The call ends. You turn off the lights and lie back, eyes searching the dark. You’ve been nervous until now. All the expectation and training and attention. Father’s constant devotion and Mother’s constant affirmation. All of it has built up to a boiling point. Now you’re sinking into the pillows and squirming beneath the blankets. They can have their dreams, and you can have yours. For the first time, you’re starting to believe they’ll actually come true.

It’s all so exciting that you just want to throw your arms around Bravos before the Races start and kiss him for everyone to see. But you’ve been too careful to slip up this late in the game. Everyone else thinks you are blood-sworn enemies. And everyone knows how alliances can impact the Races. There are so many unpredictable twists awaiting the riders. Having someone you trust can absolutely mean the difference between winning and losing.

And no one will expect you to let Bravos win. That will be the brilliant and final twist to the story. You’ll ride hard to the finish line and, at the last minute, your phoenix will fade. Bravos will win by a few lengths because you let him win. You will be the one to crown a new champion. The world will see that you worked together and that the two of you are meant to be. Marriage will guarantee an extension of celebrity. You’ll live happily ever after.

Those are the bright hopes that have you drifting off to sleep. You dream that you are sailing. The sun chases unpredictable patterns over the water. A southern wind stirs the waves. You admire the horizon until arms wrap around your waist. A kiss lands on your cheek.

You look up.

And Adrian Ford is the one smiling at you.

The shock of seeing his face makes the noise that drags you out of sleep even more startling. You’re still blinking away that image of the Longhand as reality’s greedy claws strip away the dream. Why is your door open?

Light pours in from the hallway. A shadow waits there.

“Pippa?”

Your mother’s voice. What’s she doing up this late?

“Are you awake?”

You sit up. “Mother?”

“Come. Quickly.”

You obey her with an urgency you haven’t felt since childhood, rising and following without question. The halls are lit only by spare window candles. Mother leads you down the stairs, careful to skip the step that always groans underfoot. You skip it, too. There are no obvious signs of danger, but she’s moving with such deliberate quiet that you’re drawn to do the same. Past the foyer, the dining room, the kitchen. You realize the servants are all gone. Dismissed for the evening. Mother never does that.