“Yes, you. You’ll be wonderful! It will hardly require any effort on your part. You’ll wear a dress that will occupy every slavering paparazzo on the continent for weeks to come. We’ll dance. We’ll drink. We’ll socialize. Once I take care of the tedious paperwork, all you need to do is deliver Cernos’s messages to your queen. You’ll be in court, and you’ll be reinstated to your post, of course. What do you say?”

It sounded too good to be true.

Isabel’s harsh words echoed in her mind: You’re foolhardy. You’re emotional. You’re easily manipulated. With your track record, you’re sooner to start a war than to end one.

“I don’t have the constitution of a diplomat,” she murmured.

“Nonsense.” He winked at her. “I think you’re perfect.”

So much could go wrong. But Isabel would not be able to ignore her when Wren alone carried the privilege of delivering Cernos’s diplomatic messages. Nor would she be able to ignore the slight of Cernos engaging with the royal bastard over her.

It was too good to be true, but it would be satisfying to see her aunt humbled. Wren couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll do it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Fishing his pen from the inkwell, Lowry scribbled his signature on a sheet of parchment and slid the document across the desk to her. Wren recognized the same elegant script from his letter. “I’ve had my good friend, the Duke of Matthonwy, and his lawyer draw up a contract for you. I thought that might make you feel more secure about this whole arrangement. I understand your position is a precarious one.”

Admittedly, a contract did reassure her. Since the world lately felt as if it were crumbling in her hands, she appreciated anything solid to hold onto. She accepted the pen from him and began to read. The preamble was little but stylized, overinflated jargon to her, but it covered the basics, his promise of asylum, provisions, and shelter. But the terms of her agreement gave her pause. They seemed … restrictive.

I, Wren Southerland, agree to the following stipulations:

1. I shall provide a detailed summary of the patient’s progress each week, at a regular appointment to be mutually agreed upon
2. I shall uphold the curfew and retire to my bedroom from midnight through six each morning
3. I shall not enter the east wing of the estate
4. I shall not leave the estate under any circumstances without express permission

If I fail to uphold these terms, I understand that the agreement is immediately terminated and accept all consequences thereof.

Wren desperately hoped the puzzlement—and indignation—that stilled her hand hadn’t made its way onto her face. Curfews and locked doors? Was she to be treated like a child here?