Бесплатный фрагмент - Golden Dozen

Chapter 1

Such is the nature of life that if you are born into the lower classes, you must begin to work from a tender age. No one ever dreamed of a different lot, having come into the world in the grimy district between the docks and the weavers’ workshops. Nor did I, on the morning of my eighteenth birthday, as I reported for my new position.

The uniform dress was not even new; I had managed to procure it from an acquaintance. I adjusted the cuffs with a fretful gesture, smoothed down the skirt, as grey as the morning sky, and entered the room. My hands trembled slightly. There was so much crystal here that one was afraid to turn around; on every table, some trinket glittered.

My mother’s words buzzed incessantly in my head: don’t be rude, don’t be sharp. Look at the floor when you speak to your betters. There is no such person as Thea Blount while you are in service. Forget your name, forget your desires, and follow orders so perfectly that not a gnat could find fault.

It would be easier to simply stop breathing.

Today, I had come of age. And today, I had secured a position as a maid in the Bizet household. It was nothing to marvel at, but it was better than toiling as a laundress for the rest of my life. At dawn, I had received my instructions from the housekeeper and planned to begin my duties in the drawing-room. Sweeping away dust, polishing the silver, helping in the kitchen — and so on, all day, until the sun hid itself behind the harbour. I dearly hoped that at such an early hour, the masters would still be snoring into their pillows.

No sooner had I crossed the threshold of the drawing-room than these hopes were dashed. Seated in an armchair by the newly kindled fire was the elderly Mr. Bizet, master of the house and of us all. The green velvet of his dressing gown shimmered, making him resemble a decrepit serpent about to shed its skin for the final time. His bald head shone so brightly that I found myself staring, my mouth agape. Did he polish it?

“Good morning, my dear,” he said, smacking his lips. “Somehow I don’t recall seeing your pretty face here before. A pity…”

The sticky gaze with which the master looked me up and down made me want to immediately go and wash. These old men who paw at young girls are the absolute dregs. They can’t even put their own breeches on, and yet they still have the gall.

A great many retorts sprang to my tongue, but I bit them back. Be honest, and you won’t last long anywhere.

“Good morning, sir. It is my first day.” Remembering that servants were expected to curtsy, I bent my neck. The movement came out awkward, like a chicken pecking at grain.

“It is clean enough in here,” Mr. Bizet countered. His voice creaked like an unlubricated cart. “Why don’t you sit down, have a chat with me. I must satisfy myself that I have taken into my house a biddable and grateful girl, one who will not cause trouble.”

He patted his knee, implying that the seat he had in mind was not the armchair at all.

The blood rushed to my face. *You old goat!..* So gratitude is now measured by how far one will let you push your hands under their skirt?

I was still trying to restrain myself. My mother and sister had always scolded me, called me hot-headed. They said I needed to temper my spirit if I wanted to make something of myself.

“No, sir, I cannot,” I replied in an even tone, while in my head I cursed him to hell and back. “I must continue with my work, I beg your pardon. Emmeline gave clear instru — ”

He cut me off with a sharp gesture, as if shooing a yapping dog.

“Enough of this foolishness. The housekeeper is a servant here, just as you are. My orders, obviously, take precedence over any of her directives.” He half-closed his pale eyes and smiled, a smile so cloying it turned my stomach. “And I order you to cease playing the innocent lamb and bring me some cheer.”

The old man scrambled out of his armchair with unexpected agility and moved towards me. Up close, he reeked of tobacco and sour sweat. A hand bulging with blue veins reached out and touched my braid.

“What lovely hair… Like the black silk I used to import from the south. Don’t wear it like that; let it down over your shoulders, I should like that. And such dark eyes, like agates, how they sparkle.” He took me by the chin and turned my head from side to side, inspecting me. “If you apply yourself, perhaps you won’t have to return to scrubbing and cleaning. It’s a sin to occupy such delicate hands with mops and rags.”

All my mother’s admonitions flew out of my head with a whistle. I trembled with rage and disgust. My throat felt constricted; the words barely forced their way out:

“Step away from me this instant, or you will regret it!”

It seemed he didn’t even hear, so consumed was he by his lust. His dry palms slid over my hips, tugging my skirt upwards. And then, I stopped thinking; my body reacted on its own.

Smack! A wet sound, like a slab of meat thrown onto a counter.

Mr. Bizet let out a wild shriek and clutched his face.

“You wretched little beast!” he howled on a single, high note, hopping from foot to foot.

“I am no beast! You’re the one groping people, you are the wretched one!” I rattled off, letting it all out at once.

“You dare speak back to me?! Get out!” roared the master, his face turning blue with fury. “Out of my sight this instant! Ungrateful chit! What gutter did they drag you from? Ah, how it hurts…” He pressed his hand to his eye again and hissed. “You will regret your behaviour, do you hear me, you creature? You will not find work in this city again, I shall see to it!..”

He grabbed a silver bell and shook it furiously, as if summoning everyone to a fire:

“Eric! James! Here at once, you idlers! Throw this creature out!”

I backed away towards the door.

“I can find my own way out.”

And I hurried to make my escape before the footmen could come up from their room in the basement. Burning with anger, I gave a large vase by the front entrance a kick for good measure. The heavy urn wobbled, then crashed to the ground, shattering to pieces. A mass of soil spilled across the steps, releasing a smell of damp earth. The way back was now cut off. There would be no cooling down and begging for forgiveness. Not that I would have.

Better to drink from puddles and eat potato peelings than to serve such monsters. I spat on the porch and strode swiftly away.

— —

The thought of going home was dreadful. Perhaps I had done the right thing, but Mother would not praise me for it. We needed the money — the firewood was running low, and the nights were growing colder. It is easy to be proud when you eat your fill every day. When bills do not demand payment, and the soles of your shoes aren’t falling off. Sooner or later, poverty forces you to put your pride in the farthest drawer. When I was young and foolish, I thought that moment was still a long way off for us.

On my way, I stopped at the market row to pick up Mother’s medicine from the apothecary. Just then, the butcher’s wife, an acquaintance of mine, was emerging from the neighbouring shop. Upon seeing me, she brightened and asked with that particular brand of mockery known only to market women:

“Well, now, Thea, has your sister turned up yet?”

The mention of my sister stung. Two years ago, Una had been selected for the Silver Hundred — what joy there was in our home then! To be entered into the list from which the Crown Prince’s bride would be chosen — that was no small thing! Everyone laughed, picturing her sweeping about in silks and diamonds, ordering maids about. *Oh, fetch me some chocolate! Oh, plump up my pillows!* And, without fail, swooning at the sight of a mouse.

Much water had flowed under the bridge since then. Una had not advanced to the next round of the selection, and from that day forth, there had been neither word nor whisper from her. As if she had dissolved into air. And Prince Garrett had since kicked the bucket, having succumbed to some unknown illness.

I couldn’t care less about the royal sons. Let them all drop dead at once — I wouldn’t shed a tear. But the loss of my sister was a wound I had not yet learned to bear. Sometimes I would wake in the night and listen, hoping to hear a stair creak. After our father’s death, Mother was almost always at work, so it was Una who carried both me and the household on her shoulders. Without her, I felt lost. I stumbled about like a puppy torn from its mother.

“So, what’s happened to her, then?” piped up a curious woman from the next stall, who had come over to buy some sausages. “I remember, she was always about, fluttering her eyelashes at the apothecary.”

The butcher’s wife bared her teeth, pleased to have gossip to share.

“Got a taste of the capital life and ran off, she did. You know how it is…” she explained with an air of worldly wisdom. “A young, comely girl. And in those palaces, walking money-bags run about on legs, practically throwing themselves at you. What chance did our apothecary have?”

I stared her in the face. *Filthy gossips*. Una would not have abandoned me, not for any money-bag on legs, nor for a baron with a castle. Something had happened to her, I was sure of it, otherwise she would have written. At least a note. I had no strength left to listen to this nonsense. Everyone tries to act as if they understand everything, as if they know everything, when they can’t even tell their head from their tail.

“What nonsense are you spouting?” I asked, nearly stamping my foot like a child. “You know nothing, yet you chatter. I could just as easily make up stories about you and whisper them on every corner — would you like that? You’d be better off minding your own lives instead of wagging your tongues.”

“Well, I never!” The woman sneered, planting her hands on her hips. “Have I struck a nerve? My, my, aren’t we sensitive. You ought to run off after her. Why sit around here moping? Who knows, maybe some rich man will take a fancy to you too…”

I felt sick hearing that. I turned and walked away, wishing I could gather up all her words and stuff them right back into her nasty mouth. I doubt she would have liked the taste. The anger within me seethed and churned like a knot of mad foxes, yapping and snapping at each other’s tails.

— —

I crept in on tiptoe, but a floorboard creaked nonetheless. In our cheap apartment, right under the eaves, everything that could creak, did. And that which couldn’t developed cracks through which the wind whistled.

My mother peered out from the neighbouring room. Milk would have looked swarthy next to her. The hair on her forehead was matted with sweat, dark circles bruising the skin beneath her eyes. Even for someone with a chill, she looked unwell. In her hand, she clutched a trembling sheet of thick paper — where had she gotten it? Some kind of receipt, no doubt… Well, no sense delaying the inevitable; she would find out anyway. I began speaking quickly, not giving her time to collect herself.

“I was let go. But don’t you worry, I’ll find something else soon…”

Without listening at all, Mother thrust the paper under my nose. I flinched back.

“What is this?! What is the meaning of this, I ask you?!” She looked almost deranged. Her neck was trembling, her lips twitched, and her eyes were terrible, with the black voids of her pupils.

I looked closer, struggling to make out the dancing lines. Literacy had come easily to me once, but that was so long ago, the skill had faded over the years. I had to read it several times before the words made sense.

“What in the…”

The ink gleamed on the fine, embossed paper. I had held a sheet like this once before. At first, it was kept as the greatest treasure, and then it was thrown into the fireplace when it became clear that the daughter would not return.

Miss Thea Blount.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been included in the Silver Hundred under the quota allotted to your social stratum (index: 5). The candidate is obliged to arrive at the Ruby Palace no later than the 17th day of the current month. Lateness or failure to appear will be considered a refusal to participate. We wish you the best of luck.

To avoid any misunderstanding, please keep this summons until your registration at the palace.

Sincerely,

The Committee of Ceremonial Services.

Chapter 2

The journey to Belandar consumed all the savings I had managed to scrape together over a couple of years — money earned from day labor and selling trinkets pilfered from market stalls. Mother refused to even hear of the trip, but she no longer had the power to keep me within four walls. I was no longer a child to be locked in a room for disobedience.

From the post station to the palace itself, I had to travel on foot. The capital was larger and noisier, but the streets I walked were not so different from the ones I knew. My boots, freshly cleaned of grime, were dusty again, the hem of my skirt was soiled, and my hair was tousled by the wind that wandered between the houses. It was no wonder the gatekeeper pulled a face and barred my way the moment I approached the ornate wrought-iron gates.

“Not permitted!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Angry at this blockhead, I fished out the envelope with the summons and thrust it under his nose.

“What do you mean, not permitted, when I’ve been summoned?! Here, look, my name is written right there!”

The gatekeeper ran his eyes over the lines with a martyred sigh. The text did nothing to increase his respect.

“Fifth stratum, tsk… No surprise there, then.”

He seemed to be simply mocking me, savoring his moment of power over another person. That familiar look from childhood. Like flypaper, gathering up all my shortcomings.

While we were arguing, a rich carriage drawn by a pair of bay horses rolled up to the gates. The door opened. Leaning on the coachman’s arm, a richly dressed young lady stepped to the ground. A weightless scent of lilac blossomed in the air, though everything had long since finished blooming. I sniffed, enchanted by the notion that a person could exude the fragrance of an entire garden.

“Oh, what is the matter here?” asked the ethereal creature, fluttering out of the carriage.

She was a girl, perhaps a little older than I. With golden curls arranged on her small head, she seemed as tiny as a bird.

“Welcome, Lady Edelbry. All is well, you may proceed.”

I snorted at how quickly this oaf stopped putting on airs. Now he looked very meek, even blushing slightly. A dog caught red-handed, who just a second ago was chewing on a boot.

Lady Edelbry’s attention instantly shifted to me.

“Oh! Are you here for the selection as well? How wonderful!” She almost clapped her hands, as if nothing better could have happened to her. “It’s always a pleasure to see a new face. In the salons, everyone is so terribly familiar with each other, upon my word.”

Doubts jostled inside my head. Was this lady speaking sincerely, or was she setting up a cruel jest? I’d believe her now, and she’d laugh later. But she looked so artless that suspecting her of anything seemed mean-spirited. As if everything that entered that fair-haired head was voiced aloud immediately.

It clashed with everything I’d ever heard about noble ladies. All they could do was hide behind fans, simper, and giggle — wasn’t that so? Everyone knew it.

“There is no one to introduce us to each other,” Lady Edelbry said with concern. “Oh, what is to be done?…”

She was visibly flustered. The gatekeeper was certainly not suitable for the role of “someone,” a fact he was well aware of as he kept silent. The lady’s fine eyebrows drew together like a little roof. From my point of view, there was no problem at all. But the nobility had life too easy, so they invented a thousand silly rules for themselves. So that life wouldn’t seem like honey. They couldn’t even get acquainted with a person from another stratum just like that.

Watching her suffer, I suddenly remembered how Una and I, as children, used to dream of princes. They would see us at the fair, fall in love, and take us to the palace. A crooked smirk twisted my face. *Like hell they would. A real prince wouldn’t even be able to learn your name.*

This Lady Edelbry was rather sweet. And she didn’t look at me as if I were a worm in an apple. But was it wise to trust friendliness when we had all come here to compete? Still doubting, I decided to play along, but with caution.

“There’s no one to introduce us, that’s true… But there’s also no one to witness a breach of etiquette. Unless this young man here turns us in,” I sent the oaf of a gatekeeper a poisonous smile.

“Oh, no! Gendry, you will keep our little secret, won’t you?”

“Most assuredly, Lady Edelbry. My ears are deaf, and my eyes are blind.”

That was interesting. If she knew his name, she must have been here often.

I wasn’t given a chance to think further. The young lady’s slender hand seized me by the elbow. The fingers in white gloves were so delicate it seemed frightening to break them with an ill-considered movement. A cloud of floral scent enveloped me from all sides.

“Come along, then! Let us be good friends? Oh, please don’t refuse! I can be a bit talkative, but I shall try to restrain myself. Just for you, my dear.”

Slightly bewildered by such determination, I allowed myself to be led down the path.

Chapter 3

The magnificence of the surroundings was blinding. Never in my life had I seen such luxury, nor had I even known it existed. The best place I had ever been was the accursed Bizet’s house, but next to the palace, it was a wretched hovel.

The floor of marbled patterns was covered with runners of a dark red, like spilled blood. They were new, without a single worn spot — it felt terrifying to step on them. Light poured in from enormous windows and played in a thousand glimmers on the crystal droplets of the chandeliers. I instinctively shrank as I passed beneath one of them. It seemed that if it were ever destined to fall, it would surely be onto my head.

My head spun from the height of the slender columns. I followed them with my gaze — even the tops were adorned with real paintings. In one of the shops along the way here, the windows had displayed miniatures: tiny pictures, the size of a palm, with floral studies and painted heads. But here, artworks covered the entire ceiling. From wall to wall, every arch, every dome. And the colors were so vivid that not every flower could rival them.

It even smelled unique here. Of the musk and jasmine perfumes of the courtiers. Of the lavender water from the tiny fountains merrily burbling among the halls. Of wax polish for the floors. Of armfuls of peonies and roses adorning thin-walled porcelain vases at every turn.

Walking further, I caught the scent of fresh bread — and immediately lost it again. It was a phantom, carried from the palace kitchens.

Tears welled in my eyes.

It was so magical here that my heart hammered against my ribs, wanting to leap out and stay forever amid this beauty. But the wonder was poisoned by the venom of memory.

I looked at the crystal and gold, but I saw our poor district. Houses of grey stone, with more holes in their roofs than in some cheeses. Survival purchased by the price of daily toil. Neighbor children and elders for whom making do with rancid scraps from the butcher’s shop was an everyday affair.

Had anyone in the royal family ever once suffered a sleepless night from the hunger in their empty belly? Had they scrubbed their hands raw doing day labor? My mother’s hands were as hard as oak bark. Had anyone in this palace wept because a child was burning up with fever and there was no money left for a healer because three others needed bread?

My fists clenched of their own accord. *It’s not fair.* They didn’t choose who to be born as, but neither did I. So why had we been given such vastly different lots?

Lady Edelbry, with an apology, left me, promising to find me later. I didn’t believe her for a copper, of course — she had probably realized her dreadful mistake. Rustling in their dresses, the newly arrived girls approached the registrars’ tables; the echo of their voices and footsteps played beneath the vaults of the hall. A hundred young women from seventeen to twenty-three years of age had gathered at the palace today. Most were of noble birth, wealthy and well-mannered. Even if they lacked wit or character, a coat of arms and a sonorous name would cover those flaws.

They cinched their waists in corsets, powdered their cheeks, and hid their delicate hands from the sun. They laughed like little silver bells. Their hair shone in the bright daylight almost as brightly as the gemstones in their hairpins and combs.

How was one to compete with them?

I had no faith in my chances of winning. It was a bitter pill, but I had always thought pragmatically. *A duck does not fly with swans.* And instead of wasting time on flirtation and intrigue, it was better to learn at least something about Una.

And if I got lucky — to eat my fill as well. I’d boast to the folks back home about how I’d eaten the same food as the queen.

“Oh, good heavens!”

I nearly jumped at the stranger’s exclamation. A man who had sprung up from behind the registration desk was now briskly at my side. He was in such a hurry that his watch had slipped from his pocket and now swung on its long chain like a pendulum.

“Miss, have you been robbed on the road? I shall inform the supervisor at onc — ”

“What?.. W-wait a moment…”

I grabbed him by the sleeve. A thought flickered and vanished: I could have taken advantage of the confusion. Nonsense — my invitation stated my social stratum. Who would believe that a poor servant girl had her luxurious dress and a wad of banknotes stolen? Seeing that the steward was no longer about to dash off headlong for help, I scowled at him.

“Everything is fine, I was not robbed.”

He examined me with such audible bewilderment that everyone in the hall should have noticed it. Perhaps even someone on the street.

“Ahem… Forgive me, but your appearance…”

“It was quite deliberate.”

Looking at my sullen face, the steward coughed.

“Of course. Quite so.”

He returned to his place behind the table, and I followed him. My summons, given a cursory glance, was added to a stack of identical ones.

“My apologies for my discourtesy, Miss Blount,” the man said, opening a thick, lined ledger. “Please have a seat, I need to enter your name into the register.”

His tone, previously agitated and sympathetic, lost all its color in an instant. It was almost sad how quickly he had ceased to see me as a person.

“Is this your first time participating in the selection?”

“Yes, I only turned eighteen a few days ago.”

The question gave me an idea. If one could participate multiple times, there was a chance I might meet someone who had been here with Una.

“In that case, allow me to give you a brief instruction. This evening presents an opportunity to show yourself in the best light. Each candidate will be a guest at the formal reception. Following it, the jury will select the twelve most suitable young women. The so-called ‘Golden Dozen’. ” He looked at me meaningfully, as if he were going to select them himself. “Each social stratum has a quota corresponding to its significance to society. Four places are allocated to the aristocracy, three to representatives of the military and banking elite. Two places go to the spheres of science and the arts, and another two to skilled crafts and trade.”

The more he listed, the longer my face became. So far, none of it applied to me.

“The final place is designated for the servant class,” he said in such a monotonous tone it made one want to yawn.

I turned my head to look around. At first, it had seemed every other girl here was a princess, but now I noticed several in simple, inexpensive hats. Though they at least had *those*.

“May I ask, Mr. Cadby… Has there ever been a queen in history not of noble birth?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” he replied politely, twirling an ink pen in his fingers.

“Then what is the point of all this, if the winner is known in advance?”

The steward did not react to the provocation. He only smiled serenely:

“Would you like to withdraw from the selection?”

“Not in the slightest. You mentioned a jury that selects the Golden Dozen…” I drawled, pondering. “Who is on it? Aristocrats as well?”

“Alas, I cannot disclose such details. The identities of the jury members and their voting are a secret, as one must prevent any pressure being exerted on them. It is all for the sake of fairness. An honest selection where chances are equal, and a candidate from any stratum can emerge victorious.”

It seemed that deep down, Mr. Cadby was sincerely amused. I wanted to give his nose a good, hard pull; my hands positively itched to do it. Unaware of my desires, he gestured towards a broad corridor:

“If you have no further questions, you may while away the time until evening in the tea room, the library, or the gardens.”

At least they weren’t locking us in a single room — that was something. I chose the tea room, if only to find out what such a thing was. And that decision would have its consequences.

Chapter 4

It felt awkward walking across polished parquet and soft carpets in dirty shoes. I kept waiting for someone to notice and scold me for the disgrace. At the same time, curiosity gnawed at me: how would the other candidates react to me?

Several girls had claimed a low sofa, while others had settled into armchairs. One had taken a place at the piano standing in the corner, lightly playing a melody. When I entered the room, no one even turned their head. I had feared for nothing, that they would all pounce at once. They were ladies, after all, not wild beasts.

One of the girls, whose luxuriant chestnut curls were voluminously teased and gathered into an elaborate hairstyle, suddenly captured everyone’s attention.

“Where is our tea? It must be so fresh that the leaves have not yet ripened.”

The girls sitting near her tittered, some openly, others covering their mouths with handkerchiefs. I smiled too, until I realized the question was directed at me. The smile fled from my face instantly.

“You are mistaken, my lady. I am not a maid,” I said, feeling terribly uncouth. Everyone here wore gloves, even the one at the piano. Short, snow-white gloves adorned with lace. Such a fancy. But for some reason, I desperately wanted to try on a pair, just once.

The girl twisted her full lips into an unpleasant smirk.

“Not a maid? If something looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then what else could it possibly be?”

The blood rushed to my face.

“I understand my appearance may be misleading…” Polite words did not come easily. “But I am a candidate, just as you are.”

“*Just as* I am? It seems my wit has found a rival. I have never heard a joke so amusing!” The lady looked around as if inviting the others to laugh with her.

One of her companions, a blonde with a colorless face who carried herself more casually than the rest, suddenly perked up.

“Oh, I have it! Lady Ritz, you will be delighted. It is the new entertainment to keep us from getting bored before the evening, I am sure of it. At the last selection, I heard, they brought in a learned ape! It could add numbers up to ten and bowed most comically.”

My teeth ground together. It felt as if I had been doused with slops from head to toe. So that’s what I was to them? Little better than a trained monkey?

The girl, pleased with her own cleverness, clapped her hands.

“What is five plus seven?”

Lady Ritz stopped her.

“Now, now, enough of that. You have quite flustered Miss… Forgive me, I do not know your name. What a pity.”

I wouldn’t have introduced myself. I might have even left, letting these vipers choke on their own venom. But a bright, clear voice suddenly sounded from the doorway.

“Her name is Miss Thea Blount.”

Tapping the rhythm of her steps with her little heels, my new acquaintance — the chatterbox Lady Edelbry — entered the tea room. A tiny crease had formed above the bridge of her nose, and her cheeks were flushed. She had caught part of the conversation and was clearly not delighted with what she had heard. Were the lady not so pretty, her expression could have been called fierce. She looked indignantly at the dark-haired instigator.

“Charlotte, I see you have not abandoned your old habits? It is simply base to behave so towards a poor girl!”

The piano missed a note and fell silent. A hush descended upon the room so profound I could hear my own heartbeat. The other girls looked bewildered. Someone coughed awkwardly. They clearly could not decide whose side to take. If I understood anything, Lady Ritz and Lady Edelbry were equals in status.

“And you, Diana, have not changed in the slightest,” Charlotte Ritz replied with false friendliness. “Still feeding strays.”

Their gazes crossed like blades. Light blue and brown eyes tested one another. A pity ladies wouldn’t resort to fisticuffs; I would have enjoyed watching that.

I gave a slight bow to Lady Edelbry.

“I thank you for your concern, but I require no patronage. Cruel words only harm the one who utters them.”

A piece of wisdom left to me by Una. As a child, I was constantly getting into fights with kids at the parish school who teased me for my small stature and quietness. I suspect she told me to think this way only because she grew tired of sewing torn sleeves back on and explaining things to other parents. But ever since then, nasty words had indeed rolled off me like water off a goose’s back.

Lady Ritz did not waste time. She narrowed her eyes and shot a sharp glance.

“You see, Diana? Even stray pups do not want your help. A wasted effort.”

I had no intention of letting her have the last word. She might be decked in silks and velvet, she might be a thousand times more noble than I, but inside she was nothing but rot and spider nests.

“Do not twist my words,” I said, holding myself as straight as I could. “I am grateful to Lady Edelbry. It is simply that you are not a sufficient threat to cause me concern.”

Red spots bloomed on Lady Ritz’s golden cheeks. Her pallid friend gaped in astonishment.

“What insolence…”

Feeling I had won this skirmish, I left the room. Even if that tarted-up Lady Ritz nursed a grudge, what did it matter? We would never see each other again.

Chapter 5

The palace gardens were vast, impossible to cross in a single day. Far off, only a dark strip upon the horizon, the woodlands began. I imagined lost souls wandering among the cone-shaped trees — gaunt, unshaven, with wild eyes. Well, then. The main thing was not to lose myself.

Close to the palace, there were paths enough to stretch one’s legs. The flowerbeds gave off a magical scent, though all the proper blooms had long since faded. Bewildered bees dirtied their legs with pollen and collided in mid-air, while invisible birds sang in the canopies. If one listened closely, one could hear the murmur of water: there was a fountain nearby.

The water’s mist settled upon my hands and face with a pleasant coolness, and rainbows danced in the air. I looked at my reflection and noticed coins glittering at the bottom of the basin like fish scales. Oh! Even gold ones… Delighted, I immediately began to search for a suitable stick — for my money had quite run out. I had not even enough for the journey back. So the risk of wetting my arms to the elbow in the fountain did not seem so dreadful.

Yet the court gardeners had not earned their bread for nothing.

“What sort of garden is this,” I muttered under my breath, “if it has no sticks?” Grumbling did not help my search.

I sat upon the edge, trying to gauge the depth of the basin. Ah, my elbow was near…

Among the labyrinths of clipped hedges strolled ladies, their lace parasols flashing and their laughter drifting on the air. I could hardly climb into the fountain before so many eyes — they would take me for a vagabond and throw me out. Perhaps later. When all were asleep and no longer watching. It was not even thievery; the coins were simply lying there, going to waste. No one would suffer if I took them.

Though outright thievery would not have troubled me overmuch either. “If you take from a rich man what he does not need,” Una used to say, unwrapping a sweet bun she had pinched from the shopkeeper’s son, “there is nothing wrong in it.”

My shoulder ached at the memory of the thrashings we had received that day. The boy had complained to his father, and the man had come himself to teach the insolent little beggars a lesson. And while the cuffs and kicks rained down upon us, that fat, already-overfed swine chewed on his honey-cake. He ate it without even pleasure, scattering more crumbs than he consumed. Simply to show that he could, unlike us.

My reflection rippled.

“Yes, nothing wrong…” I murmured, watching the waves erase my face. “A pity the rich do not see it that way.”

“Forgive me?”

I spun about so sharply I nearly tumbled into the fountain. The stranger — who had crept up behind me without a sound — reacted swiftly, catching me beneath the back and keeping me from falling. Startled, I clutched at his shoulder like a frightened cat.

“Surely I cannot be so terrible that you would rather swim away from me?”

The young man, very young indeed, smiled at me. Elegant and somehow fair — like a sugar figure. Clearly not of common birth: his bearing was upright, his clothes fine as for a festival. He even carried a pocket watch, its chain dangling from waistcoat to pocket.

For a moment we stood quite close, nose to nose. His golden hair smelled so pleasant that I felt an almost doggish urge to sniff him, but I doubted that would be proper here. Indeed, it would not be proper anywhere!

His large blue eyes studied my blushes with curiosity.

No, he was not terrible at all. Such a face was a pleasure to look upon.

“The heat is fierce,” I said, attempting a clumsy jest. “It makes a body want to bathe.” I unclenched my crooked fingers.

The fabric bore creases. Now he would see them, and that pleasant smile would twist into a grimace.

But he did not seem much concerned about his coat. The young man kept glancing at me as though he wished to say something but could not bring himself to do so. It was plain he was uncertain of what he saw before him. And no wonder: dressed like a servant, yet idling like a lady. At last he opened his mouth to ask something, but at that moment a voice called from the side:

“Enough flirting. Come along. You will have time enough to find trouble this evening.”

From behind the hedge stepped another young man — tall, broad-shouldered — and promptly made a sour face. Everything about him breathed irritation. Clad only in black and white, dark-haired and pale, he stood out against the cheerful greenery and the sky. As though someone had erased all colour.

“Your courtesy is beyond compare, brother,” said the first, smiling politely. “Surely you did not notice, but we are having a pleasant conversation with the miss… Forgive me, I do not know your name.”

“Brother”? One could hardly imagine two less alike people. One shone like the sun; the other was like a cold moonlit night, when every passerby hurries to reach home.

“What use is talking to them?” the “night” hissed, adjusting his cuffs. His long fingers were covered in rings, the stones glittering in the light. He pulled off the largest with irritation and shoved it into his pocket. No doubt some earl’s son, spending his father’s money right and left. “These girls all have the same thing on their minds.”

It infuriated me that this fellow acted as though I were not there. As though I were one of those marble benches.

“You are quite right,” I said, meeting his grey eyes directly. “We girls think of nothing but smelting iron.”

The fair-haired young man laughed lightly:

“You see? You are too quick to despair of life. It always holds room for surprises. Pray forgive us, miss. I would gladly continue our conversation, but business presses.”

His brother frowned impatiently, evidently finding these courtesies excessive. He did not even wait to bid farewell before striding off.

What an unpleasant fellow, I thought, watching them go. A handsome face, and nothing more. Inside, only ash and coal. Good riddance to him.

Inside me, anger bared its teeth, urging me to catch up with the boor and give him a taste of his own medicine. Now that would be a scandal — a candidate for the selection set upon a little lord! I snorted, imagining the look on that puffed-up turkey’s face. But I did not wish to appear ill-mannered before his smiling brother — why, I could not say. So few people in this palace had spoken to me like a human being. The gentle smile he had given me had warmed my heart a little.

Evening was drawing near. And the closer it came, the clearer I understood that something must be done about my gown. I had hoped to learn news of Una, but who would speak frankly with a lady’s maid?

Lost in thought, I descended the endless staircase to the hall. Ascending toward me, hurrying her steps, came a girl wearing almost exactly the same dress. The fabric was different — better — but the cut and colour were similar. I bit my lip in vexation. Set us side by side, and no one could tell which was the servant and which the participant. What use blaming people for asking me for tea when I was dressed so? It was my own fault.

My self-reproach was interrupted when I saw the girl’s face. Wet with tears, it was utterly miserable. So there was something here, after all, the same as everywhere else.

Should I poke my nose into another’s affairs?

In my mind rose all those times I had needed help, and no one had paid me any heed. People simply walked by, careful not to let my misfortune touch them — as though it were dirt or disease that might cling to their hands.

The maid had nearly reached the top of the landing when I caught up with her and called out:

“Hey, wait! Has something happened?”

The words were so foolish that I winced. Of course something has happened, you dullard — people do not weep from sheer boredom.

The girl turned. She sniffled, her nose red.

“They have assigned me to Lady Ritz,” she said, in a tone that suggested no explanation was needed. Her thin lips trembled and twisted.

“I see… And?”

“You are new, are you not? I do not recall you…”

That look of a hunted creature peering cautiously from its den — I knew it well. The girl was afraid of saying too much.

“I was a lady’s maid once myself,” I said, “though not for long.” I thought it best not to say how short a time. “But I came here for the selection.”

The girl’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

“So you are one of *them*? Oh!” She faltered. “I beg your pardon for addressing you so familiarly — “you’ — I mean, “my lady’ — oh, the more she babbled, the more tangled she became. “Oh… Forgive me, I am so stupid, I always do everything wrong…”

Seeing her eyes grow moist again, I hastened to reassure her:

“Enough of that. It is quite all right. I am just the same as you. Why stand on ceremony?”

“The same, but not the same,” she said, shaking her head and wiping her face with her sleeve. “I would never have sent an application for the selection. It takes courage. And where is my courage? All in Lady Ritz’s fist.”

Strange talk.

“What application?” I asked suspiciously.

She stared back at me, even more suspicious.

“Are you quite certain you are a candidate? To be entered on the lists, one must first send an application. How else could it be done, think? A general’s daughter may not need to trouble herself, nor a duchess — everyone knows of them already. But as for the likes of you and me, who has ever heard of us?”

I nearly bit my tongue in frustration. Somehow I had believed so utterly in the power of the King and court that it had never occurred to me to ask such questions. And Una had been entered on the list as well, but I had not seen her send any letter. Surely she had no secrets from me? We shared everything.

“You are a strange one,” said the maid, watching the changes upon my face. “You say you sent no application? Then someone took care of it for you.” She grew sombre. “I wish I had such a benefactor. All I get is scolding and cuffs.”

You could send one yourself, I thought with rising irritation. You do not even need to spend a stamp — you are already here. And while you sit waiting for the sea to calm, your whole life will sail by.

Her further lamentations passed unheard as I thought my own thoughts. Who could have done this? My mother? Her face, contorted with fury, flashed before my eyes. She had been beside herself when she learned that another daughter meant to go to that wretched place. And I had no other close kin — only my mother and my sister.

Could Una have done it? It would be like her. She was the sort who did not do good so much as impose her will upon others, regardless of their wishes.

Hope stirred and spread its wings. If this was truly my sister’s doing, then she was alive. I felt as though I had found the end of a thread in a tangled ball of yarn.

Interrupting the maid’s complaints, I asked:

“Would you happen to know — are applications sent far in advance?”

“Half a year. So they may reach their destination from every backwater. You know how the post works.” She was about to offer further thoughts on the postal services when the great clock in the hall struck the hour. “Good heavens! It is already five o’clock! I have quite chattered on with you. With you. With — oh, I must run. Forgive me.”

She gathered her skirts and rushed off, only to turn back and whisper hotly in my ear:

“Put Lady Ritz’s nose out of joint! A curse upon her!”

I smiled, watching the frantic girl depart. It seemed someone, at least, was rooting for me.

Chapter 6

The problem of the dress demanded decisive action. The fairy tales I had loved as a child had lied, every one of them — no kindly aunt had leapt out from behind a tapestry, burning with a desire to help me. Where, in any case, did such aunts dwell? Nor had I seen any maid carrying a splendid gown to the rubbish heap merely because a tiny, *tiny* spot had been found upon the hem. Perhaps all these strange things happened somewhere, but they had never happened to me.

Watching over my shoulder and starting at every rustle, I waited until the guard changed and then crept to the guest floor. Doors lined both sides of the corridor, the candle flames flickering in the draught. Even the crack and hiss of the wicks seemed menacing, as though the dark corners hid invisible serpents. I was so nervous that I had to wipe my damp palms upon my skirt.

Door after door, chamber after chamber. Some were locked — the occupants not trusting the servants, or perhaps not trusting the other guests.

First I pressed my ear to the carved panels, then slowly turned the handle. And so again and again. At last, when I had nearly given up hope, one of the doors yielded and let me into the room.

The light struck my eyes. Large windows, barely veiled by curtains of green velvet — heavy and sumptuous. They were held back by wide beaded ribbons; had I but more time, and a needle and thread, I could have made a gown from those two things alone.

But the luxury of lingering as long as I pleased I did not have. The main thing was that no one should take it into their head to lie down for an hour or two. To be safe, I propped a chair against the door. If someone walked in and found me rummaging through the drawers, I should not escape a thorough dressing-down.

A tortoiseshell comb and a powder puff upon the table suggested that a woman was lodged here. I had been lucky. And a very wealthy lady, judging by the jewellery caskets worked with golden patterns. Curious, I opened one, but instead of jewels, the niches held little pots of glass and bone. Nearly dropping one of them, I decided to leave the casket be. Some kind of digestive remedies, no doubt.

At first glance, there were no clothes in the room. I threw open the wardrobe doors and nearly let out a whistle. The gowns barely fit; one of the boxes tumbled straight into my hands. Catching the edge of a skirt, I lifted the patterned embroidery to my eyes. Raised beneath my fingers, dense. And sewn with stones besides.

Forgetting everything in the world, I plunged headlong into this treasure-house. The little girl inside me squealed with delight — when would I ever have such a chance again?

Suddenly the door jerked.

*Damn!* I froze like a frightened hare. My heart dropped to my heels so abruptly that for a moment I could not feel it at all.

A soft knock came.

“Charlotte!” The voice was very agitated, but muffled — as though the man did not wish to be overheard by anyone else. “If you are in there, open the door at once! I must speak with you urgently! Charlotte! The Minister suspects something, I am certain of it! Answer me!”

I sat upon the floor, holding my nose shut with the dress so that not even the sound of my breathing might escape. *Go away! Can you not see there is no one here?*

After beating the innocent door in frustration, the man left. Waiting to be safe, I leaned back against the wardrobe with relief. That had been close. I must move quickly — who knew who else might come calling upon this Charlotte?

I was afraid to take the most splendid gowns, glittering with precious stones. Satin skirts, bodices in a foam of white lace, ribbons and feathers… One such dress cost a fortune. And it would hardly be forgotten. I would take something beautiful, but simpler, that would not catch the eye. This one, say: soft folds of blue silk, a little lace, silver thread. And I would simply wear my hair loose; after being plaited, it would fall in handsome waves without any curling papers.

No sooner said than done. I changed my clothes, and took the liberty of borrowing a cambric chemise from the pile of linen. I parted my hair and combed it out. I even let fall a few drops of aromatic essence from a bottle upon the dressing-table. The scent did not please me — cloying and thick as treacle, announcing itself far too loudly — but it was pleasant to smell sweet.

I smiled at my reflection in the little mirror. And what did I lack to pass for a noble lady? I might not have learned to glide across the floor as they did, but I could stand still as well as any of them. The final touch was a pair of silk gloves. I pulled them on and straightened my shoulders — quite a different feeling altogether.

The clock upon the landing struck six in the evening. Time to descend to the ballroom.

The first stage of the selection had begun.

Chapter 7

For the first ball in honour of the selection, the Amber Hall had been chosen — a place truly dazzling. The name was echoed by the pale wooden parquet, the candelabras gleaming with gilt, and the sunlit tapestries worked in satin stitch upon the walls. Thousands of candles burned in the chandeliers; their bright light left nowhere to hide. I shaded my eyes with my hand. If I kept squinting so, people would think I suspected them of something.

There were so many guests that their voices blended into a monotonous roar and sounded through the music, like a fairground on harvest festival. Laughter flared here and there, moving about the hall like a wandering spark.

A hundred candidates, their relatives and servants, the courtiers dwelling in the palace, the guests, the royal family. All gathered here to learn who would enter the golden dozen.

I was rather daunted by the crush. Some clustered in groups, others strolled about the hall, but it seemed to me a wild whirlpool that might drag me under at any moment. To collect myself a little, I attached myself to a pair of young ladies who did not even notice me. One of them had a ridiculously thick tail of fair hair, the sight of which strangely calmed me. Perhaps it reminded me of something familiar and dear — a besom, for instance.

“Look!” cried the “tailed” one, seizing her friend’s elbow. “There, behind the column — speaking with the steward. Is that not Mr. Brickman?”

“Who, forgive me?” faltered the second, a stout brunette laced into a corset. The busks seemed to pinch her too tightly, for her eyes were at once wretched and slightly protuberant. “I have quite forgotten, Bibi. So many names to learn of late.”

“Marcus Brickman, the chief reporter of the *Royal Gazette*! He is the one who dug up the scandal with Lord Morterton last year. They say the lord even hired an assassin to take revenge!”

“Oh…” The brunette actually stepped back. “We must keep our distance from him.”

“On the contrary, silly,” Bibi smiled condescendingly and swayed her splendid tail. “If Mr. Brickman does not know of you, you are no one in this world. His opinion carries weight. One notice in the *Royal Gazette* — and you are famous.”

“Or covered in indelible shame and hiring an assassin…”

But Bibi was not to be discomposed. Her shoulder, bared rather daringly by the neckline of her gown, gave a little shrug.

“Simply behave yourself properly,” the girl declared in the tone of a seasoned lady. She dragged her friend forward, though the friend’s feet did not move. “Come, come — we must be sure to show ourselves before him.”

“Are there many newspaper men here?”

“A plague of them. But none to compare with Mr. Brickman.”

“You speak of him with such enthusiasm…” The brunette giggled, her chins wobbling. “Are you certain you wish to marry a prince, and not a reporter?”

“Oh, go on with you. Come, before Lady Ritz claims him.”

The girls, stifling giggles and swaying their wide skirts, departed toward the columns. The conversation I had overheard surprised me. Could a newspaper man truly hold such power? He only created letters on paper, after all. A puff of nothing. An ordinary man, without a title, owner of neither estates nor manufactories.

Almost like me.

Yet even ladies sought his attention, feared him, discussed him. What a strange world this was.

While I was staring, a tall man in uniform asked one of the nearby candidates to dance. I thought the fellow would be sent packing, but the girl accepted his hand with a coquettish smile.

Well, well. It was perfectly normal here to dance with a woman who was all but another man’s betrothed. On our streets, such a trick might cost a man his teeth — and the woman hers, as well.

The musicians drew their bows diligently across the strings; the music ceased only for the brief moment when partners changed. My feet longed to dance, but I knew none of these complicated waltzes and minuets. And my favourite dances — the “Little Goat” or “Mad Moll” — were unlikely ever to be performed beneath the vaults of the royal palace.

Seizing a moment of silence when the couples broke apart and reformed, I hurried to the opposite end of the hall. There, at least, one could sit; one need not stand like a post all evening.

“Oh!” The girl who collided with me burst into childish laughter. Reddish and sweet-faced, she resembled a small squirrel. “Forgive me! This music has quite turned my head!”

Beaming, she gathered her skirts and darted away, her little heels tapping on the parquet.

“What ill breeding.”

I turned, but the unflattering remark was not addressed to me. A stately young lady was watching the lively girl who had nearly knocked me off my feet. Had it not been for the gown of blue satin that this person wore, anyone might have been deceived, taking a living woman for a statue. Her aristocratic face was powdered to alabaster whiteness and almost devoid of feeling, like a frozen mask. Perfect and frightening.

Seeing that she had drawn attention with these words, she showed her courtesy and greeted me with a tiny nod.

A lady-in-waiting, no doubt. Or a princess. With such a face, one did not sell fish.

Watching the company was vastly entertaining, but my stomach was growling with hunger. Not a poppy seed had passed my lips since morning, apart from a cup of tea and a few biscuits with which all the candidates had been provided. Fearing that my belly would soon roar louder than the violins, I moved to the dining room adjoining the hall.

I had expected to find something like a tavern, only with white tablecloths and velvet cushions on every chair. But the Garnet Dining Room offered little chance to rest one’s legs — only a few settees in cosy alcoves. The tables, however, which groaned under multi-tiered platters of refreshments, ran the length of the walls.

I shall eat until I burst, I decided at once. I can already see the headlines in the morning papers: “Sensation! First Victim of the Royal Selection! Read All About It on Page Five!” I hoped Mr. Bricksby — or whatever his name was — would write it.

The guests were helping themselves to the delicacies with tiny plates and tongs. I followed their example, regretting that I could not take a proper tray instead of these absurd little saucers.

The first thing I tasted was a puff-pastry basket filled with baked cheese, pear, and the thinnest slices of smoked ham. I would never have thought to combine such things, but the flavour was beyond all praise and spread across my tongue like true bliss. At home, we rarely had any meat besides tough cuts of beef, and even those went into the pot only on great holidays. Such extravagance as this… You spent your coin, and your stomach hardly noticed. For the poor, food was a means to survive another day — not a pleasure.

Shaking off these dark thoughts, I studied the contents of my plate. My neighbour, a dapper old fellow who smelled strongly of tobacco and pine cologne, glanced at me approvingly.

“That is how young ladies ought to eat,” he said, as though I had asked his opinion. “What beauty is there in a creature a gust of wind might carry away? Oh, I strongly recommend this charming hare in red wine — very tender.”

With my mouth full, conversation was difficult, so I nodded to show I had taken the advice. Behind me, a greatly agitated girl suddenly appeared and began hissing at the old man:

“Papa! Not again! How many times must I tell you to stop pestering people?” She snorted angrily and blew at a black curl that had escaped her coiffure and kept falling over her brow. “People are already looking at me askance. And do take off that top hat — they have not been worn at court for ages.”

“And quite wrongly! A respectable man should possess three things: an account at the bank, sensible sons, and a quality head-covering.”

“Speak more softly — people are staring.”

But the old man only grew more heated at these remonstrances:

“Let them stare! Let them! At the last selection, I was not afraid to thrash that solicitor from Forbrook, and I am ready to defend myself at this one as well!”

“Then I shall not make the golden dozen again this time either…” muttered his daughter under her breath. “Much obliged.”

“What is that muttering? Speak plainly and clearly, like this young miss.”

I froze halfway through a cream pastry topped with a large strawberry. This was, I believe, the first time in my life that anyone had held me up as an example to another. And not especially deservedly, for I had not said a word to the old fellow. How he had managed to judge my speech by my silence, I could only guess.

The girl abandoned her vain attempts to call her father to order. She was covertly examining my gown, and one could plainly see the mental debate raging behind that broad brow.

“Forgive me,” she finally ventured, “you are not, by chance, a ward of Lord Sturges?”

At this I nearly choked. Unwilling to risk my life, I set my food aside.

“No, no. I have no connection to any noble family.”

I expected her to make a face and move away, but instead she smiled with evident relief:

“Thank heavens! This is my second time here, and I have no one to talk to. Ladies everywhere — one is afraid even to approach them. Though so much is whispered about each of them, they still turn up their noses, pff…” She prodded a chicken in aspic with studied carelessness. “Take Lady FitzWilliam, for instance… Everyone knows she had an affair with the youngest prince! Right during the selection for his late elder brother! I mean, the now-late brother. At the time, he was alive and well. Ah, what a handsome man they lost… The middle prince is handsome enough, of course, and the youngest as well… But the eldest always had a particular charm, do you not agree? Though I would not be disappointed if I married the middle one.”

It was rather difficult to follow the thread of her thoughts — she jumped from one thing to another faster than I could finish the hazel-grouse wings in their crispy pastry.

“Do you truly wish to win?” I said, and then immediately realised how rude it sounded.

But my companion took no offence. On the contrary, she smiled with a penitent sigh:

“Let me dream a little! If a moneylender’s daughter becomes a princess, all those ladies will swallow their tongues with envy!”

“My dear, such language…” interjected her father. He seemed to have missed the entire conversation, engrossed as he was in fishing prawns from the salad.

“What of it? It is the truth. Can you imagine, Papa? Me, a princess! I shall spend my days trying on gowns and making music.”

“Heh heh — nothing will change, then?”

I hid a laugh behind a cough.

“Oh, enough, Papa! I shall not marry anyone, of course… But to make the golden dozen would be delightful nonetheless. A brilliant match would be assured. Do not think, miss, that I lack for offers… But this would be a quite different level. Generals. Lords. Perhaps even the youngest prince, Ansel…”

The girl’s round eyes grew hazy with a dreamy mist. She had clearly given the matter much thought — unlike me.

The idea of marriage had always seemed terribly distant. And having come here, I had avoided the first reaction that overtakes every proper young lady without a sweetheart: the desire to acquire a husband. One well-connected in high society. Rich. Well-dressed.

To me, there was little difference between a prince and a banker’s son — both had always been equally beyond my reach, barely more than a fiction.

And now I found myself in a place where all these people were real. One could even touch them, if invited to dance.

Chapter 8

Lost in thoughts of dozens of enviable suitors, I did not notice that another girl had joined our company — the plump brunette who had been so afraid of the reporter. She had lost her friend with the remarkable tail somewhere; I hoped the latter had not been mistakenly locked in a cupboard. A loud exclamation brought me back to the conversation, the thread of which I had quite lost:

“It cannot be! Lizzie, you are teasing me!”

“I would swear upon my own gown, Maryann,” the moneylender’s daughter pronounced weightily. I found this so amusing that I had to lower my head. “Miss Ogilvy has indeed been recalled to court. I saw her red curls myself.”

“Yes, one could hardly mistake them for another’s,” murmured Maryann, glancing about as though she expected Miss Ogilvy to spring at her from behind the columns. “But I thought she had lost the power of speech after that incident, had she not?”

“I believe she is nothing more than a pretender,” Lizzie said with a curl of her lips. “People will do anything for attention.”

This was said loudly enough to be heard by all those around.

Feeling that I might drown in this torrent of gossip, I steered the conversation toward the most intriguing course:

“Miss, I see you are wonderfully well informed, whereas I am here for the first time and understand nothing at all.” Was this too much? But no, the girls smiled, flattered. “Perhaps you know how the last selection went? I have heard so many rumours, I know not what to believe!”

They exchanged glances like true conspirators.

“Oh, it was a most scandalous affair,” said Lizzie, twirling a curl about her finger. “So many dirty little secrets came to light. Though I did not make the golden dozen myself, I followed the newspapers closely and attended every presentation. Ah!” She slapped her friend’s hand. “Do you remember? I witnessed the very first scandal in person.”

Maryann frowned, trying to recall.

“You mean the Minister of Justice?” she ventured uncertainly.

“Yes, yes!” Lizzie’s eyes gleamed. She beckoned us closer and whispered fiercely: “I sat right next to that creature at a reception — I saw her as clearly as I see you now. I thought at once that there was something suspicious about her. You never saw such coarse hands in your life. But her face was pretty, I grant her that.”

“And the Minister was caught in the net,” giggled Maryann, covering her mouth with her hand.

“That is still to be decided who caught whom!” Lizzie’s father pushed his way between us. “A berry like that — and with that dunderhead!”

Lizzie turned blotchy.

“Do be quiet, Papa, I beg you!”

They bickered, and I felt like a hound who had picked up a scent. A pretty face and coarse skin… An inner trembling passed into my hands. Clasping them together, I asked:

“Pray continue. I do not quite understand what happened then?”

“Some dubious creature wormed her way into that selection. From the poor. They say she was even a servant.” The girls exchanged grimaces full of outrage.

“But is that not permitted?” I asked, trying not to betray my true feelings. “One place is set aside for the Fifth Estate. Why do you say she ‘wormed her way in’?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue in annoyance:

“Very well, not wormed her way in — she entered. It is all words. Everyone knows this foolish formality should have been abolished long ago. A maidservant on the throne — where has such a thing ever been seen?” She laughed falsely, with no embarrassment at all for the maid with a tray who happened to be passing by.

Perhaps she was right, but it took a great effort of will not to silence her with a pastry. It was not that I did not know how the Fifth Estate was regarded. But now I was receiving in the face all that had once been whispered behind my back. And this bathing in filth gave me no pleasure at all. She was only a moneylender’s daughter, who had done nothing useful in her life, yet considered herself better than Una simply because she belonged to the Second Estate.

“That miss wasted no time,” Lizzie confided, unaware that in my mind she was presently drowning in a ditch. “Knowing she could not reach the prince, she jumped into the bed of the Minister of Justice. And he is married! And old! Disgusting!”

“I beg your pardon!” protested the old man.

His daughter patted his cheek:

“Do not be offended, Papa. Truth does not wound.”

Maryann, who apparently had not known all the details either, perked up:

“What a scandal! How was she exposed?”

“They say Lady Ritz’s maid caught them when she was carrying dresses to the laundry at night. She saw the creature go into his chambers alone.”

“Horrible,” gasped Maryann, fanning herself with her hand. “Such an insult to Prince Garret…”

“That is what I say — one could tell at once what she was. With hands like that. Even her name shows what low origins she sprang from; it reeks of the back alleys.” Lizzie folded her hands over her stomach and assumed an important air: “I can tell at once from a name what sort of person stands before me — respectable or not worth the trouble.”

“What a remarkable memory you have,” marvelled Maryann. “Learning never stuck in my head, though our governess struggled so with me…”

“I cannot complain. My excellent memory comes from my mother. All the women of our family are distinguished by their wits — is that not so, Papa? Papa?… Oh, he does not hear. So if I notice something once, I never forget it, you may be sure! You could wake me in the middle of the night, and I would tell you that creature’s name was Ula. Ula Brown.”

A crease formed between Maryann’s brows:

“Are you certain it was Brown? The Browns are colliers from Rovenshire — my father only just returned from there.”

Caught off guard, Lizzie waved her hand dismissively:

“Oh, what does it matter — Brown or not? Then it was Ula Blown. Or not Ula… You have confused me!”

With an air of detachment, I helped myself to more of the fat prawns. Inside, I seethed with barely suppressed rage.

Una, not Ula, you damned fool.

Chapter 9

Having had my fill of refreshments and gossip in equal measure, I returned to the hall. My spirits had fallen, but I did not wish to let a chit like Lizzie spoil the most magical day of my life. The musicians had shifted from unhurried melodies to lively tunes; there seemed to be even more people now. Some had gathered on the balcony floor, observing those below through quizzing glasses and droll little binoculars. I turned my head this way and that, searching for the royal couple, but found no one who resembled them. No doubt the hosts of the evening would appear last — their places on the dais between the fireplaces stood empty, four carved chairs with high backs that no one dared to occupy.

Well, here I was at the palace, and I still had not seen the King. Anyone who learned of it would laugh at me.

The noise grew louder. In the crowded press, one quickly felt ill at ease; the stuffy air began to press upon my temples. Even the open doors to the garden could not dispel the closeness.

I shall go and refresh myself, before my head begins to ache.

The evening garden greeted me with the piercing chirr of crickets. The round moon lit everything so well that without any lanterns I could make out the star-like shapes of night-blooming flowers, so I turned without hesitation away from the lights burning in their bowls. Inhaling a thousand new scents, I walked slowly along the path, trailing my hand along a wall of vine leaves. The cool greenery touched my skin pleasantly.

From around a bend in the hedge came muffled sounds of a struggle.

“Please do not…” A girl’s strained voice was little more than a squeak.

“Modesty becomes you, but enough of these formalities,” replied a man’s voice. “Ah, come here, you naughty thing…”

Fabric rustled, a branch snapped.

“My lord, you have misunderstood me! Do not… I shall scream!”

“Are you quite certain you wish to do that?” The man lowered his voice; it became silky, laced with hidden menace. “Everyone would come running to see. They would tell your mother, begin to gossip, weave their conjectures. How did it come about that a young candidate was found alone with a man?” He gave a mocking snort. “You would be disgraced before all the world, no longer invited to salons. We do not want that, do we, mm? Be obedient, and I shall say nothing to anyone. On the contrary, I shall arrange your future in the best possible manner.”

“Stop it! Let me go!”

Tears trembled in the girl’s voice. This was the sound of a person on the very edge of hysteria.

It struck me like a blow: only now did I understand what was happening there.

Beside myself, I crashed through the bushes and tumbled straight into the scene unfolding. In my fervour, I did not stop to think that I might tear my gown on the sharp branches.

My appearance came like a thunderclap from a clear sky.

Pressed into the corner of an ornamental garden bench was the squirrel-like girl who had collided with me in the hall. But not a trace of her former cheerfulness remained. She shook with violent tremors; tracks of spilt tears glistened on her white face. The man pressed against her held her fragile wrist in one hand, gripping so tightly that bruises would surely appear by morning. His other hand, which had been lifting her skirts, froze halfway.

“What is happening here?” I blurted, stepping closer. “Shall I call the guard?”

The villain recovered quickly. He released the trembling girl, smoothing down her skirt with an almost imperceptible gesture. A careless smile played upon his face. Twenty years ago, he might have been handsome, but now he had bald patches at his brow and deep furrows about his mouth, while his neck was draped to the chin.

“All is well. Miss Liddle and I are good friends. Are we not, dear Concordia? Reassure your friend.” He narrowed his eyes, studying me carefully. His gaze was cold, rather fishlike. “I venture to say she is new to court, else she would know that the Mortertons are renowned for their respectful conduct and impeccable manners. As befits those of our circle.”

The girl looked at me imploringly. Her dark eyes begged for help. No doubt the man was far above her in station, else she could have spoken the truth openly. But her frightened appearance was enough to understand — there was no friendship here.

“It seems to me you are lying,” I said loudly, with no intention of moving from the spot while he remained. “Leave her alone, you vile — ”

I broke off at the sound of footsteps. Someone had emerged from a nearby gazebo and was now approaching us rapidly. Lord Morterton noticed as well and bit his lip in vexation:

“Ah, Her Majesty took such pains over this reception. Why is everyone fleeing it like rats from a sinking ship?” he muttered venomously.

A low voice answered from the darkness:

“I shall be sure to convey your question to my mother, Lord Morterton.”

Miss Liddle clutched her cheeks like a child:

“Oh, no!”

Recovering herself, she scrambled to her feet and made a hasty curtsy. I did my best to follow suit, though I continued to glare at the highborn villain. At the words from the darkness, he turned as white as milk. Even in the blue twilight, it was plain to see.

“Perhaps you have other useful suggestions regarding the arrangement of the festivities? I think my mother would find them exceedingly interesting to hear.” The owner of the voice drew nearer to us. Black-and-white garments, tall stature, a handsome face with expressive features. I recognised that ill-mannered youth who had insulted me by the fountain. What was his name?…

The young man’s heavy gaze exuded frost. It was a wonder the flowers in his line of sight did not wither.

“Come now, my prince,” Lord Morterton immediately turned obsequious. “Why trouble Her Majesty with such a trifle?”

He lacked only a tail to wag.

I grimaced. What a slippery creature!…

Focused on keeping the lord from fleeing, I processed their words more slowly than usual. When at last I did, I had to grasp the vine tendrils to keep my suddenly weakened legs from buckling.

Mother of mercy!

A real prince!

And what in damnation, Your Highness, are such things happening for in your garden?!

“Miss Liddle, are you all right?” After receiving a hesitant nod, he ordered dryly: “Return to the hall. The dancing will continue until midnight.”

The girl vanished as though blown by the wind. She was in such haste to escape that she stumbled and nearly bloodied her nose.

“As for you, Lord Morterton, you would do well to find an occupation more suited to your age.” He turned to the man and looked him straight in the eye. Even I felt uneasy; a sense of danger hung in the air. “I hear there is a game of whist in the Pearl Drawing Room.”

The lord’s false smile would have soured even fresh milk:

“Much obliged for the advice, my prince. I was just looking for some entertainment.”

Brushing down the tails of his coat, he seized his walking stick with its ornate handle and departed, favouring us with a bow on his way out. The prince returned a restrained nod; I did not stir. Irritation showed in the lord’s gait, his heels clicking distinctly upon the stone.

“Why did you let him go?”

Dark brows rose in surprise. The prince was genuinely astonished to be addressed in such a manner.

“What would you have me do with him? Tie him up in ribbons and give him to the orphans?” His tone was impeccably polite, unlike his words.

“You could at least throw him out! You saw what he was doing, did you not?”

My suggestion seemed greatly to amuse His Highness.

“Throw out Lord Morterton?” he murmured. “I shall add that to the list of things to do immediately after my coronation. What makes you think, miss, that you may give me orders?”

He came closer, examining my face, which was hidden from the lantern light by the shadow of the shrubs. The broad set of his shoulders blocked my entire view. His nearness made me uneasy. But instead of wilting and lowering my gaze, I looked him in the eye. *When force bears down upon you, become a greater force.*

Or better yet, run for your life. But I had nowhere to move.

“Someone must take on that care, if you cannot draw the proper conclusions yourself,” I said, before I had time to think what I was saying or to whom.

*You have gone mad! Apologise at once!* screamed a voice in my head.

Ah, if only I always listened to that voice, which told me such sensible things…

Prince Caden regarded me as though he had stumbled upon a talking mouse. Something insignificant had managed to pique his curiosity. But it still meant nothing.

“Do you think,” he asked slowly, “Miss Concordia Liddle would agree with you? Would she wish me to clap in irons a man who has the power to destroy her entire family out of mere revenge?”

“Then strip him of that power. You are a prince, damn it, not some night-soil man,” I burst out in vexation, and then bit my tongue.

Old swearing habits were not so easily broken.

The young man laughed softly, mockingly:

“Where do you get these charming ideas? From a book of fairy tales? Even for a king, such a thing would be difficult.”

I did not know what to answer. For in my imagination, kings were indeed all-powerful. Capable of turning heaven and earth upside down for a mere whim, able to do literally anything they wished. He was the King — everyone obeyed him! And everyone obeyed the prince except the King. Was that not so?…

Pouting like a child, I refused to admit defeat:

“Then what is the point of being a prince?”

“A fair question. I shall ask my brother — perhaps he knows the answer,” he replied, grimacing. “What is your name, miss?”

“Thea. Thea Blount.”

“Well then, Miss Blount, you too ought to return to the guests. The results of the selection will be announced at midnight.” His smile held such mockery that no explanation was needed.

My chances of making the golden dozen were smaller than a flea’s of becoming Lord High Treasurer.

Watching him leave, I felt a flicker of disappointment. While the prince had stood beside me, his presence had been oppressive and unnerving, but the moment he left, the solitude of the vast park became nauseating.

Chapter 10

I decided to walk just a little, to admire the coloured glass lanterns hung in another part of the garden. This corner seemed a magical world, and the guests who had strayed into it, tinted green and blue by the glow, looked like fairies from ancient legends.

I bitterly regretted this decision when I tried to return to the hall through a different door. The winding corridors played a cruel trick on me, leading me by the nose as badly as any fairy.

Finding myself in a deserted part of the palace, I was quite lost and hoped to stumble upon anyone — even the bloody Lady Ritz — if only to escape before I died of old age. Just as I was about to despair, fortune took pity on me: from a dark corridor branching off to the side came vague sounds. Without a second thought, I turned that way and entered through a door left ajar, trying not to crack my skull in the darkness.

There was plenty to crack it on — the room proved to be a long hall in the midst of repairs. The sharp smell of lime assailed my nose; tools lay in disarray upon trestles, and ladders stood clustered like a palisade. In the moonlight, everything seemed slightly unreal, and the singing that began likewise seemed to come from a dream.

I had heard girls who sang well enough while passing the time at their sewing or entertaining folk in taverns. But none had ever sung like this.

That voice, clear as a tear, washed over me in waves and carried me away. I knew neither the song nor the language in which it was sung, yet somehow my breath caught in my chest. The melody was so beautiful and so sorrowful that it made me want to weep for all that had never come to pass.

Clutching some sort of pole, I stood and listened with my mouth agape, thinking of Una, of the mother I had left behind, of the friends who had gone about with bruises after their marriages. It seemed to me that I heard all of them, and thousands of other women who had drunk grief to the dregs.

Shifting awkwardly, I pushed the pole too hard — and it scraped against the wall and crashed to the floor. Something fell and shattered, rolling away. The singing stopped.

Cursing myself roundly, I stepped forward. From behind a barricade of planks and rolls of fabric, frightened eyes stared at me.

“Forgive me!” I said, raising my hand. “I knocked it by accident, made a dreadful noise. You sing so beautifully — I quite lost myself listening.”

The girl came slowly, as though uncertain, toward the window. In the darkness, all cats are grey, so I could not make her out clearly. She was a little taller than I, young, it seemed. She looked at me rather wildly and said nothing, hiding behind strands of hair that had escaped from the coronet of her braid.

A timid thing, yet dressed in a fine gown — not like a servant — clutching a scarf at her throat.

I coughed; her silence made me even more uncomfortable.

“You are one of the hundred as well, are you not? It is nearly midnight; they said we must return to the hall.”

The girl whispered, barely audible:

“Let us go,” and proceeded toward the door.

Delighted that I would finally escape this cursed labyrinth of corridors, I followed her.

My attempts to draw her into conversation failed; she responded only with a nod or a gesture, as though her singing had used up all her words.

And when I lingered at the door of the Amber Hall, brushing the lime from my soiled hand, she vanished entirely, melting into the crowd faster than an ice chip in boiling water.

A mysterious young lady, to be sure.

Usually I am irritated by people who behave as though you are not there, but her singing still echoed in some hidden corner of my soul, and I could not find it in me to be angry.

I returned to the ballroom just as a brief intermission was called between dances. Stewards hurried to and fro, carrying crystal flutes of champagne and small bowls filled with berries in crushed ice. Why not take both? The sweet-tart drink tickled my tongue with cheerful bubbles; it made my head feel light, as though all my worries had been blown away by the wind. Nothing like the home-brewed ale we had back home.

Suddenly I felt a sharp gaze upon me and turned. Well, well — a familiar face! Lady Ritz, surrounded by a small but conspicuous and noisy company, was plainly interested in my gown. She herself was dressed far more splendidly, in blood-coloured silk overlaid with black lace, her skirt so wide that no one could have embraced her for all the will in the world. Diamonds sparkled like droplets even on the artificial roses in her chestnut hair. Her olive skin now appeared lighter; her rouge was too bright to be natural. If by day Lady Ritz had merely been pretty, by night she shone like a star.

Noticing my gaze, she smiled and waggled her fingers at me. There was no warmth in that smile.

I shrugged. Trying to fathom what went on in the heads of such people was tedious.

Everyone here was looking about, catching one another’s eyes now and then. Some with curiosity, some with bewilderment.

My simple coiffure stood out sharply against the curled locks, gleaming multi-tiered braids, and constructions of flowers. A lady sailed past me with an expression of intense concentration, a tiny ship woven into her elaborately teased hair. My mouth fell open at such a marvel. I nearly followed her, hoping to witness a shipwreck.

Lost in my staring, I almost failed to notice the beginning of a quarrel.

Behind the columns where I had stopped, a flock of girls had surrounded one of their number. She was unmistakable — that tail was not easily forgotten.

“What an interesting skirt style you have, miss. Where, may one ask, is such a thing worn?” asked a pale moth of a girl who had compared me to a learned ape earlier that day. She had dressed in green and looked as though she suffered from chronic dyspepsia.

“In the land of bad taste, no doubt,” chimed in her friend, who had a sharp, rat-like little face.

They tittered nastily. The others — a mix of gentlemen and ladies — made no effort to hide their malicious smiles either.

The girl who was the target of their wit looked stricken. She kept trying to speak, but they interrupted her every time she began.

*You cannot out-argue a mob*, I thought. *Hopeless. Those rats will gnaw until they grow bored. Either fight, if you are mad enough, or flee.*

The girl did not look mad — but she looked wretched indeed. That did not go unnoticed.

“What is wrong with your face, miss? Surely not an allergy to perfume? Is that why you do not use any?”

“Pray do not cry, I beg you. If your eyes grow any redder, you will be taken for a pig.”

“What a fool,” I muttered, gripping my empty glass more tightly. “Plainly she has never seen a pig in her life.”

The person standing beside me shifted in the shadow of the column. He must have heard… Well, devil take him.

“Let us do a good deed, shall we? Spare the miss her shameful wretchedness.”

The most active of the rats suddenly tugged at the fabric of her skirt, shrieking with laughter. The tailed girl stepped back. Her frightened face, which had been red with awkwardness and shame, now went quickly pale.

“Leave me be! What have I done to you?” she asked, tears in her eyes, but her broken voice drowned in the noise of the festivities.

Among her tormentors, I noticed Lizzie and Maryann. They did not look happy, but only averted their eyes, sighed, and adjusted their gloves, instead of helping.

My resolve to stay out of others’ affairs was melting like the berry ice in my bowl. I looked about, hoping that some elder lady or lord would restore order and put these people in their place…

“Ow!”

Fabric tore. One of the ruffles on her skirt hung sadly, nearly touching the floor. The tailed girl stared in horror at her ruined gown.

“Change your modiste,” the moth said with a most unpleasant smirk. “This one is not only blind, but uses shoddy thread as well.”

Unable to bear it, I thrust my bowl into the hands of the man who had been loitering by the column:

“Hold this.”

“What?…” He looked startled, but obediently pressed the bowl to his chest, risking his waistcoat.

Burning with anger, I stepped into the circle, deliberately shoving the pale moth with my shoulder as hard as I could.

“Oh!” she cried, rubbing the bruised spot. “Such manners! Do be more careful!”

Everyone stared at me as though I were a cataclysm. Trying to keep myself in check, I seized the tearful girl by the wrist.

“Come along. Do not waste your time on these.”

“‘These’?! ” The moth nearly choked. She looked about at her companions, inviting them to share their outrage at my audacity. “My father owns a landed estate of a thousand acres! How many does yours own, that you fling such words about?”

I gave a grim snort:

“A few feet, I expect. Straight down.”

Snatching the tailed girl, I made to leave, but they blocked my way.

“You have insulted us, miss,” declared the rat-faced fop, fanning herself.

“Ha. Well, challenge me to a duel, then. Or whatever it is you do here. I would be delighted to beat that ugly face of yours.”

She gaped and shrank back. The others rustled their skirts and parted to let me pass.

I do not know if anyone dared call out after us, but no words reached me.

The rescued girl was still sniffling.

“Th-th-thank you. Only please do not hit me…”

I nearly laughed. Did I look so fearsome even to the one I had helped?

“I have no intention of hitting you — what nonsense is that?” I grumbled. “Why did they set upon you?”

The girl drew a shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief of cambric.

“I only said that I dreamed of getting through the selection. And they began to peck at me at once… As if anyone here is here for any other reason! Only I do not have very much money; my parents are merely owners of a few fabric shops. But that does not mean one can treat me so…” Her eyes filled with tears again when she noticed the state of her gown. Gathering the trailing ruffle, she fluttered anxiously: “I must find someone with a needle, at once! The results will be announced any moment, and I look like this!”

Without even saying goodbye, she darted away and began pushing toward the exit. I let my hands fall and watched her go. My knees still trembled slightly, cooling from the flash of rage that had clouded my senses so completely that I had truly been ready to thrash those little nobles.

The tailed girl had worn a necklace of glittering sun-stones. A gown of gleaming brocade and taffeta. Fine gloves and rings on every finger over them.

If they had treated her like a beggar, what must they think of me?

My fists clenched of their own accord.

I could feel the hostility of the hall on my very skin, though no one had approached me to voice their opinion. But if it happened — I would not let myself be humiliated.

“Well done,” said a pleasant voice almost in my ear.

I nearly squealed in surprise and turned. The young man dressed in white and blue — the one who had kept me from falling into the fountain earlier. The prince’s brother… That is, I corrected myself, he was himself a prince, Prince Ansel. In the evening light, his fine features seemed softer and drew the eye; his clothing suited his fair hair and made his eyes as bright as the sea. He glanced about quickly and then, unexpectedly, winked at me, breaking into a mischievous smile. Then, as though nothing had happened, he disappeared among the guests.

*Everyone here is strange*, I thought, feeling my cheeks burn treacherously. *Absolutely everyone.*

My heart beat too fast, like a bird caught in a snare. *Quiet*, I told myself sternly. *Princes are not for the likes of you.*

Left alone, I suddenly remembered the bowl I had left for safekeeping. But the man had vanished without a trace, and I could not recall his face. The wretch had stolen my ice. A bit of cooling would not have gone amiss.

I meant to find another portion, but the stewards had vanished as though the earth had swallowed them.

Then the music fell silent.

The steward mounted the dais by the fireplaces, glowing with the solemnity of the moment, and announced:

“My lords and ladies, gentlemen and gentlewomen! The clock has struck midnight — the hour to announce the list of candidates approved by the most high royal commission!”

Chapter 11

“Twelve young ladies, selected with the greatest care, shall compete for the heart of the Crown Prince Caden.” I was greatly amused by the way the steward drew breath before every phrase. To speak so as to be heard throughout the vast hall was evidently no easy task. “Two finalists shall have the honour of becoming ladies-in-waiting, but only one can be the victor. I pray you, give your attention to Her Majesty, Queen Guinevere.”

The Queen stepped forward. Not yet old, a majestic woman with an impeccably straight back carried her head with pride. Looking at her made one wish to stand up straight as well.

Behind her, the King himself remained seated in an ornately carved chair, while on either side sat both princes. They might have conspired together: one in white, the other in black. And with moods equally contrasting.

“This day is a celebration for us all. A mother’s heart cannot remain unmoved when her son’s happiness is at stake.” She nodded with a slight smile toward Prince Caden, who sat at her right hand. He all but rolled his eyes, his grimness provoking whispers throughout the hall. But the Queen did not so much as twitch an eyebrow. Whether she was accustomed to it or her composure was simply beyond compare, she continued as though nothing had happened: “Nor can a queen’s heart remain indifferent, for she must care for the future of her subjects. For each of the young ladies whose name shall echo beneath the vaults of this hall tonight will receive the chance not only to become the wife of my elder son but also one day to succeed me upon the throne as the Queen of Mercia. I am pleased to present to you the twelve finest of the finest.” Queen Guinevere paused deliberately and swept the hall with her glittering eyes. “The Golden Dozen.”

Such silence fell that one could hear the crickets straining outside the windows and the crackle of the candle wicks. Caught up in the moment, even I felt a flutter of nervousness. This would be spoken of in every corner of the kingdom, written about in the newspapers, debated in the marketplaces. And I — here and now — would see it all with my own eyes.

The Queen consulted the list upon a tiny old-fashioned scroll and proclaimed:

“Lady Charlotte Ritz, Duchess of Bantry, Duchess of Arklow, Countess of Neisse.”

Instead of four, only one young lady glided unhurriedly to the foot of the royal dais. With an air as though it could not have been otherwise. A self-satisfied smile did not, to my vexation, spoil Lady Ritz’s handsome face. She was beautiful — and she knew it.

Having received a curtsy from the first of the twelve with due dignity, the Queen moved on to the second:

“Lady Areta Crowley, Duchess of Govenmorne, Duchess of Passidge, Countess of Bridge, Countess of Walverick.”

And again, instead of the announced multitude, only one stepped forward. Despite her considerable height, the girl moved very lightly and with great dignity. Her posture was so straight she might have swallowed a rod. Dazzlingly white-skinned, in her blue gown she looked like a statuette carved from marble. The heavy knot of fair hair pulled her head back. Upon her refined face there was not a trace of feeling; even making the Golden Dozen did not compel her to show joy or astonishment.

I recalled that I had already encountered her in the hall. She had seemed most displeased by that lively girl Miss Liddle.

“Lady Annelise FitzWilliam, Countess of Caredolc.”

It finally dawned upon me that the chains of titles following each name belonged to that name. The lineage of the first two ladies was likely second only to the royal family’s.

When Lady FitzWilliam was announced, the people grew much more agitated than before. If the first candidates had been met with silent approval, now there was no end to the whispers and astonished glances; a note of indignation rose in the general murmur. “What an affront!” came from a wrinkled lady to my left. “Is it possible that in our time money means more than reputation?” I did not know what an “affront” was, but it hardly seemed anything good.

Ignoring the buzzing, the announced lady left the gossips behind with a dancing gait and took her place beside her rivals. She was pleasant to look upon: in a cream-coloured gown scattered with flowers, she seemed the very embodiment of love. Shapely, with peach-like skin and romantic honey-coloured curls, Lady FitzWilliam made a strange contrast with Lady Crowley, as though Spring and Winter had been placed side by side.

The latter did not deign to grant her so much as a glance.

Lady Ritz, meanwhile, suppressed a tiny smirk, as though she knew something beyond the reach of others.

“Lady Diana Edelbury, Duchess of Fore, Countess of Rounshire, Countess of Layvor.”

A warm feeling came over me at the sight of Lady Edelbury making her way forward. What was surprising was that this feeling was reflected on the faces of some of those around me. Others, however, watched her with undisguised mockery.

Lady Edelbury herself smiled kindly upon the royal family and her rivals as she took her place. She looked the most fragile, almost to the point of sickliness, but her cheeks bloomed pink as rosehip petals to match her gown, and a calm smile never left her eyes. Such a queen would be beloved by the people: open, kind-hearted, attentive to the suffering.

I would have wished her victory, but marriage to Prince Caden… I was not certain such an ordeal would make her happy.

“Miss Concordia Liddle.”

Well, well! The thought that today I might have rescued none other than a future queen from trouble struck me as so funny that I nearly snorted. I hurried to cover my mouth. It must have been the surprise… All too fairytale-like for me.

No titles followed. Could she be a commoner?…

I belatedly recalled the quotas for the Estates. To be truthful, I had thought them one of those rules invented for show — but never observed.

Nevertheless, Miss Liddle’s gown glittered so with large stones and gold thread that it was hard to place her among the common folk. The very young girl did not hide her joy at having passed the selection. She beamed from ear to ear and even hopped a little on her way forward, so that her golden locks fluttered in the air.

Her candidacy was discussed without much surprise, though with a measure of condescending disdain.

“Such spontaneity… A sweet child,” murmured the same wrinkled lady.

“If my family owned gold mines, I would be carefree as well,” replied her neighbour haughtily.

When Miss Liddle took her place, the Queen narrowed her eyes slightly as she read the next name. For a fraction of a second, the mask of unshakeable calm slipped, revealing surprise.

“Miss Meridith Ogilvy.”

Someone behind me gasped aloud. Such a noise arose that my ears tingled. Everyone pushed and shoved, climbing almost onto one another’s shoulders to catch a glimpse of Miss Ogilvy. This was no royal palace but a fairground celebration!

Caught up in the general spirit, I too rose on my toes, straining to see what sort of person had caused such a stir. Did she have a hump? A pirate’s leg?

When I saw Miss Ogilvy, I was rather disappointed. That unremarkable girl had perfectly ordinary legs — at any rate, I heard no wooden stump striking the floor.

Beside the other candidates, she might have seemed drab were it not for her bright red curls, flowing freely over her shoulders like a fiery wave.

The girl shrank back shyly, her eyes lowered; her hair veiled her face almost entirely. She fidgeted with the beaded belt that encircled the waist of her emerald-green gown, clearly discomforted by all the attention.

Despite her youth, her neck was draped with a light scarf, like an old woman’s. And only when I saw the distinctive embroidered ends did the truth click into place in my head. *She* was the singer who had led me to the hall! She had only taken the trouble to undo her coiffure for some reason.

Miss Ogilvy’s appearance disrupted the course of the ceremony. The subsequent candidates received not a hundredth part of the attention given to those before — everyone was discussing the red-haired girl, who still stood with her head bowed.

Five more young ladies took their places near the royal family. Listening to the conversations and trying to catch the reason for the commotion, I missed even their names. Besides, I had not abandoned hope of finding some stray steward with a tray.

Meanwhile, the younger prince nodded and smiled warmly at the girls. He greeted each one as though he felt genuine joy at the meeting.

The elder prince pretended he was not there.

Should it not have been the other way around?

I snorted, imagining Miss Concordia Liddle running all over the palace searching while her husband hid from her under the grand staircase, drinking brandy from the bottle. He would probably suit Lady Crowley better: they could take turns turning up their noses at each other.

“I wonder, does she even breathe?” I murmured, as another participant was met with the same attention she would have granted a louse.

The man standing slightly behind me heard and leaned toward my shoulder:

“Who knows? Some are quite convinced that Lady Crowley sleeps in a crystal coffin.”

I snorted and was about to answer, but the Queen had reached the last name on the list, and the man raised a finger to his lips.

It was the very same fellow who had vanished with my dessert — the fair-haired, lively one in the satin waistcoat. But now his hands were empty.

“And last on the list of candidates, but of course not last in importance, for all in the Golden Dozen are equal…” The Queen spoke solemnly. I appreciated how she managed to utter this nonsense without a trace of mockery. “Miss Thea Blount.”

I craned my neck, looking for the final candidate. Only after a second did the words reach my mind and explode within it.

I stepped back, staring wide-eyed at the Queen.

She had made a mistake.

Or someone else who had drawn up the list.

And I would be the one to answer for it.

One moment passed, then another. People exchanged glances, waiting for the unknown Thea Blount to reveal herself.

On stiff legs, I shuffled forward, afraid that I would trip on the smooth floor. Behind me trailed a wake of dry whispers, like the rustle of a thousand dragonfly wings. Seeing nothing, understanding nothing in my shock, I took my place in the row. My heart pounded wildly in my ears; my parched throat cried out for water.

Beside me stood the damned Lady Ritz. Her red lips curved into a predatory smirk:

“What an intriguing gown you are wearing, Miss Blount. I believe I have seen it somewhere before.”

Chapter 12

Only yesterday I had thought I would spend this night on the road, travelling back home. Back to creaking floorboards and draughts, to stale crusts and the inescapable smell of mildew. But tonight, instead of a stinking mail coach, I found myself surrounded by luxurious chambers. How anyone kept their wits about them in such a place was beyond me — and I was not certain I could.

Did they truly always sleep in beds like this?

For some reason, the feather mattress, beaten into a soft cloud, astonished me more than the porcelain figurines and silk curtains. I flopped onto the bed in my gown, risking its wrinkles, and now lounged like a cat in the sun, watching the dance of a dozen candle flames.

The evening had ended as soon as the list was announced. The candidates were escorted to their rooms, led away from the envious and the newsmen. Stretching luxuriously, I rolled onto my stomach. Lady Ritz’s unpleasant smirk still gnawed at me.

The memory rose in my mind of rummaging through a stranger’s wardrobe.

That man… he had been looking for some Charlotte.

Devil take it! I sat up, drawing my legs beneath me. She is Charlotte! Lady Charlotte Ritz, that is who!

In vexation, I punched the pillow. Of all people, I had to steal a gown from the very woman I would do best to avoid entirely.

I must return it. If I appeared in it tomorrow, that lady would not keep silent. I had no wish to be thrown out of here with the brand of thief — or worse, to end up in gaol.

I had saved the maid’s gown during the day, hiding it in one of the vases, and after the footsteps of my escorts had faded, I had fetched it. Now it lay in an untidy heap, crumpled and grey as all my former life. Changing into it, I could not shake the feeling that I was putting it on for the last time. Perhaps I simply did not wish to go back to the old life so badly that I was ready to part with all memory of it.

I slipped into the corridor, pulling the door quietly shut behind me. The palace was not wrapped in night-time silence, but rather seemed to hold its breath. Hurrying on light feet, I crept along the walls hung with tapestries and mirrors. The corridors were dark, offering a chance to see only where moonlight fell through a window.

The narrow passage leading to Lady Ritz’s chambers turned several times. I had just rounded the last bend when I heard a door open.

Could no one sleep at this hour!

I darted about in a panic. By my attire, I would be taken for a maid, but the gown in my hands might raise questions. And there was nowhere to hide it, damn it!

I dashed around the corner, hoping the midnight wanderer would turn the other way. But fate had decided it had played along with me enough for one day.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed a woman, recoiling. “Who is there?”

The flame of her candle danced, nearly extinguishing itself. There was light enough to see that I was not the only one taking a night-time stroll — Lady Ritz herself.

As soon as she realised whom she saw, the fear vanished from her face without a trace.

“What are you doing here at this hour, Miss Blount? Trouble sleeping?” she said in a careless tone, adjusting her dripping candle. “Do ask someone to bring you a goat to your room. I am told one sleeps better in familiar surroundings.”

I crushed the gown behind my back, praying no stray ruffle would betray me.

“And you? Come to drain your venom before bed?”

Lady Ritz narrowed her dark eyes. Her sharp gaze said she was not accustomed to such backtalk. But instead of losing her temper and her composure, she smiled even more sweetly:

“I have a fondness for beautiful things. The royal orangery is full of flowers whose fragrance reveals itself only at night.”

“Then you had best hurry. There is not so very long until dawn.”

“Quite right. If you are lost and cannot find your own bedchamber, do not fret — the morning guard rounds will surely assist you.” With that parting barb, she continued on her way, as though walking the halls at night were the most ordinary thing in the world.