Nia catches my arm and drags me off the stool. I land with a wobble, but the prince is there to steady me. The way his warm hands curve around my arms makes curtsying impossible.

Heavens. His eyes are even more arresting up close.

“This is my cousin Kerris Dawn, from Gravale.” Nia’s voice drifts from somewhere else. Right now, it’s only the prince and me and his beautiful, beautiful eyes. “She is twenty-five on the fourteenth of May and has come to Rosehill for a husband.”

The prince’s thumbs sweep back and forth against my skin, sending chills racing down my arms. “Isn’t that fortuitous? I suddenly find myself in dire need of a wife. How would you like to be a princess, Kerris Dawn?”

Imagine me, a princess.

It’s a good thing he’s holding me upright; otherwise, my legs would give right out.

“I might consider it,” I hedge, not wanting to seem too desperate.

The third man who came in with them steps out from the prince’s shadow. Behind a pair of round spectacles blink kind green eyes. His chestnut hair curls slightly around his pointed ears in the most playful way. His gaze darts to me before settling on my cousin. “Nia, you’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

“You’re too sweet, Trevor.” My cousin gives the man’s arm a friendly pat. “Kerris, this is Trevor Dillon. He works in the library as one of the city’s most esteemed records keepers.”

How interesting. And he works in a library? Sounds like heaven to me. When I smile at Trevor, his cheeks turn the most endearing shade of pink. “I love reading,” I confess. When you’re stuck on the side of a mountain in the dead of winter, there’s little else to do. “Perhaps you would be willing to show me around the library some time?”

Trevor’s glasses slip down his nose when he offers an eager nod. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Dawn.”

“Kerris, please. Miss Dawn makes me sound like an old maid.”

Ronan steps in front of Trevor, nearly stomping on his boot. “The library at the castle is twice as large as the one in the city,” he says. “If you’d like to see it as well, I’d be more than happy to arrange a visit.”

An invitation to Castle Rose on my very first night? I cannot wait to tell Father. “That sounds lovely.”

A streak of pink flashes in my peripherals, and the woman we met outside Nia’s cottage, Ivee Lynch, waltzes through a gap in the tables. The two women from earlier follow closely behind, as if tied to the bodice of Ivee’s blush-pink gown.

“Prince Ronan! Oh, Prince Ronan!” Ivee waves a gloved hand toward the prince, sparing the rest of us not so much as a glance.