Lord Ortolan tutted and stalled, but since he couldn’t contradict her command, he eventually called for a footman to show the boy’s family into the solar, a more intimate space than the cavernous great hall.

Aurora was glad. She liked the solar. There was no throne for her to sit in, intimidating everyone who came to make a request of her. Instead, she sat in a cushioned chair and considered ways to find the groom. She would alert her castellan and have his soldiers sweep the land. Perhaps once she’d spoken to the family, she’d have more information about how to focus the search.

A few minutes later, three people entered: a man, holding his hat in his hand, and two older women. The man bowed low, and the women sank into deep curtsies.

“Your boy has gone missing?” Aurora asked.

One of the women stepped forward. She was thin enough that she might be blown over by a curl of smoke. A worn shift hung from her gaunt shoulders. “You must convince the faeries to give back our little Simon.”

“You believe faeries took him?” Aurora said, incredulous. “But why?”

“He had a charmed way with animals,” said the man, and Aurora realized he must be Simon’s father. “And he could play a reed pipe like no one you ever heard, though he’s barely fourteen. Why, even the ancients would be up on their feet and dancing. The Fair Folk are jealous of clever boys like that. They wanted him for themselves.”

This was exactly the reason the country needed a treaty, and exactly the reason one was so hard to negotiate. Aurora was certain that the Fair Folk hadn’t taken the boy—faeries were fond of pipers, sure, but not that fond of them—and she was equally certain that Simon’s family wouldn’t believe her without evidence.

“Could something else have happened to him?” she asked gently.

Lord Ortolan cleared his throat. “The boy was a thief.”

The second woman spoke. Her hair was white and pinned up into a large bun, and her voice shook a little with anger. “Whatever you’ve heard—those other stories, they’re false.”

“Other stories?” Aurora prompted them. “What was he accused of stealing?”

“One of your horses, Your Majesty,” said Lord Ortolan. “And a silver dish besides. The reason no one can find him is that he ran off.”

“That’s not true,” said the man. “He was a good boy. He liked his work. He had no sweetheart and he’d never so much as been to the next town.”

“I will see what I can discover,” Aurora promised.

“The faeries have him,” said the elderly woman with the bun. “Mark my words. Your Majesty, pardon my saying so, but they’re feeling emboldened with you on the throne. Why, just the other day—”

“The cat,” the man said knowingly, nodding.

“Cat?” Aurora asked, and almost instantly regretted the question.