I’m not sure I follow.”
She faltered for the first time, dropping her gaze to her fidgeting hands. “Well, I guess technically it’s The Six now, what with everything that happened with Prince Lu—I mean, well... the princes of Hiraeth have always been called The Seven. Old habits die hard.”
“Prince Lucius, you mean?” I asked. My heart squeezed at the mention of the seventh son of Artos, who’d sent me away with his brothers while he remained in Neverland. The exiled prince was the very reason I’d taken a chance and left my sister behind. His dark curls and tortured eyes had clouded my better judgment.
She frantically waved a finger over her lips, her eyes darting around the room. “Shh! The lost prince cannot be named here. His banishment from Hiraeth means the court considers himdead. Mentioning his name will only bring attention you do not want.”
“It’s that bad? Can you tell me what happened? Umm—I don’t think I got your name?”
“Oh, curse the damn fates! Mirabelle, where’s your manners? One look at her and decorum’s gone out the window.”
I watched her bewildered as she seemingly scolded herself aloud. A hand popped over her mouth and a deep flush colored her cheeks, accentuating a smattering of freckles.
“What I meant to say was,” she cleared her throat and dipped into an uncoordinated curtsy. “Begging your pardon, My Lady. My name’s Mirabelle. I’ve been assigned as your lady’s maid.”
“I’m Michaela Darling Carlisle,” I replied, offering my hand. She blinked at me in confusion. I glanced down and realized my hand was stained with ink. Shoving it into the folds of my dress, I felt my own cheeks flush. Even a simple conversation with a servant girl proved impossible without appearing strange, dooming any hope I had of blending in with the nobility. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mirabelle. Now, what can you tell me about Lu?—”
Her hand clamped over my mouth. “For your own good, please don’t mention his name. If you make it through tonight, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other. Then I’ll tell you the story of the lost prince of Hiraeth. Therealstory.”
My heart raced at her words. “If you make it through tonight.” I brushed it off, pretending her veiled warning was nothing more than a poor turn of phrase. “I appreciate the gesture, but I have no need for a lady’s maid. You can tell the princes that?—”
“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 andlooked 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.
