“Hast thou ever . . .” Isobelle began, drawing out the words as she thought. “Left off your underskirts on a hot day, and hoped no one would notice?”

The questions continued in that vein, giving Gwen the opportunity to get to know the other girls in the group.

Hilde, the hopeless romantic, dreaming of the beau she’d been waiting on for years, deeply invested in finding happy endings for all those around her.

Jane, beautiful, easygoing, and quick to love—and more than willing to share that love, by the sound of it. Daring and kind all at once.

And Sylvie. Reserved, guarded, with no interest in courting suitors or chasing marriage. Revealing little of herself. Observing much.

It was Sylvie’s turn to ask the next question. Jane had slid to the floor with a piteous cry of “Braid my hair, Hilde!” and Hilde was giggling as she tried and failed to do something complicated involving ribbons.

Sylvie was smiling at Gwen as she suggested her next question. “Hast thou ever worn another lady’s gown?”

For a split second, Gwen didn’t understand the sudden interest from Sylvie, why that question had made her watch for Gwen’s reaction.

Then her stomach clenched. Whose dress was she wearing? She’d assumed Olivia was altering Isobelle’s dresses for her, but she was closer to Sylvie’s size than Isobelle’s. Was this Sylvie’s castoff? Gwen’s mind went blank, sheer panic taking hold.

“Oh, come now, Sylvie, don’t torture poor Céline by making her drink every time.” Isobelle’s smile was honey sweet. “Her trunks were delayed en route and should get here in a few days. I asked Olivia to alter a few of last season’s dresses to tide her over. Besides, we’ll all have to drink to this one—remember when Hilde spilled mead all over us a few years back?”

Gwen carefully lifted her cup for a sip, not meeting Sylvie’s eyes. Instead, she caught Isobelle sneaking a peek her way. A tiny reminder that Gwen wasn’t out here on the battlefield alone. Isobelle may have been acting like she hadn’t a care in the world, but she was monitoring the conversation like a hawk.

The questions went round and round after that, with the girls taking a special—if laughing, friendly—delight in following suit with Sylvie. One of the questions that made Gwen drink was Have you ever had black hair? and another was Have you ever had a brother named Gawain? Soon enough she was in a haze, and if she hadn’t had such secrets to keep, the haze—the hazing, she decided—would have been fun.

The temptation to let down her guard and give in to the game was strong. Gwen’s head was positively spinning after a few more cups of “tea,” and she was beginning to envy Jane’s spot on the floor by Hilde’s divan.