“Aunties,” Aurora said, “perhaps you’ve done enough decorating.”

The three pixies buzzed around, frowning. “Oh, no, my dear. There’s so much still to be done,” said Flittle.

“Though it does take a lot of our magic,” Knotgrass said. “Not that we begrudge it to you.”

“Oh, no,” said Thistlewit. “We would work our fingers to the bone to be the least help.”

“As we always have,” Flittle put in, not to be outdone. “The sacrifices that we’ve made—”

“I have an idea,” Aurora said, interrupting them before they got too far along with their protestations of abnegation. “The riddle contest will be the first event of the festival. Perhaps you three can be in charge of that.”

“Yes, of course!” Thistlewit said, drawing herself up with great self-importance. “It’s our pleasure to be helpful.”

Aurora watched them fly off with a heavy heart.

She’d once hoped Phillip would win the riddle contest—in fact, she’d chosen riddles as the sport because of him. But now her thoughts were tangled. She didn’t know what she wanted.

Marjory waved to get her attention, drawing her from her thoughts. Aurora was surprised to see her marching across the lawns of the castle. “The kitchen staff said that I would find you here,” the girl said sternly, putting her hands on her hips. “You must hasten! The first guests will be here soon, and you’re still in that old thing.”

Aurora glanced at the sun, which had dipped lower in the sky than she’d thought. Musicians and jugglers were setting up on the grass. Her stomach growled from a lack of food, and she recalled that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Very well,” Aurora said. “I’m hastening.”

In her rooms, her dress was spread out on her coverlet, along with smallclothes and dressings for her hair.

Marjory insisted that Aurora take a bath and be perfumed before being laced into a gown of deep blue with a tight bodice, puffed sleeves that narrowed at her upper arms and ran to her wrists, and a low neckline that revealed her finely woven white chemise. Down her arms ran embroidery of leaf-covered vines blooming with white and pink flowers. When she moved, her full skirt swirled around her.

As Aurora drank a cup of tea and ate a slice of bread with cheese, Marjory braided her hair loosely down her back with blue ribbon, then tucked sprays of white flowers into it.

“You look like you stepped out of a story,” said Marjory, pinching Aurora’s cheeks to bring up the color in them.

“Now you sit down,” Aurora said, rising, “and let me tie ribbons in your hair.”

Marjory blushed. “Your Majesty, that wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh, it won’t take a moment,” Aurora said, “and we have so many that would go well with your dress.”