My reflection blinks back at me as I stare at myself in the mirror. The bedroom I’ve been given is like its own greenhouse, with ferns and ivy flowing like waterfalls from their pots affixed to the white-washed stones. Behind me, Nia hums off-key and without any recognizable tune as she finishes my hair.

She plaited the heavy strands into an intricate braid, weaving in a few of the ribbons she’s so fond of. With her help, it didn’t take hours to comb.

Nia sticks in another pin to keep the braid in place, scraping my scalp and earning yet another hiss from me. She might be a sorceress with my hair, but she’s also a bit of a sadist with the bloomin’ pins.

“Are you sure you want to cut it?” she asks. “I would kill for this length.”

“It’s impossible to manage on my own,” I grit through a wince, my poor skull pulsing.

The corners of her lips lift. “If you marry Ronan, you won’t be on your own.”

True. A princess would have a whole bevy of servants at her beck and call, which sounds wonderful in theory. But I enjoy baking and mending—and even cleaning, on occasion. If there are maids and servants to complete all those tasks, what would I do all day?

If our forbidden excursion into the city yesterday tells me anything, it’s that I am no good at sitting around.

I offer a non-committal “We’ll see,” to avoid hearing yet another monologue on the merits of being a princess.

There’s no point dreaming of crowns and thrones when Ronan is bound to come to his senses and set his sights on someone more suitable, like a wealthy heiress or a foreign princess who already knows how to be royalty.

“What are your plans for the day?” I ask.

“I’m meeting Nolan for tea.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

She whaps my arm with a giggle. “Oh, you! Stop that now. Nolan and I are very respectable.”

“The way he wore your lip stain two nights ago would suggest otherwise.”

Her skirts billow as she plops onto the edge of my unmade bed. “A few stolen kisses, that’s all. Everyone does it.”

If only that were true. “Not everyone,” I grumble.

Nia’s hand snaps out, her cool fingers encircling my wrist. “Wait. Are you saying you haven’t kissed anyone?”

“Who was I to kiss? My brother or the neighbor’s goats?”

“Oh, Kerris! You poor thing. You simply must kiss Ronan. I hear he has a wealth of experience and is well-versed in the art of lovemaking.”

“I am not interested in Ronan’s… lovemaking.” Heavens, above. Imagine me, bedding a bloody prince. Utterly ridiculous.

A knock reverberates up the stairwell, and my pulse speeds at the noise. Downstairs, I hear my aunt offer a friendly greeting, followed by a familiar voice.