Fifteen

According to Marion, she hasn’t summoned an army, but it sure does seem like it as attendants scurry in and out of the bedroom with trays of brushes and combs, buckets of steaming water for the bath, dried flowers and soaps, and delicious treats that make my stomach growl.

A petite maid nods, her delicate features pinched in concentration as she sets down a golden tray laden with warm scones, tiny cakes covered in delicate icing, and a bowl of fresh fruit. She looks familiar, like I’ve seen her on the bus or coming in and out of the high-rise where Posh Pulse’s offices are, but I can’t quite place her. Although this isn’t the first time, and most likely won’t be the last time, I recognize someone from my world.

The sugary-sweet scent of fresh pastries wafts through the air, and I take a mouthwatering inhale before reaching for a cake the size of a shot glass. Before I can begin to nibble away at it, because I’m sure shoving the whole thing in my mouth would be extremely unladylike, another attendant sets a different sparkling gold platter on the table in front of the settee. Tall, narrow porcelain cups with gilded rims and accompanying saucers decorated with hand-painted pentacles rest on the tray next to an elongated, slender kettle with a fluted spout and an ornate golden pentacle on its lid. Marion picks up the kettle, her movements graceful and measured, and pours the rich drinking chocolate into the cups.

“Thank you.” I manage a smile, my heart twisting with the anxiety of being trapped in this room while I’d rather be digging through others, as I accept the cup from Marion’s outstretched hand. I take a delicate sip of chocolate, the rich, velvety liquid sliding down my throat. For now, I’ll push down my worries and do my best to embody a lady from the Kingdom of Cups.

“Which gown do you think you’ll wear tonight?” she asks, her fingers plucking the air over the array of pastries as she makes a choice.

I blink, my gaze sweeping over the room. The trunk is nowhere to be found, and I didn’t have enough time to explore all of Lady Ashwood’s dresses anyway. “I’m not sure.”

“There are so many options. It’s always such a difficult choice.” Marion sighs. “I remember when choosing the queen’s gown for such an event would take all day. The attendants would parade them in and out, each gown more beautiful than the last. And the jewels!” With a flourish, she bites into a scone and collapses back against the settee’s plush cushions. “But, for tonight, we can pretend everything is back to the way it was and indulge ourselves. And I do love to indulge…” A mischievous smile plumps her cheeks before she takes another bite of pillowy pastry.

“What was it like before?” I ask, not sure exactly how much prying is too much when it comes to being the perfect lady.

“Before King Lockhart died and the queen took to her rooms to nurse her broken heart and make threats about leaving noble life?” Wistful, Marion gazes up at the ceiling. “I suppose the only constant is that things change. Sometimes for the better and others for the worse.” She seems to shake herself free of her reverie and reaches for the bowl of fruit. Her slender fingers curl around a pomegranate half, its ruby-red seeds glistening like jewels.

“At least some things stay the same,” she says, holding the fruit out to me. “The palace has prize-winning pomegranates. Or, at least, they would be prize winning if there were ever a contest for Pentacles’s best pomegranates. They’re grown in the same arboretum as the pears. Juicy, delectable, and a favorite of Lady Whitmore, the court’s resident pomegranate glutton.”

“Pomegranate glutton?” A laugh bubbles from me as I take the fruit and glide my finger over the swollen seeds.

“She’s like a locust, plucking them right from the branches. Everyone knows the season is upon us when Lady Whitmore’s fingers are perpetually stained crimson.” She lifts another half of the scarlet fruit and plucks a seed from the flesh before slipping it between her lips.

“As far as addictions go, that one’s not too bad,” I say, biting into the juicy seeds.

“Nothing like Alice with her laudanum.” Marion’s shrug is dainty and demure. “But that, my dear Hannah, is a conversation best left for another time.”

With a swish of her wrist, Marion calls to the nearest attendant. “The jewels, please.” Her voice is tinged with an air of regality I don’t think I’ll ever be able to emulate.

The attendant curtsies and disappears into the dressing room.

Marion sets down the pomegranate, delicately dabbing her fingers on a linen napkin. She rises from the settee and glides over to the gilded dresser. “The queen always says to choose one’s jewelry before choosing one’s dress since the jewels are the most important part of one’s outfit and should not be overshadowed by mere fabrics,” she explains as the attendant returns with a large velvet-lined tray heavy with jewelry and hairpins.

My head spins from too much wine, sugar, and now this. I meet Marion at the dresser, and my fingers curl into my skirts as I take in the delicate necklaces. Sapphire and diamond accents wink like stars against the black velvet, their silver chains shimmering like the tail of a comet. Bracelets lie in neat rows, their metallic bands encrusted with aquamarine, lapis, and moonstone. Gold bangles gleam alongside them, their smooth surfaces etched with delicate patterns that swirl and loop like waves breaking against the shore. Hairpins studded with pearls and sapphires are scattered among the jewelry next to earrings dangling from small silver hooks and ranging from teardrop-shaped sapphires to clusters of delicate pearls.

My breath hitches as I force my face into a neutral mask.

These are supposed to be yours, Hannah. This is supposed to be normal.

I have to keep my composure and reel in the fact that I’m completely gobsmacked and speechless by this spread of jewelry worth more than my entire life. Because, in my life, or rather Lady Ashwood’s life, this is only a fraction of what I would actually have in my fancy armoire back in the Palace of Cups.

I glance at Marion, whose hand drifts over the collection of jewels with the same subtle plucking motion she used before choosing a pastry. “This is beautiful, Hannah.” She beams, selecting a necklace. The chain dangles from her fingers, its diamonds catching the light.

“Yes, it’s super pretty.” I nod, my heart pounding. “But maybe I should go with something a little more subtle.” I point to a silver necklace with a single glimmering sapphire pendant. “Like this one.”

“Nonsense!” She clucks. “Do something unexpected, Hannah. Surprise yourself.” Marion lifts another statement necklace, jewels dripping between her fingers. “‘Let not the shadow of duty eclipse the sun of yourself.’ The queen taught me that when I first arrived at court. It completely changed my life.”

A pang of recognition twists in my chest, the words resonating with the glossy pale pink cover of the self-help book I had outside Luna’s Twilight Tarot and Healing Arts. The realization settles over me like a blanket, heavy and warm and familiar.

Is there a chance the Tower didn’t make a mistake? That the Empress found the right person and I’m actually where I’m supposed to be? That falling into Towerfall wasn’t an accident?

No, Hannah, it had to be a mistake. What could you possibly offer Pentacles that it doesn’t already have?

Marion chooses classic pearl hairpins to go with the more subdued necklace I insist on choosing and hands them to the attendant before clapping, her elation lifting her onto her tiptoes. “Now for the dress.”

Five attendants bring out five separate gowns, lined up and shimmering in a dazzling ombré from lightest to darkest shade of blue. My gaze settles on the second to last. A berry-blue gown, its bodice richly embroidered with silver thread that swirls across the fabric like constellations. I move closer, running my hand over the delicate threads, smooth and cool beneath my fingers.

“You don’t have to say a word.” Marion makes a shooing motion, and the other attendants retreat, gowns in hand, back into the dressing room. “That look says enough.”

“I feel like a fairy-tale princess.” A rush of excitement surges through me, and I spin around, my arms spread wide, before collapsing against the layers of fluffy down that cover the bed. The room spins around me for a bit too long. I need to take a break from the wine and find some water.

As I steady myself and gaze up at the canopy overhead, Marion perches on the edge of the bed beside me. “We are quite fortunate here within the palace. Even if it is a bit rigid.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “Why don’t you go to your country house, get away for a while? Sure, your husband will have to stay here and do his job, but it doesn’t seem like the queen needs you as much as she used to.”

“I would love that, but Highgate…” Marion’s smile falters, and she looks down at her hands neatly folded in her lap. “My husband is a complex man. He’s rather traditional and very…particular about certain things.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Particular?”

“He believes in specific roles and responsibilities. Men and women, each with their own place. He can be…firm in his beliefs. He means well, truly. He simply has a way of seeing the world that can be quite structured. He believes he’s protecting me and making sure I’m cared for, and he is. I am. It’s just that his way of caring can feel a bit…stifling.”

I want to hug her and tell her we’ll run away to the country together and that no man will ever be able to tell us what to do ever again, but I don’t. I can’t.

“I understand,” I say gently, feeling a pang of sadness.

Marion forces a brighter smile and blows out a puff of air. “But Highgate is a good man. He’s loyal and dependable, and marriage does not come without its challenges.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “No one is perfect.”

“Well, your Ashwood seems to be nearly there. At least from the outside.” Marion titters and playfully brushes me with her elbow.

My cheeks betray me, heating with the mere mention of Kane. “It’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” Marion arches her brow. “Or perhaps a love match?”

“I don’t love him!” I sputter, my words tumbling out in a flurry. “I mean, there’s definitely an attraction, but it has nothing to do with love.”

“Love or not, you must be happy to have Ashwood to warm the other side of your bed.”

My embarrassment spreads down my neck. “I suppose he is nice to look at.”

“Nice to look at? Hannah, the man is practically a god. He puts Highgate to shame. Although our golden-haired King Lockhart could compete with Ashwood as far as looks are concerned. That is, if blonds are your thing. I can’t say they do much for me.”

The young attendant noiselessly appears from the dressing room and clears her throat. “If you’re ready, my lady…”

“And this is where I take my leave.” Marion sighs. “If McDougall hasn’t done so already, I’ll be sure we’re seated next to each other at dinner. I should hate for you to go all evening without knowing absolutely everything there is to know about absolutely everyone.”

“Thanks, Marion. I would have been completely lost without you.” Since arriving at the palace, nothing has gone according to plan, but meeting Marion is the one thing I wouldn’t change.

“I should be thanking you, Hannah. It’s been years since I’ve had so much fun.” Marion smiles, her curls bouncing as she heads to the door. “And I’m serious about the pomegranates.” She pauses, a playful smirk lifting the corner of her mouth. “Eat them while you still have a chance. As soon as Lady Whitmore discovers they’ve ripened, they’ll be gone.”

As the door closes behind the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in this strange new realm—honestly, the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in any realm recently—I swallow, anticipation knotting in my chest. I nod and take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next in preparing for a royal feast.

* * *

The attendant and her assistant escort me to the dressing room that serves as an antechamber from the expansive bedroom to the massive bathroom. They undress me, and cool air brushes against my bare skin, bringing goose bumps to my arms as I try to disguise my discomfort and pretend that I’m 100 percent used to and okay with requiring help to get out of my clothes.

“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice tight while I hide my gold scar and the evidence of Kane’s magick as the young assistant helps me into a soft robe.

“Think nothing of it, my lady,” the maid replies as she leads me to sit down in front of a mirror and dressing table.

I glance at my reflection, my attention drawn to the dark circles beneath my eyes and the frizzy strands of hair framing my face. “I’m a mess,” I mumble, my shoulders slumping.

“Not true, my lady,” the maid offers. “Perhaps this isn’t my lady’s most sparkling or glamorous season, but that doesn’t mean my lady is a mess. This is different from what my lady is used to, and in its own way, change is beautiful.”

“That’s really nice.” A genuine smile tilts my lips.

Her hand brushes my shoulder, light and reassuring. “You’ll be ready for the feast soon, my lady. One step at a time.”

I nod, my hands clasped tight in my lap. “One step at a time,” I echo. I take another breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders. This realm is different, odd, but in its own way, it’s beautiful too.

“Now, this might be a bit uncomfortable.” She wields the brush like a weapon and attacks my locks. The tug and pull sends tingles across my scalp as she detangles and smooths my tresses.

She opens a few vials and waves each under her nose. The scent of lavender fills the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of jasmine, each note a whisper of the splendor of the palace gardens. She dabs a few drops of oil into her palm and combs her fingers through my hair.

The brush glides through my soft, shiny strands as her deft hands gather them into three sections. I sit as still as possible while she weaves an intricate braid down my back that brushes between my shoulder blades like a silk rope. When she’s finished, the maid gathers the remaining length and wraps it into a tight bun that looks like a rosebud secured with pearl hairpins at the nape of my neck.

The maid retreats into the bedroom, leaving me in the quiet luxury of the space. Tendrils of warmth seep in from the bathroom, and fog streaks the mirror. I glance over my shoulder into the bathroom at the steaming copper tub, its sides glistening in the candlelight. The assistant tends to the bath, emptying a final bucket of hot water before scattering lavender flowers across the surface.

“My lady, your bath is ready.” She approaches with a respectful nod, and I stand while she helps me out of my robe.

My hand in hers, she guides me to the steaming water and steadies me as I step into the tub. I let out a sigh as the warmth envelops me, and the steam curls, misting my face as I sink into the bath.

The lead maid returns with the bowl of sliced pomegranates and a goblet of red wine. She places the scarlet fruit and the crystal glass on the stand beside the bath as her assistant flits across the room to hang my robe and stack a pile of fluffy towels on the bench against the far wall.

“If my lady does not require anything else…” The attendant collects the empty bucket and tucks a strand of steam-dampened hair behind her ear.

“I am the most relaxed I’ve ever been,” I say, leaning against the tub’s high back.

“Very good,” the lead maid says with a slight curtsy. “I shall return before the bath has cooled to help my lady dress for dinner.”

The two attendants melt into the fog, retreating from the room like apparitions and quietly close the bathroom door behind them.

The water laps against my skin, the steam rising around me, and for a moment, I allow myself to soften into the decadence of it all as I reach for the goblet of wine. I take a long sip and let out another contented sigh while I sink deeper into the bath, the warmth seeping into my bones.

I grab the closest pomegranate, dried lavender buds tickling my skin and clinging to my arm as I pluck out a ruby-red seed and toss it into my mouth. The tart juice bursts on my tongue, and I’m already peeling back the scored flesh and gathering a handful of seeds before I’ve swallowed my first.

You don’t belong here, Hannah.

The thought slams into me, and I drop the plump seeds into the bathwater as tension coils in my chest.

This realm may be beautiful and luxurious, but it’s not mine. I swallow the lingering tang of pomegranate. This isn’t my world. And this definitely is not my life.

I take another long pull of wine, drowning the thought. I have to play a part—the role of Lady Ashwood—if I have any hope of getting back home.

One step at a time , I remind myself, curling my fingers around the goblet. One step at a time.